Chapter Text
Chapter 7
Doyle glared at them and then folding his arms across his chest muttered, “Do you think I caused his demise?”
Estelle sighed and then shook her head, “No. Circumstances conspired to make it look that way. I have not been apprised of all the details, but I do not believe Mr Bodie would have torn through London like the wrath of God if he didn’t believe in your innocence.”
“You flatter me, Deacon Cloutier,” Bodie replied dryly.
“No, I got the impression from your Mr Stuart, that you were raising hell in the slums and opium dens of Whitechapel,” Estelle replied. She gave Doyle a cool, assessing look, “and if I had someone who was willing to rip a hole in the fabric of London’s Underworld for me then I’d be overwhelmed.”
To her satisfaction, Bodie looked away and even Doyle had the grace to look embarrassed. He cleared his throat and looked across at Bodie, “Opium dens?”
“Well not quite,” Bodie replied awkwardly, “I just wanted to know why my partner seemed to have disappeared into thin air.”
“See?” Estelle raised dark eyebrows, “I knew he cared about you.”
Bodie gave her a long appraising look and Estelle felt herself flush, “I begin to think you have hidden depths, Deacon Cloutier.”
“And flattery will get you everywhere,” Estelle replied dryly.
“Oh get a room,” Doyle grumbled.
Estelle smiled properly, “My apologies, Mr Doyle. I’m afraid that your friend exudes that rare quality most women would kill for.”
“What, chiselled good looks and a body to die for?” Doyle raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Estelle replied softly, “charisma. I should imagine he can also turn it off and on like a faucet.”
“Charisma?” Bodie raised an eyebrow and Estelle laughed.
“Oh definitely,” she responded, “I think with your dark, leonine looks you can charm the bejesus out of anyone.”
“Well not quite,” Doyle replied, a real smile touching his lips, “it doesn’t work on Cowley.”
“Ah well, Major Cowley is unique,” Estelle responded, “and I know of no man, nor woman who can ‘pull the wool’ over his eyes.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bodie muttered.
Doyle sighed again, resting his head against the back of the chair, “What now?”
“What do you want to do?” Estelle asked softly, the blue fire in her eyes softening.
“Curl up under a blanket and never emerge again,” Doyle muttered.
“Yeah, that I can relate to,” Estelle responded, “is it shame forcing you into seclusion or guilt?”
Doyle’s forehead creased in a frown and he said slowly, “It doesn’t matter, even if CI5 has cleared me of John Coogan’s death, I’m still responsible.”
“Ah...guilt,” Estelle replied softly, “a belief that you were responsible for a man’s death.”
Doyle lifted his head and glared at her, the green eyes going hard, “Please don’t tell me you know how I feel.”
“I would not presume,” Estelle replied quietly. “I thought you would have gathered that by now.”
Doyle had the grace to look sheepish and he muttered, “Sorry. I just get a lot of-”
“Yes,” Estelle replied softly, “and some people who say things like, ‘I know how you feel,’ which I should imagine alienates you further.”
Doyle’s mouth twisted in a smile and he nodded. “Yeah. But I stand by what I said, that I don’t want to speak with anyone but you.”
Estelle swore and gave him an exasperated glance, “Mr Doyle,” she hissed, “I told you, I don’t have the expertise to treat you.”
“And we say that we’ll speak to no-one else but you,” Bodie interjected.
Estelle’s eyes flicked from one to the other, her lips thinning in fury, finally she spat, “Calisse!” Then rising to her feet strode from the room.
“Well done, fellas,” Hazel remarked dryly, “you’ve managed to piss off one of the most accommodating people in all creation. Brava.”
To their credit both men looked slightly sheepish, licking his lips Doyle managed to speak, “We are sorry, Miss Cloutier, but surely you understand-”
“Oh I think she understands,” Hazel responded, “she just doesn’t agree. She’s not a fool, gentlemen.”
Doyle sighed again, “I’m sorry. We do have a Psychologist on CI5’s Staff-”
“Dr Ross,” Bodie interjected sullenly.
“And I take it that you butt heads more often than not?” Hazel enquired.
Bodie scowled, the strong lips curling upwards in a sneer, “You might say that.”
“I am sorry,” Doyle began again, “I just don’t feel that I will be able to speak with Dr Ross. Our Psychologist is good, but she tends to assume-”
“That if she pushes you, you will eventually talk to her,” Hazel grimaced, “and I suppose that all that happens is that you dig your heels in harder.”
“Yeah.” Bodie’s eyes flashed blue fire and Hazel had to bite back a grin.
