It takes alcohol to get them to admit it - lots and lots of alcohol - but they will eventually admit it. You have to ask the right questions about him, though. Most of the time, all they do is laugh and talk about what a bastard he is - or how good he is at his job. And he is good - damn good. They might make jokes about his ex-wives (there are three of them) or his haircut (it’s bad). They will definitely tease one another about spilling his coffee or taking slaps to the back of the head. You hear it all. The bartender hears everything.

They come in every Friday night, as long as they aren’t working a case - they’re Navy cops, though none of them are actually in the Navy. They’re a rowdy, fun group; loud laughers, good tippers. Beer, Scotch, Cosmopolitan, Manly-Drink-of-the-Week. And Jim Beam.

They won’t admit they love him without a lot of alcohol. But they do love him. It’s obvious in the way they talk about him. Their eyes, normally sharp as they watch one another’s six, go soft, and their mouths, always quick with a laugh, show a different kind of smile.

They owe him a lot - all of them. The most recent addition to their team, the one with the dark eyes and the exotic accent, owes him her new life. Not the existence which she holds dear - that was a debt he owed her and she collected on. They are square on that account. No, she owes him her life: her life in the United States, her job and her friends.

The man who is older, the doctor, owes him friendship. They have been friends for over a decade, these two men, and there is much between them. It is a thing so complicated as to have become simple.

The younger man, the one who smiles like an oiled snake, owes him friendship as well, and respect. He became who he is by learning from the best. He has been a cop in three cities but he never became a man until he came to the place where he is now. He learned to become a man, not from his father, but from this man who is more of a father to him than his own father ever was or could be.

The one who has been with him longest is the one who owes him most. She is a genius, and that’s not exaggeration. She holds high degrees in complicated subjects, but no one takes her seriously because of the way she dresses. No one, that is, except him. He gave her a chance when most other agencies would have laughed her out of the interview room. She would never allow him to regret that.

--

He doesn’t need alcohol to admit that he loves them, though he’ll only admit it to himself. He doesn’t answer questions about them, just gives that slight smile. He doesn’t usually sit directly with them, in their group; he sits nearby though and every once in awhile, one of them will break off from the group and join him for a bit. He usually buys the women a drink, and slips out quietly after they’ve each had a chance to spend a bit of one-on-one time with him.

He knows that they love him, though the words are never spoken from one to another. It’s in the way they look at one another, in the way they laugh and semi-flirt and in the way the women occasionally touch his hand. That he could have either or both women is obvious (and maybe the younger man as well): all he would need to do is give the slightest sign. He never does; he’s one of those old-school types that doesn’t date co-workers.

That’s okay, though. Because if he did date one of them, it would undoubtedly FUBAR their team dynamic. That’s something you’re sure of; you’ve seen it before. And they all know it, too. So they’re content to circle in his orbit, adoring him from afar. They will continue to do so. And they will continue to show up here every Friday night, as long as they aren’t working a case. And that’s cool with you.