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First Impressions #4 – Cowley’s POV
Lessons
by Allie
Cowley was beginning to think he’d made a mistake. Oh, nothing had gone wrong thus far. The volatile Doyle and the arrogant Bodie hadn’t fought or rebelled or even started jockeying for position yet. But then, Doyle had been in the hospital for most of the time.
That concerned Cowley as well. The man should not have got pneumonia—the course wasn’t that difficult, surely—and since Doyle had, was he continually going to be pushing himself past his limits and ending up in the hospital? Cowley didn’t need that, a fragile agent.
Doyle had certainly done well on all the tests he’d had, especially for a sick man. He was also underweight, extremely depressed and had severe anger issues. The best agent in the world might turn out to be useless if he allowed these things to get the better of him.
It was difficult to tell whether or not he would, since he’d just got out of the hospital today. Cowley had kept a close eye on things, and the moment he thought the doctors were being too cautious, had ordered Doyle back. He didn’t need someone who had to be coddled—or would come to expect it. The doctors said he should really stay for a few more days, but Cowley said nonsense, he was only going to be doing class work at present anyway.
Doyle’s face was haggard, he still had a cough and he looked dreadfully thin, but his eyes were a little clearer and Cowley thought he was glad to be out of the hospital and working at CI5.
Bodie was positively buoyant. He’d been kept out of class work for those few days while his partner was in hospital and used the time to jaunt around, training further and putting extra practice in on his weapons. Especially, Cowley had noticed, with handguns. He put on airs with the other students, grinning because he had the run of the place and no class work yet, and had got the overall best scores during training.
There was a maniacal cheerfulness about him if he had a weapon in his hands; he loved testing himself physically against any and all challenges.
He had kept his temper under control, except for the one time when he’d shouted at Macklin. But Cowley held that to his advantage, leading as it did to a tenuous partnership with Doyle. If Bodie could be teamed with someone instead of working as a loner, Cowley had more hope for him lasting in this gruelling and sometimes frankly unrewarding profession.
Cowley still had his doubts about Bodie, however. The man thrived on adrenaline and action, and seemed to feel the need to be the best at everything. He was quite happy when he seemed to think his superiority was assured and the novelty of CI5 hadn’t worn off yet. But what about when he wasn’t the best, or the novelty wore off?
What about the long hours on stakeout, the boring paperwork, the frustrating and dull cases without satisfactory resolution and the times when he wouldn’t be superior to anyone? Would he quickly throw in the towel then? His past had showed him as someone who had quite a flair for running off. The Merchant Marines. Africa. The army. Now CI5. Always somewhere new, no ties, Bodie glad to drop anchor in any new port, stay as long as he wanted and then take off again cheerfully, apparently glad to break any ties—if he’d made any in the first place.
Oh, and there was a darkness in him, as well. It was there, hidden in Cowley’s reports and the interviews with Bodie. He’d conducted some of them himself, watched others from behind two way glass. He’d read the transcripts and seen the arrogant, hard face of a man who did not look back—who refused to regret any decision he’d made, no matter what.
Someone so hard and unyielding had his place, of course, but was it in CI5? Perhaps Bodie was fit only to be a soldier. It was what he was brought up to be: a man who listened to orders and didn’t have to gauge his own level of response or ferocity, simply do as he was told. Could he be trusted when it came time to show initiative?
Bodie didn’t have Doyle’s propensity to go off like an angry rocket, but he had a danger inside him that could not but affect his job. That was well and good, if he learned the limits. If he used his skills to get results (without breaking heads simply because he decided they needed broken, without finding malicious joy in the deed for its own sake), then he could be a fine agent, one of the very best.
In short, Cowley wanted Bodie and Doyle to both work out—separately if they must, together if they could—but he was by no means certain that they would. They were still very much untried.
#
Cowley noticed that, with the return of Doyle, Bodie looked extra pleased with himself and with Doyle—as if with the novelty of a new toy. How would he view the partnership once that wore off? They would have to work it out themselves, but Cowley was certainly keeping an eye on things.
Doyle was still touch and go, but he had the heart to be a lion at this job, if he put his shoulder to the harness. And could contain his anger.
They’d be a good team: perhaps. Cowley hoped he’d been right, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d made a mistake. No indeed. But how could he do otherwise than try to team them, when Bodie revealed for the first time his ability to look after someone beside himself?
Macklin said he could really make something of them if Cowley gave them a free hand. Cowley said no. He would decide when and how much training.
Because Macklin had no ‘off’ switch, he was not the best to decide such things. Even though Macklin was invaluable and trusted, Cowley had to see the cracks there: the fear that drove the ferocity. He had to use Macklin for best results, as he used all of them: balancing each agent’s strengths and weaknesses.
Towser was a help with this. He was so strong and calm, it couldn’t help but rub off on Macklin. Cowley thought that subconsciously, having Towser nearby helped keep Macklin’s old fears at bay. Towser was protection. Though Macklin knew that he would never again be in field work, never again be captured and helpless at enemy hands, or halfway killed and left for dead...he knew it even more when a strong man he trusted was at his back, training with him.
Of course Cowley never said any of this to Macklin. Surely there was enough in Macklin’s folder to keep a psychiatrist busy for years! But he didn’t have to hear any of it from Cowley: Macklin knew enough of the things that drove him and haunted him, that had changed him from the man he’d been, and made a fiercer trainer than anything else could’ve done.
#
Frankly, Bodie seemed even fuller of himself when he was with Doyle. He had a jaunty walk and a smirk; he stuck his hands in his pockets when looking particularly pleased. Cowley watched them from down the hall. Bodie appeared to be teasing Doyle, or telling him a joke about something. From Doyle’s expression, it wasn’t working too well for him. He was attempting to ignore the other man. He stood quite straight, even if he did look like a wind might blow him over.
He’d changed back into his own clothes, ridiculously old blue jeans and a shirt that looked like it had been bought second- or third-hand.
