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“So there’s this thing I’ve been reading.” Casey doesn’t bother looking up when she feels Walsh standing over her, mostly because he seems to think he’s made of stealth and she’s been trying to prove him wrong for weeks now. “It’s a study. You know, like for science.” She does look up then, but only because she can feel him making a face at her. She clears her throat. “Anyway, it says, and I quote, ‘partners should learn one new thing about each other every day’.”
Never mind that the study was actually an article out of last month’s Cosmo that Leo had left lying around the break room, and it hadn’t exactly been about ‘partners’ so much as ’10 hot tips to really get to know your man’, but whatever, the premise was a good one and Casey was sick of trying to break through all of Walsh’s layers on her own. She could use a little backup here.
Walsh does this thing with his face where he’s not moving a muscle but it’s like he’s radiating skepticism just the same. “In the study, it says that.”
“Yes it does. In the study.”
Delahoy groans from his desk across the room. “Would you guys please stop saying ‘study’? That word’s about to lose all meaning for me, I swear.”
“What word?” Leo asks, back from the break room and bumping Delahoy on the shoulder with what looks like a very tall, very steaming, very magical cup of coffee. Casey’s mouth waters.
“Study.”
“Which study?”
“There isn’t any study.” Walsh interrupts, and Casey shoots him a glare.
“What are you talking about there’s no--”
He finally lets that eyebrow that’s been fighting to climb into his hairline rise, all amusement and disbelief. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, rookie.”
“Watch who you’re calling rookie, asshole.”
“Look, Schraeger, if this is about that whole secret thing--”
Casey groans. “It’s not about the secret thing. It’s about the study.”
“Study,” Delahoy says. “Study, study, study. Nope, it’s gone. I knew this was gonna happen.”
Casey gives Walsh her best sincere face. “Look, there are absolutely no underlying motives here, just good old fashioned bonding. I’ll even go first: I am deathly allergic to peas.”
Walsh laughs because he really is an asshole. “Peas? No one’s allergic to peas.”
“Well I am. Are you seriously judging me for my choice in allergies right now?”
The Sarge pops up beside the desk out of nowhere because unlike Walsh he actually is made of stealth. “Don’t want to interrupt your little mother’s meeting but some of us are working here.” He dumps a file on top of Casey’s half-eaten biscotti. “Walsh, Schraeger, you’re up.”
Five minutes later they’re outside the building and Walsh is still smiling. “…I mean, peas.”
Casey rolls her eyes. “Shut up and get in the car.”
***
They’ve been chasing a shirtless guy in pleather pants halfway across the city before they catch up with him down near North Cove Marina. It’s not the pants that are the problem—although, yeah, Casey thinks, they are a little bit the problem, because ugh—It’s the sawed-off shotgun the guy is running around with. Like that is even the kind of weapon a person in pleather pants should be carrying. Where does he think he’s going to hide it? Do pants like that even come with pockets?
The guy disappears onto one of the boats, the kind of thing people in Casey’s family might keep around just for champagne brunches. She might have said some of this out loud because she can hear Walsh scoffing.
“What, you got something against brunch?”
He looks unconvinced. “Like you don’t?”
“I like anything that gives me an excuse to eat an entire stack of pancakes that soon after breakfast.”
Walsh smirks, switches up his grip on his gun and nods toward the boat the guy disappeared onto. “After you?”
“Ever the freakin gentleman.”
Casey steps onto the deck while Walsh covers her, trying to keep her aim steady and her hand tight on the railing at the same time, because seriously, why did it have to be boats?
Walsh follows her on board, nodding towards the cabin before disappearing inside while Casey covers him. She grips tight to the rail and shuffles along to keep him in her sights.
“Shouldn’t this be a thing for river patrol?” she calls out, feeling more than a little shaky.
Walsh shakes his head and calls back, “Harbor unit only handles this shit once it’s out on the water.”
Casey risks a look over her shoulder. “We are on the water.”
