Открыть фик целиком в отдельном окне
“Actually, so are we. This is not normally our brief, however, there is evidence of cult activities and we have investigated them before so we can provide insight. As far as the rest, it’s basically lab work and chemical analysis. Our mobile lab is better equipped than the forensic teams and we are more attuned to looking for the needle.”
“Good call in my book. The FBI have been sitting on their thumbs for too long over this one.”
“Glad to know. So you’ll be senior liaison?”
“Yeah, but protocol puts you in charge, just not in the field. We want to keep the civilians at arm’s length.” Jarrod’s smile was easy, but behind the deep gray eyes was the haunted look of a man who had seen far too much.
“Considerate of the powers that be.” Connor smiled and nearly ran headlong into Peter, who was studying Anton’s files and making hastily scrawled notes in the margins as he barreled along the corridor.
“Peter?” Jarrod’s smile was genuine and Peter stopped, barely breathing, before he drew back in on himself.
“Been a long time.” Peter extended his hand and nodded.
“Yeah, so you changed agencies?”
“Didn’t really have a choice, Jarrod. Besides, pay is better here.” Peter smiled thinly.
“Sure.” Jarrod read the situation perfectly and stepped back, aware that Doyle knew nothing of the past and nothing of the anguish in the man before him. Instead, he inclined his head and turned to follow Connor through the labs. “We will get them this time, Peter. Nicky was my partner too.”
Peter nodded, dropped the files off to Anton’s room, and collected his coat.
***
Connor sighed, the meeting had been long and arduous and Peter had been conspicuous by his absence. Doyle knew where he’d be, where he always went when he was troubled. The bar was small and off the beaten track, dark wood and dark interior, nothing cheerful except for the hockey on the small TV in the corner; and propped at the end of the bar Peter sat slumped, already well into his cups.
"You missed the meeting, Peter.”
"I'm surprised you even noticed. Baselines are clear, tox screens are negative, a trained monkey could do that, Connor."
"So Lindsay was right, you’ve had another offer.”
“You seem surprised; I get offers all the time.”
“Yes, but normally you don’t consider them; or if you do, you talk to me. Seems the communication has been missing around this one.”
“Perhaps because it’s something I’ve got to do on my own.” Peter signaled the barkeeper for another beer and looked at Connor who declined.
“And this case has nothing to do with it?” Connor propped on the barstool and stared hard at the fatigue lines around the almost boyish face, realizing belatedly that Axon probably hadn’t slept in some time.
“Maybe it’s the straw.”
“So let me just clarify this, you are considering resigning.”
“No, actually it’s the reason why I have resigned.” Peter drained the bottle and swirled the last half inch in the bottom.
“What?” Connor couldn’t hide his surprise as he stared hard at his friend.
“Frank should have the fax now.”
“Fuck, Peter! When were you going to tell me?” Connor demanded angrily.
“When I thought it was any of your damned business.” Peter rounded, the anger evident. He did not want to have this conversation, did not even want Connor to be here with him.
“I understand lack of job satisfaction, Peter, but you could have come to me. You cut me out of the loop and I can’t protect you when you do that.”
“Job satisfaction? That’s only a part of the equation, Professor.”
"What’s the other part?" Connor gave in as the barkeeper brought the next round and ordered a scotch
"The other part, Professor, is personal." Peter was distant, emotionally cold, and it was something that made Doyle ache.
“Okay, I can’t make you tell me, but you should talk to someone." Doyle kept his posture and his voice passive, aware of the inner turmoil in both of them.
"No point; every one has his own demons, Connor. Maybe this is all I have left."
"Peter?"
"No, you don’t need to be here. You have a job you enjoy and you don’t have to worry about a disgruntled colleague. I suggest you go back to the lab, Connor; make a difference." Peter waved his hand at him dismissively.
"I thought we were friends, Peter; that gives me the right to be concerned about you."
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