Page 17 of Oddly Fine

“Joint operation between the FBI and the Canadian Mounties. I’ve been asked to send some support and you’re the closest. Right now, all they need are some guys for grunt work, but since I sold you as a sniper—”

Right.

“I have her,” Hayes replied. Beckett snorted, his usual response whenever Hayes called his sniper rifle her. Hayes pointedly ignored him.

“Good. I don’t expect you’ll need it, but you never know. You need to be in Sherbrooke by dawn. Think you can do that?” Hayes hadn’t the faintest idea where Sherbrooke was on a map, but he supposed if his boss was asking him to go there, then it should be doable.

“Yes, sir,” Hayes answered promptly.

“Then get going,” Gill said and hung up.

Hayes wasn’t put off at all by their boss’s brusqueness. That, too, was par for the course.

“Have you seen my cargo pants? I swear I—”

“In the bathroom. You left them there after you mistook them for a towel,” Hayes responded with a sigh. Finding stray articles of Beckett’s clothing laying around their condo was perfectly normal. While Beckett was neat and organized most of the time, he did have a tendency to forget where he’d put things. It didn’t bother Hayes so much as it simply confounded him. On more than one occasion, Beckett had absentmindedly placed his belt in the fridge, clueless as to how it had ended up there in the first place.

“Rightttt,” Beckett said, pointing a finger gun at Hayes. “You alright?” he asked him, one eyebrow arched in concern.

Hayes yawned and stretched, nodding slowly as he struggled to get going.

“Ever think we’re getting too old for this?” Hayes asked, because while he wasn’t far along enough along in his career to retire, he’d begun to ponder whether this was really what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“What?” Beckett asked, giving Hayes a surprised look, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “You’re saying you’re not happy anymore about getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go shoot people in the face?”

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Hayes responded with another tired sigh, tossing the covers aside and placing both feet on the floor. It was cold. He wanted nothing more than to snuggle back under the covers.

“Is this like—a serious question? Are you thinking of quitting? ‘Cause I feel like that should be more of a Tuesday afternoon conversation than a 4:00 a.m. on Sunday one.” Looking genuinely worried, Beckett appeared torn between sitting down next to Hayes and going to search for his pants.

Hayes chuckled and shook his head. “Ignore me. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”

Beckett leaned over to kiss the top of his head.

“Come on, Mr. Cranky Pants,” Beckett muttered. “I’ll get you some caffeine on the way.” He gave Hayes a quick hug and then went to the bathroom in search of his pants to finish getting dressed.

Hayes stared after him for a few seconds, blinking blearily, reveling in the warmth of Beckett’s open affection. Hayes remembered when they first met, and he would think to himself that any morning that started with Beckett being in his space would quickly go to hell-in-a-handbasket. While that was still entirely accurate, over time Hayes had come to realize that he wouldn’t have it any other way. He couldn’t explain the dynamics of their relationship. It was beyond anything he’d ever encountered, and it was damned scary at times, but that was nothing compared to how fulfilling it was to be with Beckett every day.

With a quiet hum of satisfaction, Hayes stood up and did a full body stretch before starting the process of gathering his gear.

Sherbrooke was a small, albeit popular, town in the province of Quebec. Hayes did a quick Google search and found that it was home to two well-known universities. One of them used English as a first language rather than French, surprisingly enough. A first glance, it seemed a lot of the neighbourhoods in that area were older and slowly falling into disrepair. However, there were quite a few newer sections that had been built recently. It reminded Hayes of some of the towns in Maine, in a way. Older and settled, but still thriving.

Gill instructed them to report to the police station in the middle of town, which was bustling even at 6:00 a.m. Everyone there spoke French so quickly it made their heads spin. Although Hayes tried to catch at least some of what they said, he quickly determined that it was fruitless.

“Oui?” The receptionist had dark bags under her eyes and looked wiped out from working the night shift. Nonetheless, her demeanor was pleasant.

“Agent Thérault et Monroe. Nous sommes attendue,” Beckett replied. Going by the expression she wore, it was clear she’d tagged him as an out-of-towner, but she didn’t ask any questions as she picked up the phone.

“J’ai deux agents à la reception. J’ai pas de badge, mais ça me dit Thérault et—” She was cut off quickly by a male voice loud enough that even Beckett and Hayes, standing several feet away, could hear him.

“Okay, je t’ai envoies,” she replied before hanging up and smiling at

them.

“Passssttt the—eh, big, door? Two desk dowwwn—” she directed them with a thick accent.

Hayes thanked her before heading in the direction she indicated.

“Agents Thérault and Monroe?” A large black man called out to them as they stepped into a room that was a typical police bullpen, just like the ones at home. He extended his hand, and Hayes shook it quickly.