Bodie bounced slightly on the end of his feet, wearing that big grin that looked like he was going to burst out laughing any second. Well, he liked Doyle, at least. That was something. Or perhaps it wasn’t and he just enjoyed teasing the man.
Bodie caught sight of Cowley down the hall and grinned. He turned to face Doyle again and plucked on his sleeve, turning him gently round and pointing down the hall to Cowley. Then he waved childishly and quickly turned it into a salute, trying to swallow his smirk.
That lad would need brought into line, thought Cowley, keeping his gaze hard and stern.
Bodie caught Doyle’s wrist and raised it, making his hand wave a little as well. Doyle cast a quick, startled look at him and pulled his arm free, frowning.
Bodie smirked.
“Bodie! Doyle! A little more respect, gentlemen,” snapped Cowley, “or I’ll send you back to Macklin!”
He returned to his office and shut the door with force. Bodie’s smirk had been swallowed and Doyle turned an accusing look on his partner.
Hm. That little scenario led into Cowley’s other concern about Bodie.
Since he’d missed out on the classroom work so far, Bodie hadn’t heard Cowley’s speech about not having ranks in CI5—about being a team, with neither member of a partnership in charge of the other. Bodie seemed, by his buoyant and proprietary attitude, to have the idea that Doyle was his personal possession, a novelty toy that he would look after or boss around as he pleased.
He’d never worked closely with a partner that Cowley could tell from his files. He obviously had no idea how this worked and was going to be in for a shock sooner or later. Cowley hoped they would sort it out. He could only do his best to prepare them for their partnership.
When it was time, they were quiet and paid attention to his speech about chalk and cheese, the Bisto Kids, and nobody having top rank in the partnership.
Then with a few stern words about needing to work twice as hard or they’d be left behind, he turned them over to the other classes, where they would sit in on lectures and play catch-up with their reading and tests in subjects varying from but not limited to weapons’ capacities, hostage scenarios, guarding buildings and tailing theory.
But of his own speech and introduction, he had no idea how much they actually took in, understood, or meant to apply. Only time would prove that. And prove whether they were fit to be CI5 agents or no.
#
Later that very day at the far end of the lunch room, Cowley glimpsed a particularly ‘playful’ stunt from Bodie that made him wonder if the man had been listening at all.
Bodie started teasing his partner with a makeshift sock puppet, ‘talking’ it in a teasing gruff voice and making it nip at Doyle’s arm and hair. He kept it up till Doyle snapped and started at him with his fists, steak-and-kidney forgotten in the uproar. The other agents got free entertainment with their meals. Bodie howled in laughter and fended Doyle off rather easily. Doyle must still be weak from the hospital.
Cowley realised he was going to have to do something, before this got out of hand. One speech was apparently not enough to get through to Bodie.
He called Bodie into his office afterwards and laid into him: first about carrying on like a child during mealtime. Once Bodie seemed properly chastened and in order about that, Cowley began talking to him about how he was behaving with Doyle. “But that’s not the worst of it, man. You need to rethink how you interact with Doyle. He’s not a toy.”
Bodie was wearing his soldier-at-attention face. He looked blank and vague. “A toy, sir?”
“I said, he’s not a toy!” said Cowley sharply.
Bodie said, “No sir,” but his eyes were cast down and Cowley glimpsed a mutinous disbelief under those long lashes—one he hadn’t displayed when scolded for making a scene during lunch. Apparently Bodie had quite accepted his guilt about the former, but refused to do the same about provoking Doyle.
Cowley sighed inwardly. He would try to explain more clearly. “This is a new arrangement for you, but it’s not for him. He knows what it means to have a partner—to trust someone with your life every day. But you are acting like it’s all a game—as if he’s here to amuse you. He’s not. He’s here to trust with your life, Bodie.”
“Yes sir, I’m working on it, sir.” Bodie looked so full of himself, for a moment, Cowley wanted to smack him. It wouldn’t help, of course. He needed reasoned with; he simply couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he was behaving.
“Yes, and you’re also amusing yourself by trying to gain his trust. Visits to the hospital, sneaking food in to him. Don’t think I didn’t hear about that.”
Bodie pretended to look ashamed, but anyone with half a brain could see he wasn’t. “No sir.”
Cowley sat back down. “If you do get past his barriers and he decides to trust you, then what? Have you thought about the permanency of that arrangement? You don’t make or undo a partnership—not a real one—on a whim. It’s fine and well to say this is temporary, but if it works out, it isn’t, not at all.
“If he’s really your partner, then you’re stuck. You belong not just to me and CI5, but to him—permanently. He will see it that way, if you don’t, because he knows what a partnership is. And if you create that on a whim, you’ll break it on a whim—and ruin a perfectly good agent in the process. Are you ready for a real partnership, or does Doyle have the right of it? He doesn’t trust you, you know. I can see it in his eyes.”
Bodie’s eyes flashed. “I know that, sir. But he will. And maybe I am ready for that—that real partnership, sir. Maybe I want that.”
Cowley stared at him. “But you’re not sure, are you?”
Bodie’s face became animated with a sudden, almost shy look. “Sir, I thought it had been a few months since Syd Parker died. It hasn’t. It’s been years. He’ll be loyal to that man as long as he lives.” Enthusiasm shone on Bodie’s face, and a kind of awe. “Only think, if I can gain his trust, he’ll be that loyal to me, too!”
Cowley sighed. “Loyalty works both ways, Bodie. Sometimes life is not a simple mathematical problem—addition and subtraction. Sometimes it is calculus. Sometimes it’s rocket science!”
He sighed and rose. “The partnership needs tested and if it can’t endure those tests, then it’s better it should end.” He motioned for Bodie to leave, tired of trying to make the uncomprehending ex-soldier understand.
Bodie left with a respectful ‘yes sir,’ and a thoughtful but stubborn look about him. It was quite obvious that he couldn’t see past the new toy stage of Doyle.
