Fic: Broken (Pros)

[przed]

Title: Broken
Fandom: Pros
Notes: I started mulling this over when the teaandswissroll "challenge" challenge went up, but yet again didn't have time to finish it on deadline. Thanks to londonronnie for a quick Brit idiom check.


"How are the new agents coming along, Brian?"

The tone was casual, but the expression on George Cowley's face was not. It was the expression of a man with a problem, but one who was determined to hide the fact. He might have managed it, but I know him too well.

"They're promising," I said, determined to reveal nothing until I sussed out what exactly George's problem was. "Benny seems a natural at undercover. And Sally's as hard as the fellas."

"Good, good," George said distractedly and sat down in the rickety, ladder-back chair opposite my desk. He seemed at ease in the uncomfortable thing. I'd bought it at a jumble sale, hoping it would keep agents off balance when they came to see me, but it took more than physical discomfort to put George Cowley off his game. "Any problems you foresee?"

"I'll need to toughen them up, of course, but beyond that..." I shrugged, crossed my arms, and leaned back in my considerably more comfortable chair. I wasn't going to make this easy for George. If he wanted my opinion he was damned well going to have to tell me what this was about. Or who.

"What do you think of Doyle?"

Ah.

I should have known it would be about Doyle. The stroppy bastard was one of George's more creative recruitment choices.

"Well…" I mulled over where to start. "He's got one hell of a temper, and a definite problem with authority."

"A good man, though."

"Very good, if you can harness his talents."

"Can we? Harness his talents?"

"Put him with the right partner and you can. On the other hand, put him with the wrong partner…" I trailed off and let George imagine for himself the havoc a bolshie Ray Doyle could wreak on his precious organization.

"Quite." A master of the understatement, my boss. He folded his hands on the desk in front of him and looked at me with an expression that always boded some mad scheme or other. "I was thinking of putting him with Bodie."

"Bodie?" Master Bodie was another one of George's creative recruitment choices. One who hadn't quite been broken to harness yet. He'd been tried with several partners, and none of them had stuck. Thug was the least of what the last partner had called the man. Everyone had been quite willing to let him work solo the past six months. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Their strengths should complement each other."

"Or their flaws will have them at each other's throats."

George actually had the gall to smile at that.

"I think they'll surprise you, Brian."

"Would you be willing to place a bet on that?" I'm not averse to taking advantage of someone else's bungle, even if that someone is my superior.

"I would indeed. Shall we say a bottle of twenty year old Scotch if they're still together in six months?"

"Together and successful," I clarified.

"Of course."

"Done." I began to consider the best use of a bottle of fine Scotch.

---

Six months later, there he was, sitting in the same decrepit chair, with what could only be called a smug grin on his face.

I didn't even wait for him to ask for it, just pulled out the bottle and clunked it on the desk in front of him. I'd had the Scotch for two months, ever since those two maniacs had taken out a nest of bombers single handed and I'd realized I'd lost the bet.

"I was expecting you to put up a fight," George said as he took hold of the bottle, cradling it like another might hold a treasured child.

"They're still together, and they're good."

"How good?" Never satisfied with success, George was always pushing to make things better. It's why we get on so well.

"Very good. Give them a year and they'll be your best."

Not an effusive man, George Cowley, but I could see he was proud of them and all they'd accomplished since he'd partnered them. I almost hated to say the next words, but I knew I had to. "You'll want to watch them, though. Make sure they don't get too close."

"They won't." Curt. Certain. He stood, hefting the bottle in his hand. "Thank you for this, Brian." Then he was gone.

I wish I was as certain about those lads as George. But I've seen the way they look at each other.

You see, it wasn't just being shot that broke my nerve. Wasn't my own pain that shattered my confidence. There was someone else with me that night. Someone else who'd been shot and dumped into Hong Kong harbour. Someone who hadn't been fished out of those oily waters. Not alive, anyway.

Mark Leung had been my liaison with the Hong Kong police. We worked well together, worked miracles together. And in spite of the secrecy it took, we became more than colleagues, more than friends. We looked at each other like Bodie and Doyle did. Until that night when I'd been crushed and he'd been killed.

George had hired me to make sure his people were the best, to make sure they were hard. To make sure they didn't crack like I'd done. And part of that was taking care they didn't get involved with each other. Because if you have agents that are too close, that are that close, and one of them dies...

I didn't want to see them go through what I'd experienced.

Not that they'd listen to me, not the Bisto Kids. Pain in the arse to deal with, the pair of them; always getting up your nose. Always know better than everyone else. Always up for a challenge.

I just hope that when it all goes wrong, and in our trade it always goes wrong, I'm not the one George calls in to pick up the pieces.

I've already had my will, and my heart broken. I don't want it done again by proxy.