Chapter 86: Irish Boys
Gus was just dropping some evidence off with Haylen, the overeager young woman serving as a willing pawn for Gus' cold cases, when Lindsay caught her.
"You have been impossible to get a hold of, lady," Lindsay said, rushing up to her.
Gus stopped and turned to face her friend. It was true, she had ducked Lindsay's calls lately, the least reason being she was not able to see the happy couple so damn happy now that Danny was walking again and Lucy being the perfect, cute baby. "Yeah, I've been busy."
Lindsay cocked her head to the side, a teasing grin on her face, "with what, or should I ask who?"
Gus bit her lip, she had been tempted to reveal her romps with Flack and her more recent tailing of him to her friend so many times, but couldn't face the judgment, or worse pity. "Just work."
"There haven't been that many homicides, and you are allowed a night off now and again."
Nights off she spent trying to find Flack at whatever watering hole he had found that night before he did something stupid without him realizing she was following him. Except for one meal with Mac and Reed she had been a recluse.
"I was thinking since Danny is sort of back on his feet, we could get together with Stella. How long has it been since we had a good old-fashioned girls night, I mean it's been since before-" Lindsay cut off, freezing as she realized what she was about to say.
She took in Gus' abrupt change in posture and how her eyes glazed over. Quickly, she dragged Gus into the women's locker room, shooing a couple of techs out with her newly minted mom glare. She motioned for Gus to sit down on the bench, which she did easily.
Gus slumped on the bench, realizing she had been a horrible friend to everyone else while trying to be a lifeline for Flack. She couldn't remember the last time she had been out for fun, in public.
"Sweetie, what is going on with you?" Lindsay asked, brushing Gus' hair back over her shoulders.
Gus shrugged, "It's just been tough, tougher than I thought it would be, maybe then it should be. What do I have to wallow about, it wasn't my perfect girlfriend that got shot."
She dropped her head to her hands, feeling miserable. Sadly, this was a nice break from only feeling angry, guilty, worried or nothing.
Lindsay patted her on the back. "You have every right to be upset, you almost got killed. You did get shot, even if you didn't have the bullet wounds. Plus, this happened barely after you recovered from almost getting your throat slit by a madman and being in the hospital for how long? Not to mention, I know you have tried to make sure Flack doesn't do something stupid, despite him being a jerk to you."
"He's not that much of a jerk, he's grieving," Gus said, scuffing her shoes against the floor before giving Lindsay a sidelong glance.
Lindsay rolled her eyes, "I'm not arguing. Have you talked anyone?" Gus shook her head. "Your doctor? Mac? Stella? Sheldon?"
Gus shook her head after each one. "I can't have anything on my file, and y'all have dealt with the shooting as well, both in the diner and in the bar, I can't put that burden on anyone."
Lindsay contemplated things for a moment, "what about Jimmy Doyle?"
"What do you mean what about Jimmy Doyle?"
Lindsay sighed, "I mean it was his vest that saved you right?"
Gus head shot up, looked at her like a deer in headlights. She hadn't told anyone other than Adam whose vest it was and she doubted he told anyone.
"Danny told me, he heard you two in the hospital. He isn't part of the team, so maybe has enough distance and obviously he cares about you enough that he gave you his vest."
Gus shook her head, "I can't, everything is just too complicated now, with Flack and everything and I'm a mess and he probably thinks I'm...I don't know, Linds."
"I do, you need someone to talk to, someone besides us. And I think you probably owe the man dinner, at least, for saving your hide."
This at least brought a small smile from Gus. "Fine, I'll call Doyle." Something else sparked in her, giving her eyes a bit of their mischievous light that Lindsay had missed. "Did you know his first name was Jameson?
Lindsay gave a small laugh, "like the Irish whiskey? What is with you and Irish boys, Gussie? Do I even want to know how you found that out? Actually, yes, yes I do, but at a girls night. Get out of here and go call Jameson."
She all but dragged Gus to the elevator, pressing the down button and waiting for her friend to get on before she walked away.
Before she could over think it, Gus picked up the phone and dialed. She almost hung up three times before he answered.
"Doyle."
Gus cleared her throat, "um, hi, Jimmy, did I get you at a bad time, you're probably busy, I can call you back."