Ah, but laddie, the Doyle you think you have isn’t the real one. It’s not a game to him....
#
Cowley made certain to ask the teachers about them. Those reports were... mixed, to say the least. Bodie did well at any studies he applied himself to, but was just as prone to clown around like a schoolboy or write silly answers in the margins of his tests. The boy who had run away from home (and school) at fourteen apparently still retained his childish attitudes towards anything related to books and classrooms.
Doyle was better in this way; though he fell asleep in his classes several times, he seemed to be paying attention. He also didn’t handle the tests very well, though. He worked hard at anything he wasn’t familiar with, but on subjects where he should’ve shone, he chose wild answers as often as not, making his worst grades in what he should’ve been best at.
The teachers quickly grew frustrated with both of them and Cowley could tell, would be glad when they were sent for more physical training, failed at CI5, or were put on standby and out of their hair.
Cowley didn’t mind a few youthful larks, if they didn’t interfere with learning and the job. However, it seemed likely they did, and were. So the next time he was called on to lecture to a class he kept a special eye on the two of them. Their regular seats were towards the back of the class, but Cowley asked the instructor to move them towards the front for today. He intended to make an example out of them, if either misbehaved.
All the men filed in, hiding their nerves at being lectured by Cowley under a layer of quiet that was often missing from the beginnings and endings of a class. Cowley had often heard arguing impassionedly about one point or another, sometimes not even letting up over lunch. Today all were quiet and orderly, and very much at attention. It made Cowley smile inwardly. Good. They needed to have a healthy respect—fear, even—of their boss. It would wear off soon enough; he was no plaster god. But they needed to start out with the right attitude of respect and obedience.
Doyle, Cowley noted, was looking a little healthier: still peaked and pale, but his clothes fit him a little better, no longer looked like they were falling off a scarecrow; he was gaining weight. He sat still and kept his eyes on Cowley—except for when he kept glancing at his partner’s papers, or shifting one leg over the other, or leaning back, or otherwise moving about restlessly.
Sure enough, Bodie was the only one flagrantly not to be toeing the line. Whenever Cowley’s back was turned, he bent to doodle, smirking. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, he nudged Doyle—who tried to ignore him, then glanced at the paper and tried not to laugh. It was a look he could barely swallow in time to look innocent if Cowley’s attention returned to him. Then they looked like angels, the pair of them—Bodie more so than Doyle.
Doyle’s scarred cheekbone and expressive eyes made it difficult for him to look entirely innocent. His face and eyes revealed him too much, and the scar made him look as if he’d seen too much to be a choirboy. Bodie, however—who’d certainly lived a rough and chequered past—had the Innocent Schoolboy expression down pat. Even when he was the one causing trouble—getting Doyle to almost laugh out loud, or paying not the least bit of attention—he managed to look completely innocent a moment later, while Doyle had to struggle manfully for anything like the same effect.
It would have been instructive, even amusing, to witness their efforts at duplicity had not the setting been so serious. Cowley was giving a talk—one they needed to hear. They were cutting up and acting like children instead of paying attention. And if this was how they acted with Cowley—what hell must they put the regular teachers through?
If they had been small boys, he’d have put them over his knee one at a time and spanked them till they howled. As it was, they were men, and he had to find a man’s way of dealing with them.
He glanced back at them again from the corner of his eye and saw Bodie, with an expression of wicked glee, reaching up behind Doyle’s back. Slowly, slowly—none of the students were paying attention now, their gazes locked in horrified fascination on Bodie’s foolhardiness—the hand eased up, behind Doyle, then grabbed a big handful of curls and gave a quick tug.
Doyle, whose eyelids had been drifting sleepily, jerked upright with a strangled snort. He looked wildly around. Bodie, innocent, angelic, sat with his hands folded, and raised an enquiring eyebrow at the dark look his companion cast him.
Cowley stared at them both. “Ahem. If you two have quite finished larking about like infants?”
“Sir?” said Bodie, enquiringly. Very innocent, that lad—but completely syrupy, would never fool anyone.
“All right, Bodie. Since you’ve had enough of the class, why don’t you go run laps till we’re finished?”
Bodie’s face lit with a cheeky smile. “Yes SIR!” He popped from his seat and saluted, eagerness on his features.
Cowley started to turn back to the board and then hesitated, as if remembering something. “Don’t forget to don your scuba gear first.”
Dismay crossed that cheerful face now. Across the room, the faint laughter was stifled behind hands.
“Yes sir,” said Bodie, dismay showing clearly on his face. He went without hesitation. He could at least obey orders like a soldier, even if he couldn’t stop clowning.
Cowley looked at Doyle consideringly. Doyle looked him back frankly, meeting his gaze, not standing at attention. He looked a bit like a rat terrier that was cornered but wasn’t going down without dragging you with it by the ankles. In a way, his silent, returning stare was more disrespectful than anything Bodie had done.
But, he wasn’t a soldier and Cowley hadn’t picked him to turn him into one, he reminded himself. You had to give civilians a little slack concerning military protocols.
Cowley had been thinking hard, and one thing was for certain, he couldn’t give both men the same punishment. Doing anything together would make them a team—us versus Cowley—and let them joke and bluff their way through it together. While he wanted them to be bonded, this was not the way, and he didn’t intend to let them off easily. This punishment was meant to catch their attention, and then perhaps they wouldn’t need it again. It had to be humiliating. For Bodie, what could be more humiliating than flopping around the outside of the school in scuba gear?
For Doyle, still weak but fiercely defiant about his strength and ability to do anything and everything, restless and trapped, what could be worse than...
“Doyle, on your feet, man. To the back of the classroom, and you will hold those two buckets while you listen. Mind you don’t drop them.”
Doyle’s face was a picture as he picked up two sand buckets, left there for fires and cigarette butts. He held them and stood there looking confused. This isn’t too hard, he seemed to be thinking. Cowley did not smile, just got on with the lesson.