“No, we’re on a boat.”
“And the boat is on the water.”
“Yeah but it only counts if it’s on the water and moving.”
She checks over her shoulder again and tightens her grip on the railing. “We are moving.”
“No, we’re—” Walsh steps out of the cabin and looks around. “We’re moving. Why are we moving? The guy! Get the guy!”
Casey’s eyes dart to the front of the yacht, catching on a flash of black synthetic moving around where the mooring line should be. Walsh is disappearing around the cabin before she can even think about moving. Her knuckles are turning white where’s she’s clinging to the side of the boat.
“But…I…”
“Schraeger, get the guy!” Walsh is already darting to the left, leaving the right side of the boat wide open.
“Ohhhh…” Casey can’t help but whine, her hand cramping as she lets go of the handrail. She rushes forward, trying to cut pleather-pants off, but before either of them can get to him he’s pulling some kind of parkour move and disappearing into the cabin. Casey doesn’t hesitate, twisting back and following him down.
“Hold it, b—” she gets out before the sound of a shotgun going off has her flinching and ducking against the wall.
“Casey!” Walsh calls, bursting through the door, gun drawn and eyes wide.
“Are you kidding me?” Casey can’t help but yell. “Did you seriously just shoot a hole in this boat? This boat that we are all on? In the middle of the freakin river?!”
The guy looks more worried than dangerous, rubbing his ear against his shoulder like the report from the shot might have hurt his eardrum.
Walsh steps in while pleather-pants is distracted by the crazy eyes Casey’s giving him and wrenches the shotgun out of his hands, pushing it into the guy’s back until he’s pressed against the wall. “Relax, these things are made to weather a hurricane. The shot was above water level anyway.”
Pleather’s writhing against the wall and calling Walsh some pretty choice names by the time Casey takes her eyes off the battered hull long enough to get to her cuffs.
“Quit your whining or so help me I will leave you handcuffed down here while we sink. I mean it. You ever see Titanic?” She snaps on the bracelets while Walsh finishes up reading the guy his rights.
The guy quits writhing for half a second. “No.”
Casey blinks. “Wait, seriously?”
Walsh is dragging the guy away from the wall and out onto the deck before he can answer, pushing him towards the back of the boat and down onto a bench that doubles as a seat. “Stay.”
He keeps a heavy hand on the guy’s shoulder, his eyes focused on the shoreline, and then he’s moving forward, reaching out and for whatever reason, starting to mess with the rigging.
“Wait, Walsh. Walsh!” Casey darts forward and pushes at him until he quits trying to untie everything and get them all in even more of a situation. “Will you stop?!”
“In case you didn’t notice, we are floating towards a bay right now. In a yacht with a freaking hole in it. We need to get back to the dock.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t involve raising the mainsail and sending us out to sea.”
Walsh pauses, his hands dropping from the winch he’d started tugging at. “I thought you hated boats.”
Casey huffs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what a sail is.”
Walsh just makes that same blank face again. The face of silent judgement. Casey hates that face.
“It’s my dad. He sails. Or, he owns a sailboat. He used to talk about it a lot. You tend to pick up a few things.” She waves her hands, trying to convey just how not important it is that they have this conversation right now, but it’s like Walsh isn’t even blinking anymore. He’s just staring and judging. “There was this whole…sailor shtick involved. I was a kid, I found it amusing.” Casey sighs. “There may have been a hat.”
Walsh’s mask cracks on a smile and Casey smacks him hard on the arm.
“Oh shut up.”
Walsh grins. “Well since you know so much, you wanna help me out here? I mean, I think I’ve got ‘Land Ho’ and ‘Abandon Ship’ covered but anything more than that and I’m lost.”
“Well you could try turning on the motor for a start.” Casey steps around him and points towards the ignition.
Walsh tightens his shoulders. “I knew that.”
“We need keys, though.”
There’s a tick in Walsh’s jaw as he thinks it over before turning to pleather-pants with a sharp look. “You know anything about hot-wiring a boat?”