Gus ignored Parker who looked like he was choking not to laugh at her, the phone halfway back to the receiver when she heard, "Broussard, is that you?"
She pulled it back, "yeah. Look, I know I haven't talked to you in a few weeks since...you know...but I was about to get off and wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner at that new Spanish place around the corner, I heard they are giving cops a decent discount."
"That artisanal paella place? Did think you were so trendy, Broussard."
Gus immediately flushed, "you're right, it's dumb, sorry, I'll, ah, catch you later." Gus inwardly groaned. She had apparently turned into Adam since he found his mojo.
"No, it's not. I wasn't doing anything but trying to catch up on paperwork, but I can do that whenever. I would greatly enjoy checking out the sustainable, organic, bullshit restaurant with you. I'll see you out front in, say, ten minutes?"
Parker had clearly heard the entire conversation, "good for you, Slugger. You want me to tail Donnie boy tonight?"
Gus sighed, shaking her head, "nah, maybe we need to give him some space, he's headed home after work the past couple of nights anyway."
"If you say so. Have a good time, Broussard," Parker said waving her off.
Gus waited out in front of the precinct, away from the door so she could lean against the brick wall and steel her nerves.
Doyle came out right on time, looking around briefly before catching sight of her with a wide smile as he walked up and leaned on the wall next to her.
"Hey," Gus said, feeling suddenly very shy.
Doyle nudged her slightly, "back at you, kid, how have you been?"
Gus raised her eyebrows, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket, "I've been what I've been."
"That's very philosophical." He waited a beat, "I'm glad you called. I've thought about calling you, a lot, but I didn't want to push."
"Yeah, well, I figured I owed you dinner at least, considering you saved my life and all," she said with a small shrug.
"Technically, it was the vest from my brother that saved your life and all, so should I call him up and have him come out to dinner too?" Doyle gave her a grin, turning serious when she didn't return it.
He studied her carefully. She seemed drawn, having obviously lost weight since the shooting, which didn't suit her. She wasn't one of those skinny girls that looks better like a skeleton, she was meant to have curves and color in her round cheeks, not this sallow, haunted look she had now.
He leaned over and tapped her gently on her temple. "What's happening in there, Gus?"
"Nothing," she said, pursing her lips. Doyle looked at her, disbelief clear on his face.
"No really, Jimmy, a lot of the time it is nothing, like I am blank, a zombie. Which feels a lot better than being pissed off at the universe or crushed around a weight of guilt. Ridiculous that not feeling feels better, and I used to be a psychologist, ugh."
She gave a small cry of frustration, withdrawing her hands from her pockets and hugging herself.
"It isn't ridiculous, it does suck though, when you can't figure out if being emotionally dead is any better than being actually dead." Gus looked at him curiously.
"I felt the same way when I came back from Iraq." He waved off Gus' stumbling utterances of shock. "I don't usually talk about it, I was there in '04-'05, got called up from the reserves, otherwise I probably would have dragged your ass off a roof in New Orleans."
He gave her another grin and nudged at her with his elbow. "How about we blow off the ridiculous restaurant and grab some take out and talk. Or not, if you really want dinner that comes with a dossier on the origins of our food, we can still go."
This finally elicited the smile, albeit small, he was going for from Gus.
"I don't really ever want to know that much about where my food came on unless I shot it myself. There's a little hole in the wall around the corner from me that is neither organic nor sustainable but has the best udon in town, if you don't mind heading uptown."
"I'm game," Doyle replied, leading the way to his car.
"You were not kidding," Doyle said as they sat at Gus table deep in steaming noodle bowls.
"I do not jest about food, sugar, ever," Gus said, fighting with her chopsticks for a moment before just stabbing at the doughy noodle.
Doyle smirked at her ineptness with chopsticks trying to not laugh. "What?" she asked, giving up and slurping at the soup.
"I am just a little amazed they gave you an actual gun."
"I can handle firearms thank you very much, it is just the rest of my life that is a mess. But enough about me, man of many layers, what was this about Iraq, please tell me I didn't zone out on your telling me you were in the military."
