Chapter 73: Jimmy

Gus finished out the rest of her rotation without incident, happy that things got resolved however they did with Stella. Mac didn't make her privy to the details, but since he also took over the paperwork, she didn't push. Stella was equally tight lipped, though she seemed somewhat more self assured when she came back.

Gus pushed away from her desk, looking forward to her day off the next day when her desk phone rang, the caller from inside the precinct.

"Really?" she said, sighing, it turning into a groan as Doyle's number came up on the id screen. She had avoided him since the tequila night and had been hoping to continue to do so for a little while longer

"Got bad news, kid," Doyle said by way of greeting.

"What's that?" Gus said, dropping her bag and sitting back down.

Doyle's tone was tense, "Feds want to talk to us about the Shirazi case."

"Can't they just read the damn court transcripts?"

"Apparently our courts aren't good enough for them. They are flying us in to testify tomorrow. At least it is a charter jet. Pick you up at 7?"

"Fine, I really didn't want a day off anyways," Gus grumbled.

This got a slight laugh from Doyle. "I'll cook you dinner to make up for it."

"It better be manna from heaven to make up for getting up early on my day off," Gus teased.

"You've never had my cooking," Doyle volleyed back.

Gus hung up the phone with a smile, he hadn't brought it up, so maybe she was in the clear.

Testifying before Homeland Security was not how Gus planned to spend her day off before her rotation with Angell began. She had been thinking more along the lines of sleeping in, getting some errands done and maybe a glass of wine with a bubble bath.

She certainly was not planning on having to get up at the crack of dawn to catch a flight down to DC, even if it was a charter plane. She scratched her head in front of her closet, wonder where all her court suits were before realizing one of her errands was to pick up her mounting pile of clothing from the dry cleaners.

She kept forgetting about it since she hadn't needed a court suit. Gus sighed, slipping instead into a basic black pants suit, slipping on her last clean button up and wondering how late she would be up doing laundry before her shift tomorrow morning.

"Damn it," she swore, struggling with the tiny, delicate pearl buttons that compelled her to buy the shirt in the first place but were so difficult to do and undo that it regulated the shirt to the back of the closet. She exited her building still struggling with buttons while juggling her coffee and her tote.

"Need some help there, Broussard?" Doyle asked, leaning against his Crown Vic with a smirk. He, of course, looked perfectly put together in his suit, his shoes gleaming with a recent shine.

She looked down to her slightly scuffed pumps, wishing she had thought to do the same. He followed her glance, "you keep those top buttons undone and nobody is going to even notice you have feet, much less the state of your shoes" He pointed to her plunging neckline.

"Shove it, Doyle," she said, glaring at him as he opened her door as she continued to fight with the buttons.

The day was full of hurry up and wait and neither of them told anyone anything different than court transcripts and depositions would have revealed, but apparently Congress had gotten on the human trafficking train and wanted more answers, as if it was that easy. It was tedious at best and by the time they landed back in Manhattan Gus was irritated and starving.

"You would have thought they could of at least given us a real lunch," she grumbled as they got back in Doyle's car.

"Simmer down, Broussard, I'm cooking you dinner, remember."

"Yeah, yeah, what, a frozen pizza?" she teased.

Doyle gave her a look, "you wound me, I know how to cook."

"We'll see," she said with a smile, "but first, I don't know about you, but I need a drink to wash the taste of Fed out of my mouth."

"Fine, but no tequila."

Gus turned crimson, they had successfully avoided a single word about that night, and Gus was hoping they could both go on ignoring it forever.

"Take a breath, Gus, you are turning funny colors. Not another word about it, I swear," he held his palms up in surrender.

Gus wrinkled her nose, "fine, but I still want a non-tequila based drink."

"I can accommodate that," he said, pointing them in the direction of a bar close to his apartment.

Gus was planning on sticking to beer, until she received a text from Flack that she was pretty sure was supposed to go to Angell. It left little to the imagination. Doyle could tell by the look on her face that all was not well.

"What's up?" he asked, not enjoying the annoyance on marring her otherwise pretty face.

"I need to have a talk with my friend Jack," she said, glowering and heading up to the bar. She came back with the bottle and a pitcher of beer. "Or Jameson, either one works," she sighed, setting down the set up.