Every few minutes, he took note of Doyle’s growing discomfort. Doyle was not only restless standing in one spot all the while, but also hurting quite badly. The weight of the buckets, nothing for a quick jaunt, or if you could put them down every few minutes, quickly grew torturous if you had to stand in one position, very still, at the back of a classroom.
Doyle’s arms were tiring, trembling a little now, and his face was a mask of pained determination. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to relieve the strain. Cowley’s gaze snapped up to him at the back, and Doyle froze again, then slowly lowered his right foot. His face was red; half the class had looked back at him, too. He kept his eyes raised and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but even from here Cowley could see the fury burning in his eyes. Bodie might be teased later about wearing scuba gear, but Cowley wouldn’t like to stand in anyone’s shoes who laughed at Doyle later over this.
Cowley’s lecture was a long one, and he deliberately paced himself. The growing tension in the room—each time the ridiculously-suited Bodie flopped past the window on another lap, each tiny shift or muscle-tremble from Doyle—was actually a conducive atmosphere for learning, Cowley felt. It stimulated their minds something wonderfully to know what could happen to them if they didn’t pay attention. The ingenuity of his punishments ought to frighten and inspire them. Nothing like keeping them off balance to get the best out of them!
It was just past three o’clock, the normal end for the lectures (though Cowley was still going strong), when silly-sounding flapping footsteps approached the classroom. He heard a few clunks, a metallic clang, a rubbery stretching sound. Then Bodie blundered into the classroom, disarrayed and obviously fresh from his run and his hot wetsuit. He was completely bathed in sweat and breathing hard. Otherwise, he didn’t look worse for the wear. It had taken the edge off him, and he definitely needed a shower, but it hadn’t harmed him any. With a civilian Cowley might have been more hesitant to put him out in the hot sun in such conditions, but he knew what Bodie could handle, and it hadn’t hurt the ex-soldier any—the man who had worked in African heat for several years.
Bodie stopped at the sight of the class still in session. He caught sight of his partner at the back and did a double take, blinking.
“Ah, Bodie, done so soon? The class is still in session,” said Cowley. He kept his voice mildly enquiring, but could almost hear the class holding their breath, fascinated at the train wreck developing, and wondering what Bodie’s next punishment would be.
“Sorry sir, thought it ended at three. Shall I go back?”
“No, sit down and pay attention for once in your life.” He turned back to the chalkboard, and continued his lecture.
Bodie meekly took his seat, glancing back once at his partner with what might as well have been a huge question mark over his head. The edge was certainly off Bodie—he sat drained and quiet in his chair. You could almost hear the class wondering about Doyle, how long his punishment (and the rest of the lecture) would last.
“Doyle.” Cowley raised his voice. Everyone was paying minute attention, whilst trying to pretend to be focusing on their notes. “What would the correct weapon be in this situation?” He called on the ex-policeman as if he were sitting in class taking notes like the rest of them. Everyone turned to look at Doyle. He looked decidedly pale, arms visibly jerking with the effort to not drop the buckets, even his fury eaten up by his stubbornness as he used both to keep himself in position.
“The knife,” said Doyle in a very strained sort of voice. “Too close and dangerous to use a gun, too many civilians about. Sir,” he added, with a defiant twist of his lip.
“Very good, Doyle. At least someone has been paying attention.” He turned back to the chalkboard, wrote another note and continued talking for another five minutes.
By now Doyle must want to scream from pain. It had been a long time, and at this point every second felt like minutes, every minute like hours. Cowley had suffered this punishment himself in his younger years, but it was no good letting up too easily. He knew very well the ex-detective constable was more defiant now than when he’d started. The defiant Doyle very well might sooner die than give in at this point—but he’d learn not to cross Cowley, even if it cost him something today.
Bodie had had worse behaviour in class, but Cowley could see Doyle was the one who most badly needed brought into line. Something in him simply refused to submit.
Cowley finally finished the talk—slowly—after a few instructive reminisces that brought smiles to his face, and ended the lectures on a high note that had to mix frighteningly with the knowledge of the punishment still being meted out. “All right, dismissed. And I expect to hear good reports from your teachers from all of you, regarding the next test.” The other agents filed out in relief, hurrying, casting frankly curious looks at Doyle as they passed. They would have something to talk over today—and they would have an example not to cross their boss.
Doyle’s punishment seemed to be working best for that purpose, brought home as it was by his pale face tight with fury and agony. Bodie’s punishment, though sounding worse and with an element of the ridiculous about it, had been carried off well by the ex-soldier. He would receive good-natured ribbing about it later, and carry that off well, too. Whereas Doyle...
Bodie hopped from his seat and strode back towards Doyle. “C’mon, mate, let’s go,” he said in a low voice.
Doyle ignored him. His chin jerked up and forward, and he was staring straight at Cowley. Even from here, the shaking of his muscles was visible.
“Doyle,” said Bodie, in a low, serious voice. There was no laughter in him now, none at all. “Not now. C’mon mate.” He caught one of the buckets, and tried to pry Doyle’s fingers loose from it. The muscles had clamped tight and stiff; it was hard to get his hand open.
“Bodie,” said Cowley, his voice like a whip. “Leave him.” He collected his notes, and tamped them into place.
[[[continued next post!]]]
part 2: http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/208580.html
Title: "Lessons" (part 1)
Author: Allie
Slash or Gen: Gen
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: if you like
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above): same
Disclaimer: They aren't mine.
Notes: Cowley's POV!!!! Yay!!! :D I can hardly believe that this is done under the deadline. I owe Shirl a big thank-you for her swift and helpful beta work. I also really appreciate every comment I got. Thanks for letting me play. :)
This one takes place after the other three. :) Part two to follow. (It was just a bit long for one post.)