"As I said, I don't talk about it much. I put myself through school with the Army reserves, my number got called up, I went, did my tour, saw a hell of a lot I didn't want to, worse than I had ever seen as a cop and got out the first chance I could. My brother is the military man in the family, I'm fine with being the lowly cop."
"Being a lieutenant in charge of Special Vics for all of lower Manhattan is considered lowly in your family? Jesus, remind me to not ever go home with you for Thanksgiving," Gus joked, before realizing how what she said could be interpreted and blushing as the awkwardness of them not talking about that night flooded over it.
Doyle didn't let on if he noticed, remarking, "we try to only judge guests on Christmas and Easter."
"As the good Lord intended," Gus said, suddenly intrigued with her soup.
"When is the last time you had real food, Broussard?" Doyle asked, trying to get a read on how she truly was coping.
"Does crap from the vending machine count?" Gus said, draining her broth and wiping her mouth. She gestured for his empty bowl, walking both to the kitchen, setting them in the sink before moving to grab them both a couple of beers.
She emerged from the kitchen, Doyle standing by the table giving her a look as he accepted his beer. Gus tightened her jaw but didn't say anything as she strode over to the sofa, flopping down with a sigh.
Doyle opened his beer, taking a drink before pointing his bottle at her and saying. "let me also guess: you aren't sleeping because when you do you have nightmares, you stopped working out because you are too tired from the not eating and not sleeping but you still manage to have the energy to stay at work, even if you are sitting at an empty desk after everyone else has gone home because it is better than sitting in the silence of your place and having to actually, I don't know, feel something."
Gus looked around sheepishly, "Jimmy, have you been spying on me?"
"As I said, I've been there. Except I also had a crazy wife to deal with, but that's beside the point."
"Did she cope with you coming back from Iraq by drinking herself half to death and getting in fights in biker bars after trying to pick up other people's STD ridden girlfriends?" Gus spit out without thinking.
Doyle scratched his head, "so Flack is doing that well, huh?"
"Yeah, guess it answers my question on how much he was in love with Jess, huh?"
Doyle watched her for a long minute. "It isn't your job to save him, you know, maybe you should focus on healing yourself first."
"I'm not sure I know where to start doing that, or even if I deserve to."
Doyle set his beer down very carefully on the coffee table, torn between trying to be patient and wanting to shake her.
"I don't want to hear that shit, Gus, of course you deserve to heal. You didn't put that bullet in Angell, you gave as good as you got." He leaned forward, his hands clasped as his elbows rested on his knees.
"I know I'm not responsible for her death, Jimmy, I just can't figure out why it was her and not me. Your vest not withstanding. More," she gestured, "cosmically."
"None of us know when our ticket is going to get punched, kid, but I can't get why you are stuck on thinking it should have been you we were putting on our dress blues for."
Gus shrugged, working her fingernail underneath the label on the neck of the bottle, "I dunno, just seems like I don't have half of what Jess had going for her. She probably could have been police commissioner one day, and you said earlier, it is amazing I haven't shot myself in the foot yet."
Doyle shook his head in protest, "don't sell yourself short. You have everything going for you and a lot of people who care about you."
"You sound like Mac," Gus said, still messing with the label.
Doyle reached out, covering her hand with his own, bringing it toward them, "he's a smart guy, you might want to start listening to him." Gus thought about pulling her hand away, but there was something reassuring about the weight of having someone else hold it, someone who seemed to understand at least slightly what was happening to her and was reaching out.
She nodded slightly, not looking convinced.
"I'm not telling you you're just going to wake up one morning and be fine," Doyle went on, "but time does help. Forgiving yourself for whatever you're punishing yourself for goes a long way as well."
Gus removed her hand from his, turning to face him, "It isn't about punishment, Jimmy, it's about...aw hell, I don't know what it is about, I just feel like thing would probably be easier on everyone if it had been me instead of her."
Doyle looked at her gravely, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, a seemingly simple gesture that suddenly held a lot more weight, especially as his hand rested on her shoulder. "It wouldn't have been for me, Gus."
Gus realized she needed to take that opening, "that night, before the shooting..." she started before she lost the nerve.
"Yeah?" Doyle said, not adding anything like she had hoped, but a small smile surfacing on his serious face.
