Page 16 of Oddly Fine

Like you. He might as well have just said it straight up. A nutcase. A degenerate. A no-good waste of space. But before Beckett gave into the hot surge of anger demanding that he jump across the table to strangle Franklin, which he was clearly begging for, Franklin resumed his critique.

“You’re chaotic and unpredictable, but loyal and dedicated. I guess from Hayes’ perspective, since he learned early on not to ever count on anyone but himself—you’re two steps in the right direction,” he mused with a slight smile.

What the actual hell had Beckett ever done to Franklin to deserve this?

“You ready to go, Franklin?” Maggie asked as she walked back into the room. She stopped abruptly, taking in Beckett’s flushed face and angry gaze that was locked onto Franklin. She glanced between them and frowned.

“Everything okayyy?” she asked. When neither one of them replied, she turned to Hayes with an expectant look.

“Absolutely,” Hayes said with a nod and a pleased smile. “Franklin was just telling us how perfect we are for each other.” Hayes’ confident, borderline sappy, response made Beckett’s anger vanish.

Maybe Franklin was right. Maybe Hayes put up with—no, loved him—because he’d only known conditional love before, and had nothing healthy or sane to measure it against. Okay. Then so be it. Let their relationship be a perfect clusterfuck, especially since they weren’t exactly vying for couple of the year anyway.

Franklin chuckled, his twisted smile suddenly transforming to one of genuine amusement.

“Exactly!” Beckett confirmed as he stood up and offered Hayes his hand.

“Pleasure seeing you again,” Franklin told Hayes, and for once the posh bastard actually sounded sincere.

Hayes shook his hand and returned his smile.

“Until next time,” Hayes said cordially.

Franklin didn’t bother offering Beckett a hand—or God forbid—a hug. He settled for a quick nod in his direction and then winked mischievously.

“See you soon, Cazoo,” Franklin said.

It had been years since Beckett had been called that, and he fought hard not to react. Maggie, on the other hand, didn’t pretend to miss hearing it. She grabbed Franklin’s arm.

“You shopping for a black eye?” she asked Franklin before turning to smile at Beckett and Hayes. “See you boys soon, alright? Raphael wants to meet his new uncle,” she added, with a wink.

Beckett blew her a kiss in return. He slipped his arm around Hayes’ waist as they watched Franklin and Maggie walk out the front door.

“Cazoo?” Hayes asked as soon as the door closed.

“I couldn’t pronounce the word crazy as a kid—had problems with the letter R. Came out as k-ay-zy—which turned into Cazoo since I was always doing crazy shit,” he murmured softly, as if lost in thought.

Hayes chuckled and took a deep breath. He wrapped an arm around Beckett’s shoulders and gently pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Come on, then, Cazoo—time for bed.”

And Beckett let himself be pulled along without a single complaint.

Chapter 3

Faithful to his usual habits, Gill called them around 4:00 a.m., jerking them abruptly out of their nice, peaceful slumber, no doubt intending to send them on yet another unhinged adventure. Hayes groaned in annoyance as Beckett picked up his cell from the nightstand to answer. Beckett’s childhood bed was much smaller than their own at home. Every one of Beckett’s movements disturbed his peaceful slumber.

“And the local PD—,” he heard Beckett mutter gruffly in response to something Gill said. His boyfriend hummed, clearly still half asleep. Hayes was positive that he’d get some half-baked explanation about where they were going and why, which he would then have to deconstruct and reorganise on the fly. Par for the course really.

“No, no, we’re good to go—” Beckett assured their boss as he sat up in bed. “Uh—let me ask.”

A warm hand settled on Hayes’ left shoulder and squeezed gently. Beckett’s thumb rubbed soothing patterns on his skin as he leaned forward to ask, “Hey, is your recce handy?”

Hayes sighed, knowing snooze time was well and truly over when he was asked if he’d packed his favorite sniper rifle. Sitting up and shaking off his grogginess, he gestured for the phone.

“Mr. Cranky Pants wants a word,” Beckett told their boss, handing the phone over. He got up and began to dig through his pile of clean clothing at the foot of the bed. The pile was Beckett’s method of “putting things away,” and while he kept assuring Hayes that he could always quickly find everything, this method didn’t look very efficient at the moment.

“What’s going on?” Hayes tiredly ran a hand over his face.