First Impressions Series:
#1: Broken Reeds
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207295.html
#2: Maniacs and Men
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207802.html
#3: In Hospital, or Chocolates and Chips
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207941.html
inlovewithboth for her hard work beta'ing!!!!! :DFirst Impressions #4 – Cowley’s POV
Lessons
by Allie
Cowley was beginning to think he’d made a mistake. Oh, nothing had gone wrong thus far. The volatile Doyle and the arrogant Bodie hadn’t fought or rebelled or even started jockeying for position yet. But then, Doyle had been in the hospital for most of the time.
That concerned Cowley as well. The man should not have got pneumonia—the course wasn’t that difficult, surely—and since Doyle had, was he continually going to be pushing himself past his limits and ending up in the hospital? Cowley didn’t need that, a fragile agent.
Doyle had certainly done well on all the tests he’d had, especially for a sick man. He was also underweight, extremely depressed and had severe anger issues. The best agent in the world might turn out to be useless if he allowed these things to get the better of him.
It was difficult to tell whether or not he would, since he’d just got out of the hospital today. Cowley had kept a close eye on things, and the moment he thought the doctors were being too cautious, had ordered Doyle back. He didn’t need someone who had to be coddled—or would come to expect it. The doctors said he should really stay for a few more days, but Cowley said nonsense, he was only going to be doing class work at present anyway.
Doyle’s face was haggard, he still had a cough and he looked dreadfully thin, but his eyes were a little clearer and Cowley thought he was glad to be out of the hospital and working at CI5.
Bodie was positively buoyant. He’d been kept out of class work for those few days while his partner was in hospital and used the time to jaunt around, training further and putting extra practice in on his weapons. Especially, Cowley had noticed, with handguns. He put on airs with the other students, grinning because he had the run of the place and no class work yet, and had got the overall best scores during training.
There was a maniacal cheerfulness about him if he had a weapon in his hands; he loved testing himself physically against any and all challenges.
He had kept his temper under control, except for the one time when he’d shouted at Macklin. But Cowley held that to his advantage, leading as it did to a tenuous partnership with Doyle. If Bodie could be teamed with someone instead of working as a loner, Cowley had more hope for him lasting in this gruelling and sometimes frankly unrewarding profession.
Cowley still had his doubts about Bodie, however. The man thrived on adrenaline and action, and seemed to feel the need to be the best at everything. He was quite happy when he seemed to think his superiority was assured and the novelty of CI5 hadn’t worn off yet. But what about when he wasn’t the best, or the novelty wore off?
What about the long hours on stakeout, the boring paperwork, the frustrating and dull cases without satisfactory resolution and the times when he wouldn’t be superior to anyone? Would he quickly throw in the towel then? His past had showed him as someone who had quite a flair for running off. The Merchant Marines. Africa. The army. Now CI5. Always somewhere new, no ties, Bodie glad to drop anchor in any new port, stay as long as he wanted and then take off again cheerfully, apparently glad to break any ties—if he’d made any in the first place.
Oh, and there was a darkness in him, as well. It was there, hidden in Cowley’s reports and the interviews with Bodie. He’d conducted some of them himself, watched others from behind two way glass. He’d read the transcripts and seen the arrogant, hard face of a man who did not look back—who refused to regret any decision he’d made, no matter what.
Someone so hard and unyielding had his place, of course, but was it in CI5? Perhaps Bodie was fit only to be a soldier. It was what he was brought up to be: a man who listened to orders and didn’t have to gauge his own level of response or ferocity, simply do as he was told. Could he be trusted when it came time to show initiative?
Bodie didn’t have Doyle’s propensity to go off like an angry rocket, but he had a danger inside him that could not but affect his job. That was well and good, if he learned the limits. If he used his skills to get results (without breaking heads simply because he decided they needed broken, without finding malicious joy in the deed for its own sake), then he could be a fine agent, one of the very best.
In short, Cowley wanted Bodie and Doyle to both work out—separately if they must, together if they could—but he was by no means certain that they would. They were still very much untried.
#
Cowley noticed that, with the return of Doyle, Bodie looked extra pleased with himself and with Doyle—as if with the novelty of a new toy. How would he view the partnership once that wore off? They would have to work it out themselves, but Cowley was certainly keeping an eye on things.
Doyle was still touch and go, but he had the heart to be a lion at this job, if he put his shoulder to the harness. And could contain his anger.
They’d be a good team: perhaps. Cowley hoped he’d been right, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d made a mistake. No indeed. But how could he do otherwise than try to team them, when Bodie revealed for the first time his ability to look after someone beside himself?
Macklin said he could really make something of them if Cowley gave them a free hand. Cowley said no. He would decide when and how much training.
Because Macklin had no ‘off’ switch, he was not the best to decide such things. Even though Macklin was invaluable and trusted, Cowley had to see the cracks there: the fear that drove the ferocity. He had to use Macklin for best results, as he used all of them: balancing each agent’s strengths and weaknesses.
Towser was a help with this. He was so strong and calm, it couldn’t help but rub off on Macklin. Cowley thought that subconsciously, having Towser nearby helped keep Macklin’s old fears at bay. Towser was protection. Though Macklin knew that he would never again be in field work, never again be captured and helpless at enemy hands, or halfway killed and left for dead...he knew it even more when a strong man he trusted was at his back, training with him.
Of course Cowley never said any of this to Macklin. Surely there was enough in Macklin’s folder to keep a psychiatrist busy for years! But he didn’t have to hear any of it from Cowley: Macklin knew enough of the things that drove him and haunted him, that had changed him from the man he’d been, and made a fiercer trainer than anything else could’ve done.
#
Frankly, Bodie seemed even fuller of himself when he was with Doyle. He had a jaunty walk and a smirk; he stuck his hands in his pockets when looking particularly pleased. Cowley watched them from down the hall. Bodie appeared to be teasing Doyle, or telling him a joke about something. From Doyle’s expression, it wasn’t working too well for him. He was attempting to ignore the other man. He stood quite straight, even if he did look like a wind might blow him over.
He’d changed back into his own clothes, ridiculously old blue jeans and a shirt that looked like it had been bought second- or third-hand.