"Do you regret it?" she asked, steeling herself for his affirmative answer.
"Was it a little rash and fueled mainly by consuming a ridiculous amount of whiskey? Yes. Would I have liked it to have happened a bit more traditionally? Yes. Do I regret it? No. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat."
He took his hand from his shoulder, tracing gently down her arm. "In fact, cosmically speaking as you said, maybe you were supposed to spend the night."
Gus didn't respond, feeling like she was trying to climb up from the bottom of a deep pit. She was struggling with her feelings for Flack, which were constantly challenged by the ghost of Angell, and she realized Cade.
She was also struggling with the fact that there was a very sweet guy in front of her, that she had willingly slept with, who had saved her life and actually seemed interested in her emotional well-being and not just using her for his own selfish healing or shutting her out.
"Do you regret it?" Doyle asked finally, his hand resting on the inside of her knee that was propped up as she sat criss-cross on the sofa.
Gus shook her head, "no, I don't think so. I mean I agree with everything you said, and yeah if I hadn't been there I wouldn't have had the vest and...but what if things get so bad in homicide that I want to transfer to Special Vics, is that offer even still there now?"
Doyle gave a small laugh, "your career is what you are worried about? Sure you ain't a guy? You want to transfer to Special Vics, I'll sign the paperwork in a heartbeat. You are a great cop whether or not we slept together. We'd be professionals, acknowledge it and move on. Mind you, it couldn't ever happen again if you were working for me, that is a whole can of worms I am not going to open."
Gus nodded in agreement, when something he had said before struck her. "What do you mean more traditionally speaking or in a heartbeat?"
Doyle squeezed lightly with a smile, "you don't miss a beat or let anything go, do you?"
Gus just kept looking at him, waiting for him to answer. He gave a small sigh. "I married my college sweetheart, did the proposal for graduation thing, we had dated for three and a half years, steady. Always did things by the book, flowers, candy, courting..."
Gus tried to not laugh at his earnestness, "being a gentleman, I recall," she said clearing her throat.
The smile returned to his face, "yeah, a gentleman, wasn't such a bad thing, I thought, until she left me for a jerk. So, I am not good at what you crazy kids are into these days, all this hooking up and friends with benefits."
"Jimmy, I am not that much younger than you!" Gus threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Eight years, may as well be an eternity. Face it, I'm old."
"Should I get you some prune juice and isn't it past your bedtime?" Gus teased.
"Fine, not old. At least out of touch. I've heard some of my guys talking about their conquests." He looked grim at the knowledge.
"There is nothing wrong with being a traditionalist, Jimmy, I swear. Most women want that or should at least, when they are done whoring it up at nightclubs. Assuming they don't get sold into sex slavery, that is." Gallows humor gave them both a bit of brevity.
Doyle turned back facing away from Gus drinking his beer. Gus bit her lip, debating before pushing again. "That in a heartbeat bit?" she pressed on.
He took the time to drain his beer before answering, looking forward instead of at her. "Ball is in your court, Broussard, but if you call, I'm probably going to answer."
Gus detected the tiniest bit of color rising in his cheeks, something she found slightly endearing. She went back to peeling off the label from her bottle, in order for him to stop feeling scrutinized.
"Wouldn't want you whoring it up in nightclubs," he said with a wicked grin, rising and taking both their bottles to the kitchen to drop them in the recycling bin.
Gus wasn't sure how to react, it was nice to have some semblance of power back in her life, but she knew she wasn't ready for anything serious, unless it was back with Flack.
Yet there was something about the comfort and safety that Jimmy provided, something she wasn't willing to let slip through her fingers.
She must have furrowed her brow because when Doyle came back he said, "you'll give yourself wrinkles, you keep doing that." He placed another beer in front of her, "thought we could use another round, unless you want me to go." He looked down at her questioningly.
Gus glanced up, giving him the smallest of smiles, "no, stay, how about we see if there is anything on the five hundred channels I pay for but never watch?"
"Sounds good to me, I've relied on rabbit ears for eight months," he replied, looking as relaxed as if they had chatted about how the Giants would do this season.