"Whoa, there, kid, you do know we both have work tomorrow, right?" he said taking in the bottle of whiskey next to the beer.

"Afraid a girl will drink you under the table, Jimmy?" Gus said with a wicked grin, pouring out a couple of shots.

"Fine, it's your hangover," Doyle replied, happy he didn't have to be until the afternoon.

By the time they emptied the pitcher and put a dent in the bottle, both Doyle and Gus were flushed.

"You want to keep going, swamp girl, I'm Irish remember?" Doyle said tipping back another shot, "and this is my namesake."

"Hold up, Jimmy is short for Jameson and you were named after whiskey?" Gus said, trying to not stumble over her words. Doyle had given her a run for her money to say the least, something she wasn't used to outside of New Orleans.

"At least they didn't call me Bushmills," he finished his drink, "now can we go get food?"

"Fine, I cede. Which is a big deal that you better not tell anyone about," Gus said, draining what was left in her pint glass.

Doyle was impressed that she wavered little as they left the bar, she clearly could hold anything but tequila like a champ. He had seen plenty of bigger men fall after as much as she had consumed. "What is your trick, Broussard, how are you not flat on the floor?"

"Training from an early age," Gus said, following after him as he let them into his building. "Also, did you not notice I had to go to the bathroom like a million times, tiny tank, process it quick."

"Yeah but you always have to go to the bathroom, so what else is new?" Doyle teased, tugging on her hair that was slipping from it's ponytail.

Gus rolled her eyes, "you are so funny. Now tell me about this feast you are making me."

"I was planning on making you pork tenderloin, but seeing as we drank through closing time at the market, it might very well be frozen pizza."

"Ha, I knew you couldn't cook!" Gus declared as they entered his small but cozy apartment. Doyle had downsized when his Penny left him, however, it was still organized and surprisingly domestic.

"I don't think either of us needs to be handling knives right now, in fact we should probably only both be handling water for the moment."

After slipping out of his suit jacket and tie, he turned into the tiny kitchen, getting them both glasses of water.

Gus leaned against the door frame, "sugar, I'm not sure how you can even fit a pizza in that thing, let alone a tenderloin." She pointed to the tiny stove as she accepted the glass of water from him.

"Kid, you shouldn't ever tease a man about the size of his stove," he clinked his glass against hers, with a raised brow.

Gus rolled her eyes, pulling the tie out of her hair, since it desperately wanted to escape.

Doyle watched her struggling to get it pulled back again, growing frustrated when it wouldn't comply. He couldn't help but give a small laugh.

"I know you are not laughing at me Doyle!" Gus exclaimed, finally giving up and pinging him with the elastic.

"Wouldn't dare," he replied ducking. He moved to the equally small fridge, opening up the freezer compartment. "Veggie or pepperoni?"

"Is that an actual question?" Gus scoffed.

Doyle continued to sort through the freezer, using the door as a shield to say, "you really do a lot better with whiskey then tequila."

Gus scratched her head, "yeah, I know, it's weird. I blame this place on St. Charles, their margaritas will make your clothes fall off and you think I would have learned then..." she trailed off, noticing Doyle had emerged from the freezer, a pizza box in hand. "I am sorry I made a fool of myself and practically attacked you, Jimmy," Gus said, half hiding behind her hair and becoming entranced with the pattern of his kitchen tile.

Doyle set the pizza down on the counter, shutting the door to the fridge so there was enough room to face her. "You didn't make a fool of yourself and you certainly didn't attack me."

"Well at the very least, I was inappropriate," Gus said, pushing her hair back nervously. She didn't know why she brought it up, except she desperately wanted to clear the air with him. There had been too many missteps in her life as of late because she hadn't spoken up.

"How do you know you were inappropriate, Gus?" he asked, leaning against the fridge, a slightly bemused look on his face.

"Damn it, Jimmy, I kissed you out of nowhere and then slammed the door in your face," Gus flung her arms up in exasperation.

Doyle shook his head, "I'll give a little rude on the door bit, but not inappropriate."

"How the hell was I not inappropriate?" Gus challenged.

Doyle squared off with her, "because if you hadn't slammed the door in my face, I would have done this."