Bodie bounced slightly on the end of his feet, wearing that big grin that looked like he was going to burst out laughing any second. Well, he liked Doyle, at least. That was something. Or perhaps it wasn’t and he just enjoyed teasing the man.
Bodie caught sight of Cowley down the hall and grinned. He turned to face Doyle again and plucked on his sleeve, turning him gently round and pointing down the hall to Cowley. Then he waved childishly and quickly turned it into a salute, trying to swallow his smirk.
That lad would need brought into line, thought Cowley, keeping his gaze hard and stern.
Bodie caught Doyle’s wrist and raised it, making his hand wave a little as well. Doyle cast a quick, startled look at him and pulled his arm free, frowning.
Bodie smirked.
“Bodie! Doyle! A little more respect, gentlemen,” snapped Cowley, “or I’ll send you back to Macklin!”
He returned to his office and shut the door with force. Bodie’s smirk had been swallowed and Doyle turned an accusing look on his partner.
Hm. That little scenario led into Cowley’s other concern about Bodie.
Since he’d missed out on the classroom work so far, Bodie hadn’t heard Cowley’s speech about not having ranks in CI5—about being a team, with neither member of a partnership in charge of the other. Bodie seemed, by his buoyant and proprietary attitude, to have the idea that Doyle was his personal possession, a novelty toy that he would look after or boss around as he pleased.
He’d never worked closely with a partner that Cowley could tell from his files. He obviously had no idea how this worked and was going to be in for a shock sooner or later. Cowley hoped they would sort it out. He could only do his best to prepare them for their partnership.
When it was time, they were quiet and paid attention to his speech about chalk and cheese, the Bisto Kids, and nobody having top rank in the partnership.
Then with a few stern words about needing to work twice as hard or they’d be left behind, he turned them over to the other classes, where they would sit in on lectures and play catch-up with their reading and tests in subjects varying from but not limited to weapons’ capacities, hostage scenarios, guarding buildings and tailing theory.
But of his own speech and introduction, he had no idea how much they actually took in, understood, or meant to apply. Only time would prove that. And prove whether they were fit to be CI5 agents or no.
#
Later that very day at the far end of the lunch room, Cowley glimpsed a particularly ‘playful’ stunt from Bodie that made him wonder if the man had been listening at all.
Bodie started teasing his partner with a makeshift sock puppet, ‘talking’ it in a teasing gruff voice and making it nip at Doyle’s arm and hair. He kept it up till Doyle snapped and started at him with his fists, steak-and-kidney forgotten in the uproar. The other agents got free entertainment with their meals. Bodie howled in laughter and fended Doyle off rather easily. Doyle must still be weak from the hospital.
Cowley realised he was going to have to do something, before this got out of hand. One speech was apparently not enough to get through to Bodie.
He called Bodie into his office afterwards and laid into him: first about carrying on like a child during mealtime. Once Bodie seemed properly chastened and in order about that, Cowley began talking to him about how he was behaving with Doyle. “But that’s not the worst of it, man. You need to rethink how you interact with Doyle. He’s not a toy.”
Bodie was wearing his soldier-at-attention face. He looked blank and vague. “A toy, sir?”
“I said, he’s not a toy!” said Cowley sharply.
Bodie said, “No sir,” but his eyes were cast down and Cowley glimpsed a mutinous disbelief under those long lashes—one he hadn’t displayed when scolded for making a scene during lunch. Apparently Bodie had quite accepted his guilt about the former, but refused to do the same about provoking Doyle.
Cowley sighed inwardly. He would try to explain more clearly. “This is a new arrangement for you, but it’s not for him. He knows what it means to have a partner—to trust someone with your life every day. But you are acting like it’s all a game—as if he’s here to amuse you. He’s not. He’s here to trust with your life, Bodie.”
“Yes sir, I’m working on it, sir.” Bodie looked so full of himself, for a moment, Cowley wanted to smack him. It wouldn’t help, of course. He needed reasoned with; he simply couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he was behaving.
“Yes, and you’re also amusing yourself by trying to gain his trust. Visits to the hospital, sneaking food in to him. Don’t think I didn’t hear about that.”
Bodie pretended to look ashamed, but anyone with half a brain could see he wasn’t. “No sir.”
Cowley sat back down. “If you do get past his barriers and he decides to trust you, then what? Have you thought about the permanency of that arrangement? You don’t make or undo a partnership—not a real one—on a whim. It’s fine and well to say this is temporary, but if it works out, it isn’t, not at all.
“If he’s really your partner, then you’re stuck. You belong not just to me and CI5, but to him—permanently. He will see it that way, if you don’t, because he knows what a partnership is. And if you create that on a whim, you’ll break it on a whim—and ruin a perfectly good agent in the process. Are you ready for a real partnership, or does Doyle have the right of it? He doesn’t trust you, you know. I can see it in his eyes.”
Bodie’s eyes flashed. “I know that, sir. But he will. And maybe I am ready for that—that real partnership, sir. Maybe I want that.”
Cowley stared at him. “But you’re not sure, are you?”
Bodie’s face became animated with a sudden, almost shy look. “Sir, I thought it had been a few months since Syd Parker died. It hasn’t. It’s been years. He’ll be loyal to that man as long as he lives.” Enthusiasm shone on Bodie’s face, and a kind of awe. “Only think, if I can gain his trust, he’ll be that loyal to me, too!”
Cowley sighed. “Loyalty works both ways, Bodie. Sometimes life is not a simple mathematical problem—addition and subtraction. Sometimes it is calculus. Sometimes it’s rocket science!”
He sighed and rose. “The partnership needs tested and if it can’t endure those tests, then it’s better it should end.” He motioned for Bodie to leave, tired of trying to make the uncomprehending ex-soldier understand.
Bodie left with a respectful ‘yes sir,’ and a thoughtful but stubborn look about him. It was quite obvious that he couldn’t see past the new toy stage of Doyle.