Gus decided to roll with it, feeling like if things weren't resolved between them, at least they weren't strained. There was a level of comfort and familiarity with Jimmy. Gus wasn't sure if it was because of all the time they spent together on the Shirazi case or if it was because he understood more of what she was going through than even she did.
Either way, she gave herself permission to just sink into it, at least for the moment. Which is how she ended up falling asleep, tucked against Jimmy's side, his arm wrapped around her like a safety net, keeping the nightmares at bay.
When her phone started buzzing around 3am, Doyle woke with a start, looking down at Gus peacefully asleep with her head on his lap.
He saw Don Flack's name appear on the screen, recalling her comment from earlier about Flack's lack of coping skills. He reached toward the phone, praying her didn't wake her.
He pressed the power down button sending Flack's call to voice mail before carefully lifting Gus up and carrying her to her bedroom. Doyle was able to set her down on her bed and slip out of the apartment without her even stirring.
Chapter 87: Everyone is Waiting
Gus woke only when the beam of sunlight fell on her face from the window, the blinds open from the day before. The heat and light on her face stirred her awake with a gentleness she hadn't felt in months.
She sat up, slightly confused about why she was on top of her covers and still in her clothes. The last thing she remembered was lounging on the couch watching a bad action flick with... "Doyle," she murmured, realizing he must have carried her to her bedroom.
Apparently he had been serious about that gentleman thing. The crushing weight of reality struck her only when she looked at the clock and saw how late in the day it was and she realized her phone was not in its bedside charger.
Her phone, where was her phone? She jumped up and ran to the living room, finding it powered off on the coffee table.
"Doyle," she said again, this time a little more annoyed.
Gus was already preparing herself for the earful she would get from Daddino for practically being a no-show, even if she was still on cold cases.
She powered it on, drumming on the table as she impatiently waited. The notifications pinged from the moment it connected. Missed calls, voice mails, texts, emails...Gus didn't even know where to start.
Voice mails, she decided, figuring they were probably the most pressing. She listened in, confused about Daddino was calling to tell her to not worry about it, he would catch her the next shift, though they would need to discuss about her partnership soon.
"That will be fun," she sighed as she listened to the next voice mail, this one from Lindsay inquiring about how she was doing with more than a hint of curiosity in the other woman's voice.
The last message was from Parker telling her she picked a crap night off from following Flack, that the other detective had come in looking like death warmed over and was acting like a rabid animal but that he hoped she had enjoyed herself but she needed to get her ass back from Special Vics.
The messages made a lot more sense when she saw the text from Doyle: Figured you could use the sleep, told Tony I was stealing you for a cold case lead today. Rest up, kid, enjoy your day off-Jimmy
She scrolled through the missed call log, wincing as she discovered Flack had called five times between the night before and then, though he hadn't bothered to leave a message or text. Gus felt waves of guilt wash over her for not checking in on him, what if he had needed her?
She knew she needed to unchain herself from him, to let Flack have space, especially considering how their last conversation had unfolded.
Gus did her best to follow Doyle's instructions, though it felt strange to not be at work and essentially be playing hooky. She indulged in a long bubble bath, actually picked up some groceries for her barren kitchen and opened one of her well-loved books.
She forced herself to go to bed early, though she kept her phone close at hand in case Flack called her again. Gus woke before her alarm early the next morning, feeling slightly better than she had in months. This all came crashing down as she entered the pit the next morning.
"Nice of you to find your way back to homicide, you know, your actual department," Flack spat as she walked to her desk and slung her blazer over her chair.
"What do you care? I was working on a cold case, like I was ordered to this rotation, thanks to you," Gus shot right back, even though she had worried about Flack since seeing those missed calls and that he hadn't called the night before.
"I don't care, Hawkes might though," Flack snapped. Gus waited for him to elaborate, tapping her foot against the floor and trying to ignore everyone staring at them. "I just got out of interviewing him."
"Interviewing Sheldon? For what?" Gus' demeanor immediately softened, concern overtaking her face.
Flack felt some of his anger subside at her transformation. He wasn't angry at her, more perplexed at where she had disappeared to, why she hadn't followed him the last couple of nights to make sure he got home safe.
He knew she had been at it for weeks, since their last argument, when he had put his fist through the wall next to her, scaring himself as much as he scared her.