“May I come back in?” a familiar voice asked tentatively and both men looked up to see Estelle standing sheepishly in the doorway.
“Certainly,” Hazel smiled at her sister and after a moment’s hesitation, Estelle walked across the room to sit down on the footstool opposite the two men, “I’m sorry,” she began, “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It was unprofessional.”
To Doyle’s surprise, it was Bodie who laid a hand on her arm, “No, we’re sorry. Both my partner and I can be a bit ‘driven’ sometimes.”
“I think I gathered that,” Estelle replied dryly. “But, complaints aside, I do understand. I just don’t have to like it.”
Doyle sighed, “I know I’m going to have to speak with someone,” he began, “but the thought of actually attending one of Ross’s appointments, and going to her office-” he broke off, closing his eyes and shaking his head firmly.
Estelle regarded him sympathetically, and then clearing her throat said, “If you could relieve yourself of all this guilt by beating the stuffing out of a punching bag for two hours a day for the next two weeks would you do it?”
Doyle stared at her, blinked and then swore. Bodie gave her a long, assessing look and then suddenly laughed. “My God,” he shook his head, “she’s got your number.”
“Yours too,” Doyle replied dryly.
Bodie shrugged, “Very probably.”
Doyle sighed again, “I just can’t believe it will help. How will sitting in a dimly lit room, talking to a Psychiatrist who has no idea of the work we do actually make me stop feeling guilty?”
“Ah, that old chestnut,” Estelle replied, “something for you to think about, Mr Doyle, do you feel guilty because you think you caused his death or do you think you could have prevented it?”
Doyle scowled again and shook his head, “I simply believe it shouldn’t have happened. I know that I hit him, Hell’s teeth, woman! Our job is not all sunshine and roses, surely you know this?”
“I am aware of that,” Estelle replied, “I know that the people you deal with will not offer up all their secrets for a box of chocolates and a bottle of Blue Label Whiskey; since they also deal in threats, your threat must be greater or cause more pain for them to speak with you. I may not like it – but I do understand it.”
“I thought you said you were a Medic?” Bodie interjected.
“I was,” Estelle responded, “but just because I’d treated physical problems doesn’t mean I’m not aware of Psychological ones.”
Bodie scowled, “No-one said that I had to like it.”
“I would not expect it,” Estelle responded tartly, “I would however expect you to listen candidly to what I have to say.”
Doyle let his head fall back against the back of the chair and sighed again, “Why couldn’t I just go home and get drunk.”
“Or come out for a drink with The Cow and myself-” Bodie snarked.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t resort to nicknames in front of civilians,” a familiar voice spoke and both men’s heads jerked upright as Major George Cowley entered the room. “Are they behaving themselves, Captain?”
“Deacon, Sir,” Estelle replied quietly, “and yes, they’ve mostly behaved themselves.”
“Which means that they’ve been their usual recaltricant selves,” Cowley grumbled.
“Yes, but it’s the nature of the beast,” Estelle shrugged, “I’m used to it.”
“What men being difficult and uncommunicative?” Cowley raised an auburn eyebrow.
“Men, especially these two,” Estelle smiled, “and I should imagine most of those persons within your organization. Both male and female.”
Major Cowley regarded her quietly for a couple of moments and then he said, “I think you have the right of it, Deacon Cloutier.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Sir,” Estelle regarded him quietly, “or at least 80% of the way.”
“So, what’s your judgement on my two men?” Cowley demanded.
“That both are suffering from the effects of the John Coogan Investigation,” Estelle responded thoughtfully, “and certainly, Mr Doyle feels a certain sense of guilt for his demise. Yes-yes I know, he wasn’t the most upright of persons, but I can understand why Mr Doyle feels that even so he should not have died.”
Cowley gave her a long look and then he said, “I heard some of what Bodie said as I entered the house, are you sure you cannot treat them?”
“Honestly, Sir?” Estelle shrugged, “I don’t know. It has been said by better qualified people than me that the mind has mountains and if you have no experience in that sort of mountain climbing you’re better off avoiding them.”
“So take Guides and Sherpas,” Cowley responded, “I’m fairly sure that someone as skilled as you can find them.”
“I don’t know, Major,” Estelle confessed, “as I’ve told you before this is not an area I feel particularly comfortable with. I was a Medic in the army, physical problems not mental ones.”
“Yes,” Cowley agreed, “but you do have empathy, and the very fact that both Bodie and Doyle trust you and are willing to talk with you, speaks volumes for your ability to treat them.”
“I think you overestimate me, Sir,” Estelle replied.
“You, Captain?” Cowley smiled, “never.”