***
They’ve got her started and Casey is white-knuckled at the railing again while she calls out instructions. “Just open the throttle for a second then we’ll idle her in.”
Walsh shakes his head. “You do it.”
“I— no thank you?”
“Just get over here. We both know I have no idea what I’m doing.” Casey opens her mouth but Walsh just throws her a glare. “And don’t try to tell me it’s just like driving a car because it’s really, really not.” His glare softens a little and Casey can’t help but notice that his grip on the wheel is almost as tight as hers on the railing. “Casey.”
She slides her way over to the wheel and doesn’t even comment on how quickly Walsh steps aside to let her take over.
“So I guess I learned one new thing about you today.” He’s already grinning again. “You’re secretly Popeye the sailor.”
“Popeye was a ‘roid addict with rage issues. I am nothing like Popeye.”
“I don’t know. You do have crazy eye.”
“You think I have crazy eyes?”
“Crazy eye. It’s your left eye. It has this…” Walsh tilts his head to the side like he’s studying her.
Casey can’t help but flinch. “What? It has what?”
“It’s like a... twitch.”
“I do not have a twitch!”
“Oh no, you definitely do.” Casey flinches again and Walsh’s whole face lights up. “Yep, there it is.”
“Whatever, brunch-hater.” She grumbles, holding tight to the wheel when a ripple in the water rocks the boat. “Hey, um, you wanna come back here and take the wheel for a sec?”
Walsh winces but it’s not unsympathetic. “You need to throw up?”
“So much yes.”
***
Casey makes her way back over just as they’re closing in on the dock. Walsh looks over to her and nods, which she assumes is strong-silent-type for ‘feeling better?’
She nods back and adds, “we’re there.” Walsh just crinkles his forehead like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“What?”
“We’re coming alongside.” Casey shrugs a shoulder towards the dock which Walsh isn’t even pretending to pay attention to anymore.
“I don’t know what—” he starts, and jesus christ, how many times does she have to say it?
“LAND HO!” she shouts, letting go of the handrail and pointing at the dock with both arms. Walsh looks up just long enough to wince and stamp his foot like he’s miming hitting the break in a car before there’s the sound of wood scraping and splintering against the hull.
***
There are cops waiting for them at the Marina; just enough of a crowd that Casey knows the story of Walsh’s less-than-stellar sailing skills will be all over the precinct by tonight.
They’re bundling pleather-pants into the back of a black and white while Casey and Walsh co-ordinate with some of the guys from the 7th who’d been on his tail this morning. Seems he’d been pretty busy for a guy who couldn’t even bother to get all the way dressed.
“Hey, Popeye!” Pleather calls as they’re trying to keep his head from knocking into the car door. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, I’d love to draw you like one of them French girls!”
“You little shit, you have so seen Titanic!” Casey wants to fly at him, but the door’s slamming closed on his smug little face and then Walsh has a hand wrapped warm and steady around her arm. “So.” She sighs, giving up the fight. “You don’t really hate brunch, do you?”
Walsh smiles a half-smile and shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, Spanish omelettes? Love those.”
“I’m counting that as your one thing, you know. Jason Walsh likes brunch.”
“I told you the omelette thing too. That earn me a pass for tomorrow?”
“That depends. You like ‘em with or without the onion?”
“Definitely with.”
“You see? Now we’re sharing. You tell me all about your torrid history with onion breath--”
“And you share a bunch of stories about your father’s weird sailor fetish.”
“Yeah. You know, I’m suddenly not so sure this sharing thing was really the best idea. Maybe we should both get a pass for tomorrow. And also the rest of the week.”
“Rest of the week sounds good.” Walsh nudges her with his shoulder. “Come on and I’ll make you some lunch.”
“An omelette?”
“Sure.”
“No peas, though.”
They’re both grinning now. Walsh nudges her again, almost hard enough to send her stumbling. “No peas.”