Flack was trying to lie to himself, about so much these days, but he couldn't make himself believe that he wasn't ashamed for pushing Gus away, especially since it seemed like he might have succeeded in doing so permanently.
He lowered his voice, pointing with his chin toward the interview rooms, "let's talk in there."
Gus followed, refusing to sit even as Flack pulled out a chair for her. "What is going on with Sheldon?" she asked, her eyes wide with distress.
"He got picked up early this morning while Major Case was serving a warrant on a buddy of his for embezzlement, he was sleeping on his couch," Flack said, sitting in the chair across the table from her, working his jaw.
Gus resignedly sat as well, "maybe he was just crashing out after a long day..." she trailed off.
"What he call you to work out his story?" Flack asked, his eyes flashing.
Gus shook his head, "no, of course not. I feel like I am missing something here, Don!"
Flack gave a small snort, "you could say that."
"How about you fill me in."
"First off, we had a vic yesterday who Sheldon had treated with his medical volunteer thingy, but didn't think it was a big deal. Turns out the vic was poisoned with some long chemical name that someone spiked his OJ with. Then I get dragged across town with Stella to some splooshing party where people are playing with their food in nasty ways, and I can't unsee it. Last night we find the body of the vics girlfriend taking a dirt nap in her bathtub, same poison and then this morning, I get a call on my way in that Major Crimes picked up Sheldon. It sas been a long couple of days and I hope you enjoyed gallivanting with Special Vics. Again. You put in your transfer papers yet?" Flack snipped.
"Should I? Heard you weren't playing nice with anyone else here," Gus retorted, rising from her seat, wanting to head over to the lab to see what was going on with Sheldon.
"As I said the other night, I am fine on my own!" Flack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gus leaned over the table, placing her palms at it and lowering her head toward him. Her tone and expression grave, "I didn't believe you then and I don't believe you now. I'm going to check in with Daddino and then I am heading up to the lab."
"Damned if I do and damned if I don't, Broussard," Daddino said as Gus entered his office.
"Sir?" Gus squeaked out.
"Link you up with Flack, you two are like wet cats fighting in a bag, leave him on his own and everyone else is complaining about his less than winning personality and I gotta worry he is going to do something stupid."
Gus chewed on her lip, worried. "Where does that leave me, professionally, sir?"
Daddino drummed his fingers on his desk, "I am trying to figure that one out, Broussard, but back to the freezer for you for now."
Gus started to leave but Daddino spoke again. "You get anywhere with Doyle?"
Gus gave an honest shrug, replying with a smirk, "maybe, who knows?" she replied, heading out with a shake of her head.
She headed toward the lab only to run into Doyle himself. "You look slightly less like a zombie," he remarked.
"Thanks, I think," Gus said with a small smile, "thanks for the opportunity at the least, you didn't have to."
Doyle shrugged, "seemed like you could use a break. Know it was just a day..." he trailed off, looking suddenly bashful.
"Jimmy?" Gus inquired with raised eyebrows.
"You aren't ticked off about me turning off your phone, are you?" he asked rubbing at his neck.
Gus heaved a sigh, "Lord knows I should do it more often myself. Apparently I missed some stuff going down, but it is probably for the best. Maybe."
Doyle gave a short bark of a laugh, "well as long as you are sure. You want to catch a cup of coffee?" He asked so seamlessly that Gus almost agreed.
"Sure," she started before shaking her head, "nah, I need to get up to the lab, see what is going on with Hawkes."
"You don't have to save everyone, Broussard."
"I am not saving anyone, Doyle, I am checking in on a friend. Something I have been rather remiss in while being a zombie," she replied with a teasing tone.
"I'll let you get to it. Let me know if you still want to check out that 'resto' around the corner," he said with a grin, making mocking air quotes.
"I am never suggesting another restaurant. See you around, Jimmy, and thanks again," Gus said, with a wave over her shoulder as she walked quickly away.
"You do not need any more complications or people in your life, Augusta," she scolded herself as she crossed the bridge to the lab.
"Oh, hey, Gus," Stella said greeting her as she entered the lab. "We are a little stacked up on this Stafford mess, so it will be a while before we can run any cold evidence."