In an instant, he closed any distance left between them, landing an open mouthed kiss on her lips just as heated as she had on him. He worried for a second she would break the kiss off and slap him before storming out, but instead Gus yielded under his touch.

Gus was taken by surprise as Jimmy pulled her into him for a kiss, but the moment his lips met hers, Gus became untethered from all that had been weighing her down the past few months.

While it was not a familiar kiss, Gus found herself easily giving up to it. It had been far too long since her lips had sought out the heat of another, that her tongue tangled in gentle exploration of someone else.

His hands caught in the tangle of her hair, her arms snaking around his neck, as they crushed against each other possessively.

Doyle moved them easily out of the doorway and into the living room, not wanting to break the connection between them. He moved Gus backwards until her knees made contact with the couch, as Doyle tipped her gently back onto it.

His body instantly covered over hers, his hand trailing up to her side where her shirt had ridden trailed a line of kisses down her throat before pausing to look down into her green eyes, eyes that were looking up at him in a way that made him feel like he was drowning.

"Broussard?" he croaked out, his voice husky with desire.

"Doyle?" she shot back, a smirk on her face as she reached up to trace his jawline.

He studied her for a moment, not sure if this was a good idea or not. It was clear to him that she was still hung up on Flack, but he wasn't going to ignore opportunity knocking. "You okay with this?"

Gus smiled up at him, she had been wondering the same thing about him. But she was trying desperately to not worry about everything in the entire world, wanting the world to just fall away for one night, to be in someone's arms and feel like she belonged even if for a short time.

She reached up, brushing his sandy hair off his forehead. "What am I doing that makes it seem like I am not okay with this, Jameson?" she teased.

"I knew I was going to regret telling you that," he replied, leaning back down to catch her mouth with his own.

Gus moaned beneath him as he reached for the buttons on her shirt, struggling to undo them. He knew it had been a while since he had been with anyone and sure Penny preferred organic wool pullovers to things with fancy buttons, but still...

"God I hate this shirt," Gus growled, her hands moving up to his in an attempt to help him. Neither of them was having much luck, their chests heaving with frustration and lust. "Just rip the damn shirt, Doyle," Gus growled as he finally worked a single button free.

"You sure?" he looked down at her disbelieving as Gus deftly undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it across the room, her hands snaking up under his undershirt, caressing the muscles of his chest. He obeyed, the buttons popped open, pinging across the room, causing them both to laugh at the primal nature of it.

"Oh I am sure," she said, wiggling out of her pants.

Looking down at her clad only in her underwear and smelling like a combination of honeysuckle and jasmine, Doyle thought Gus was looking far too innocent and vulnerable to continue.

Until a lascivious grin spread across her face and she maneuvered out from underneath him, and started to walk away, calling over her shoulder, "I am assuming you got a bedroom in this joint, right, Jimmy?"

Doyle willingly followed after her, into the bedroom and into the bed. Happily letting her take the lead as she undressed him before removing her final articles of clothing before teasing him mercilessly until they were both breathless.

"You are making it real hard to be a gentleman, Broussard," Doyle said, his words caught in his throat.

Gus stopped her ministrations, looking down at him with a sly grin. "That ain't the only thing I am making hard, Doyle, and besides I'm not looking for a gentleman, I'm looking to get laid, doctor's orders, remember?"

"Oh, well in that case," Doyle sat up, leveraging himself so that he could effortlessly flip Gus on her back below him, "here's to your health."

Chapter 74: Shotgun in my Soul

Gus woke up with a start, thoughts bombarding her all at once. The most glaringly obvious points being: she was naked, she was not in her own bed, someone's arm was pinning her to the bed that was not her own, her head was pounding, her mouth seemed to have moss growing in it and given the amount of sunlight pouring through the blinds it was fully morning.

Gus turned her head to look at the clock, it dawning on her that today was the first day of her rotation with Angell, her DAY watch rotation with Angell.

"Crap, I am so freaking late!" She jumped out of bed, another realization coming to her as she flung Jimmy Doyle's arm off of her and started searching for her clothes.

"Oh my God, I am so late, like Angell doesn't hate me enough as it is and we are supposed to be escorting this prisoner and damn it, where are my pants?"