Ah, but laddie, the Doyle you think you have isn’t the real one. It’s not a game to him....
#
Cowley made certain to ask the teachers about them. Those reports were... mixed, to say the least. Bodie did well at any studies he applied himself to, but was just as prone to clown around like a schoolboy or write silly answers in the margins of his tests. The boy who had run away from home (and school) at fourteen apparently still retained his childish attitudes towards anything related to books and classrooms.
Doyle was better in this way; though he fell asleep in his classes several times, he seemed to be paying attention. He also didn’t handle the tests very well, though. He worked hard at anything he wasn’t familiar with, but on subjects where he should’ve shone, he chose wild answers as often as not, making his worst grades in what he should’ve been best at.
The teachers quickly grew frustrated with both of them and Cowley could tell, would be glad when they were sent for more physical training, failed at CI5, or were put on standby and out of their hair.
Cowley didn’t mind a few youthful larks, if they didn’t interfere with learning and the job. However, it seemed likely they did, and were. So the next time he was called on to lecture to a class he kept a special eye on the two of them. Their regular seats were towards the back of the class, but Cowley asked the instructor to move them towards the front for today. He intended to make an example out of them, if either misbehaved.
All the men filed in, hiding their nerves at being lectured by Cowley under a layer of quiet that was often missing from the beginnings and endings of a class. Cowley had often heard arguing impassionedly about one point or another, sometimes not even letting up over lunch. Today all were quiet and orderly, and very much at attention. It made Cowley smile inwardly. Good. They needed to have a healthy respect—fear, even—of their boss. It would wear off soon enough; he was no plaster god. But they needed to start out with the right attitude of respect and obedience.
Doyle, Cowley noted, was looking a little healthier: still peaked and pale, but his clothes fit him a little better, no longer looked like they were falling off a scarecrow; he was gaining weight. He sat still and kept his eyes on Cowley—except for when he kept glancing at his partner’s papers, or shifting one leg over the other, or leaning back, or otherwise moving about restlessly.
Sure enough, Bodie was the only one flagrantly not to be toeing the line. Whenever Cowley’s back was turned, he bent to doodle, smirking. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, he nudged Doyle—who tried to ignore him, then glanced at the paper and tried not to laugh. It was a look he could barely swallow in time to look innocent if Cowley’s attention returned to him. Then they looked like angels, the pair of them—Bodie more so than Doyle.
Doyle’s scarred cheekbone and expressive eyes made it difficult for him to look entirely innocent. His face and eyes revealed him too much, and the scar made him look as if he’d seen too much to be a choirboy. Bodie, however—who’d certainly lived a rough and chequered past—had the Innocent Schoolboy expression down pat. Even when he was the one causing trouble—getting Doyle to almost laugh out loud, or paying not the least bit of attention—he managed to look completely innocent a moment later, while Doyle had to struggle manfully for anything like the same effect.
It would have been instructive, even amusing, to witness their efforts at duplicity had not the setting been so serious. Cowley was giving a talk—one they needed to hear. They were cutting up and acting like children instead of paying attention. And if this was how they acted with Cowley—what hell must they put the regular teachers through?
If they had been small boys, he’d have put them over his knee one at a time and spanked them till they howled. As it was, they were men, and he had to find a man’s way of dealing with them.
He glanced back at them again from the corner of his eye and saw Bodie, with an expression of wicked glee, reaching up behind Doyle’s back. Slowly, slowly—none of the students were paying attention now, their gazes locked in horrified fascination on Bodie’s foolhardiness—the hand eased up, behind Doyle, then grabbed a big handful of curls and gave a quick tug.
Doyle, whose eyelids had been drifting sleepily, jerked upright with a strangled snort. He looked wildly around. Bodie, innocent, angelic, sat with his hands folded, and raised an enquiring eyebrow at the dark look his companion cast him.
Cowley stared at them both. “Ahem. If you two have quite finished larking about like infants?”
“Sir?” said Bodie, enquiringly. Very innocent, that lad—but completely syrupy, would never fool anyone.
“All right, Bodie. Since you’ve had enough of the class, why don’t you go run laps till we’re finished?”
Bodie’s face lit with a cheeky smile. “Yes SIR!” He popped from his seat and saluted, eagerness on his features.
Cowley started to turn back to the board and then hesitated, as if remembering something. “Don’t forget to don your scuba gear first.”
Dismay crossed that cheerful face now. Across the room, the faint laughter was stifled behind hands.
“Yes sir,” said Bodie, dismay showing clearly on his face. He went without hesitation. He could at least obey orders like a soldier, even if he couldn’t stop clowning.
Cowley looked at Doyle consideringly. Doyle looked him back frankly, meeting his gaze, not standing at attention. He looked a bit like a rat terrier that was cornered but wasn’t going down without dragging you with it by the ankles. In a way, his silent, returning stare was more disrespectful than anything Bodie had done.
But, he wasn’t a soldier and Cowley hadn’t picked him to turn him into one, he reminded himself. You had to give civilians a little slack concerning military protocols.
Cowley had been thinking hard, and one thing was for certain, he couldn’t give both men the same punishment. Doing anything together would make them a team—us versus Cowley—and let them joke and bluff their way through it together. While he wanted them to be bonded, this was not the way, and he didn’t intend to let them off easily. This punishment was meant to catch their attention, and then perhaps they wouldn’t need it again. It had to be humiliating. For Bodie, what could be more humiliating than flopping around the outside of the school in scuba gear?
For Doyle, still weak but fiercely defiant about his strength and ability to do anything and everything, restless and trapped, what could be worse than...
“Doyle, on your feet, man. To the back of the classroom, and you will hold those two buckets while you listen. Mind you don’t drop them.”
Doyle’s face was a picture as he picked up two sand buckets, left there for fires and cigarette butts. He held them and stood there looking confused. This isn’t too hard, he seemed to be thinking. Cowley did not smile, just got on with the lesson.