Gus inwardly groaned, apparently she had been sponging off the lab a little too much as of late. "I wasn't coming up here for evidence, Stel, I was actually wanting to check on Sheldon. You don't show up to homicide for one day..." Gus gave a shrug.
"He, Mac and Don just left, I got a print for a suspect and they are running him down now," Stella replied, as she moved closer and lowered her voice.
"You don't know what is going on with him, do you?"
"Which one?" Gus retorted with a smirk.
"Good point," Stella smiled back. "In this instance, I was talking about Sheldon. He seem off to you lately?"
Gus wrinkled her nose, "I am not the best person to ask, Stella. I have been pretty much a crap friend lately. To all of you. I am sorry for that, by the way."
Stella looked at the other woman seriously, placing her hand on Gus' shoulder. "Look now, don't do that, don't beat yourself up. We all know you've tried to keep Don in line and that cannot be the easiest job. Mac is worried about you, more than he is letting on. You are his family, Gus, we all are, but you really are. Take care of yourself, okay?"
Gus was sure Stella was trying to convey concern, but her talk really just made Gus more guilty. She should be handling everything better and the last thing she wanted was to make Mac worry. She had done that far too much since Claire met him.
She only realized Stella was still talking to her when the other woman dropped her hand from her shoulder. "You still there, Gus?"
"What, sorry, Stel, I'm just...spacey. I'll check back later, let me know if you find anything more about what is happening with Sheldon, okay?"
"Will do, and I meant what I said, take care of yourself."
Gus nodded, muttering to herself as she walked away, "why does everyone keep telling me that?"
Gus' guilt magnified even further when Flack dropped by her desk later. "Case closed and Sheldon mystery solved," he said, leaning against her desk.
Gus looked up from the file she was lost in, "what is it?"
"Apparently Sheldon sunk all his money with a less than prudent financial advisor and, poof, it's all gone. He sold his condo, but wasn't able to sign another lease yet. He was couch surfing with that douche bag friend. Get this, your Uncle is willingly sharing his space with him."
Gus made a face, "it must be bad, Mac barely tolerated me there after..." she trailed off.
Flack shrugged, "maybe he has changed." He stared at her for a long beat, "maybe we all have changed."
"Oh good, you two are talking to each other without screaming," Daddino said, coming up behind them.
Both of their heads whipped his way, eyebrows raised in mirror images of each other. Daddino hid a smile.
"If you two can manage to not rip each others heads off, I am putting Broussard back in the field next rotation. Don't even think about giving me any of that I work better alone crap, Junior, I got chewed out by Brass for letting you go all cowboy this past rotation. It's her or Lafferty and I suggest you choose wisely on who you want to spend the next rotation with."
Gus glowered, not sure what to make of the order, though she knew better than to argue. Not to mention she hadn't been able to make much headway on cold cases the past few weeks.
She was itching to be back out in the field, where she could focus. Flipping through old files, gave her too much time for her mind to wander, worry and guilt to creep in, the loop of the shooting to play over and over in her mind, bringing with it all the other memories she had worked so hard to keep locked away.
Flack stood there, working his jaw, not liking being told what to do, even if by his superior officer. It wasn't that he wanted to work alone, he just couldn't handle being around other people. The constant checking up on him or awkward silences.
Gus was his best option given the choices, but there was so much tension between them and he knew their relationship was currently a ticking time bomb and everyone was waiting for it to explode.
"Fine, Broussard it is," he said finally, as Daddino waited impatiently for his answer.
"Good. But I am keeping my eye on both of you, act like god damn grown ups, would you?" he said, storming back to his office.
"I guess you just can't get rid of me, huh?" Gus said sheepishly.
Flack furrowed his brow, "at least not until Doyle steals you permanently."
There was something in his tone that caught her attention. Was he jealous? She debated pressing him on it, but her guilt over not having any clue over what had happened with Sheldon stopped her.
"I'm going to see how Sheldon is doing, see you tomorrow," she said, giving him a small salute.
"Yeah, tomorrow," Flack replied, wondering if she was going to pick back up her sleuthing of his nighttime activities now that they we're partnered again. He watched her walk away, shaking his head, feeling distinct unease.