"Good morning to you too," came Jimmy's hoarse greeting, as he slit his eyes open.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't meant, it's just, this...where are my clothes?" Gus sighed, dropping back to the bed, clad only in her underwear and bra, the only clothing items she had so far located.

Doyle gave her a slight smirk. "I might be able to help you." He slipped on his boxers and his undershirt, disappearing for a moment.

He came back to the bedroom, returning from the living room, tossing her pants in her direction. "This might be an issue", he said, her shirt dangling from his finger. Gus surveyed the missing or dangling buttons as she slipped on her pants.

"Double crap," Gus growled as she attempted to pull her hair back.

"Calm down," Doyle replied, sliding open his closet door and pulling out a shirt, "this one is a little tighter than I like on me, stupid slim cuts, should work for you. And so what if a prisoner has to cool his heels for a couple of extra minutes? Court doesn't start for another hour." Doyle sat back down on the bed.

"It isn't just any prisoner, it's Connor Dunbrook. He's flipping on his father," Gus said, slipping into his shirt and buttoning it. She tucked the shirt tails into her pants, hoping it wasn't too obvious she was wearing a man's shirt.

"Looks better on you," Doyle smiled, reaching for her.

Gus wriggled away, "Jimmy, I can't, I need to get to the precinct, like twenty minutes ago. This is going to be the longest, worst rotation ever and that is if I was on time."

Doyle looked slightly hurt, trying to figure out if Gus was panicked because she was late or because they had slept together.

Gus caught the look in his eyes and felt guilt wash over her. This is exactly what she hadn't wanted. "Jimmy, look, I really gotta go, we will catch up later, okay, I just need this whole thing with Angell to be as least crappy as possible."

She cupped his face and gave him a kiss, almost yielding to him pulling her back down on the bed, until she finally heard her phone buzzing from the other room. "Jimmy-" she sighed, standing back up.

Doyle rose as well, "I know, you gotta go, duty calls. Dunbrook, huh?"

"Yeah, stupid entitled prick," Gus said, rushing toward the living room in search of her bag, buzzing phone and shoes.

Doyle followed after her, "hold up a minute. Take off that shirt." Gus glared at him. "No, really." He opened the hall closet pulling something out. "Put this on first, it will fill out the shirt and keep you safe," he held it out to her, Gus taking it and realizing it was an extremely lightweight armored vest.

"I don't need a vest to move Connor Dunbrook from the prison to court, it's like 500 feet."

"Look, Gus, his father is a very powerful man who has unlimited connections, so you never know, just put it on, okay?"

The look he gave her said to Gus that Doyle wasn't about to let her leave until she put the damn vest on.

"Fine," she unbuttoned the shirt, quickly slipping the vest on and the shirt back over it. The bagginess of the shirt disappeared without too much bulk from the vest. "This thing is freaking sweet, but how the hell does SVD earn these and homicide doesn't?"

Doyle shook his head, "it was a gift from my brother, Tommy. He's Special Forces, so this is his idea of a sentimental keepsake. Speaking of which, I want it back in the same condition, so watch your ass out there, Broussard."

"Fine, Doyle, I will," Gus paused giving him another kiss, "and next time, you are actually cooking me dinner." She gave him a wicked grin before heading out the door.

Gus slammed open the door of the diner, happy to get out of the glaring sun, her aviators doing little to stop the pounding in her head.

Angell had taken her tardiness surprisingly well, had only been calling to let her know that Connor was being gracious enough to treat them to breakfast before heading over to the courthouse.

Gus couldn't decide if a greasy breakfast sounded like heaven or hell, though she was leaning towards heaven since she and Doyle hadn't gotten around to dinner the night before. She flushed at the thought, wondering what the fall out of sleeping with a superior officer would be, even if he was in a different department. There were sure to be complications...

Gus caught sight of Angell, Connor and a boot uniform in the back of the diner. Angell, pacing in front of the table as the waitress set down plates of food. She nodded, slipping her glasses up into her hair, trying to not squint at the buzzing fluorescent lights.

"Late night, Broussard?" Angell said, coming up to her with a slight smile.

Gus nodded, trying to figure out if it was a playful or