Every few minutes, he took note of Doyle’s growing discomfort. Doyle was not only restless standing in one spot all the while, but also hurting quite badly. The weight of the buckets, nothing for a quick jaunt, or if you could put them down every few minutes, quickly grew torturous if you had to stand in one position, very still, at the back of a classroom.
Doyle’s arms were tiring, trembling a little now, and his face was a mask of pained determination. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to relieve the strain. Cowley’s gaze snapped up to him at the back, and Doyle froze again, then slowly lowered his right foot. His face was red; half the class had looked back at him, too. He kept his eyes raised and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but even from here Cowley could see the fury burning in his eyes. Bodie might be teased later about wearing scuba gear, but Cowley wouldn’t like to stand in anyone’s shoes who laughed at Doyle later over this.
Cowley’s lecture was a long one, and he deliberately paced himself. The growing tension in the room—each time the ridiculously-suited Bodie flopped past the window on another lap, each tiny shift or muscle-tremble from Doyle—was actually a conducive atmosphere for learning, Cowley felt. It stimulated their minds something wonderfully to know what could happen to them if they didn’t pay attention. The ingenuity of his punishments ought to frighten and inspire them. Nothing like keeping them off balance to get the best out of them!
It was just past three o’clock, the normal end for the lectures (though Cowley was still going strong), when silly-sounding flapping footsteps approached the classroom. He heard a few clunks, a metallic clang, a rubbery stretching sound. Then Bodie blundered into the classroom, disarrayed and obviously fresh from his run and his hot wetsuit. He was completely bathed in sweat and breathing hard. Otherwise, he didn’t look worse for the wear. It had taken the edge off him, and he definitely needed a shower, but it hadn’t harmed him any. With a civilian Cowley might have been more hesitant to put him out in the hot sun in such conditions, but he knew what Bodie could handle, and it hadn’t hurt the ex-soldier any—the man who had worked in African heat for several years.
Bodie stopped at the sight of the class still in session. He caught sight of his partner at the back and did a double take, blinking.
“Ah, Bodie, done so soon? The class is still in session,” said Cowley. He kept his voice mildly enquiring, but could almost hear the class holding their breath, fascinated at the train wreck developing, and wondering what Bodie’s next punishment would be.
“Sorry sir, thought it ended at three. Shall I go back?”
“No, sit down and pay attention for once in your life.” He turned back to the chalkboard, and continued his lecture.
Bodie meekly took his seat, glancing back once at his partner with what might as well have been a huge question mark over his head. The edge was certainly off Bodie—he sat drained and quiet in his chair. You could almost hear the class wondering about Doyle, how long his punishment (and the rest of the lecture) would last.
“Doyle.” Cowley raised his voice. Everyone was paying minute attention, whilst trying to pretend to be focusing on their notes. “What would the correct weapon be in this situation?” He called on the ex-policeman as if he were sitting in class taking notes like the rest of them. Everyone turned to look at Doyle. He looked decidedly pale, arms visibly jerking with the effort to not drop the buckets, even his fury eaten up by his stubbornness as he used both to keep himself in position.
“The knife,” said Doyle in a very strained sort of voice. “Too close and dangerous to use a gun, too many civilians about. Sir,” he added, with a defiant twist of his lip.
“Very good, Doyle. At least someone has been paying attention.” He turned back to the chalkboard, wrote another note and continued talking for another five minutes.
By now Doyle must want to scream from pain. It had been a long time, and at this point every second felt like minutes, every minute like hours. Cowley had suffered this punishment himself in his younger years, but it was no good letting up too easily. He knew very well the ex-detective constable was more defiant now than when he’d started. The defiant Doyle very well might sooner die than give in at this point—but he’d learn not to cross Cowley, even if it cost him something today.
Bodie had had worse behaviour in class, but Cowley could see Doyle was the one who most badly needed brought into line. Something in him simply refused to submit.
Cowley finally finished the talk—slowly—after a few instructive reminisces that brought smiles to his face, and ended the lectures on a high note that had to mix frighteningly with the knowledge of the punishment still being meted out. “All right, dismissed. And I expect to hear good reports from your teachers from all of you, regarding the next test.” The other agents filed out in relief, hurrying, casting frankly curious looks at Doyle as they passed. They would have something to talk over today—and they would have an example not to cross their boss.
Doyle’s punishment seemed to be working best for that purpose, brought home as it was by his pale face tight with fury and agony. Bodie’s punishment, though sounding worse and with an element of the ridiculous about it, had been carried off well by the ex-soldier. He would receive good-natured ribbing about it later, and carry that off well, too. Whereas Doyle...
Bodie hopped from his seat and strode back towards Doyle. “C’mon, mate, let’s go,” he said in a low voice.
Doyle ignored him. His chin jerked up and forward, and he was staring straight at Cowley. Even from here, the shaking of his muscles was visible.
“Doyle,” said Bodie, in a low, serious voice. There was no laughter in him now, none at all. “Not now. C’mon mate.” He caught one of the buckets, and tried to pry Doyle’s fingers loose from it. The muscles had clamped tight and stiff; it was hard to get his hand open.
“Bodie,” said Cowley, his voice like a whip. “Leave him.” He collected his notes, and tamped them into place.
[[[continued next post!]]]
part 2: http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/208580.html
Title: "Lessons" (part 1)
Author: Allie
Slash or Gen: Gen
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: if you like
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above): same
Disclaimer: They aren't mine.
Notes: Cowley's POV!!!! Yay!!! :D I can hardly believe that this is done under the deadline. I owe Shirl a big thank-you for her swift and helpful beta work. I also really appreciate every comment I got. Thanks for letting me play. :)
This one takes place after the other three. :) Part two to follow. (It was just a bit long for one post.)
First Impressions Series:
#1: Broken Reeds
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207295.html
#2: Maniacs and Men
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207802.html
#3: In Hospital, or Chocolates and Chips
http://discoveredinalj.livejournal.com/207941.html
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