SFB: VII
Ten minutes later, Thacker doesn't look up as he calls out "Don't even fucking tell me you were going to knock. Come inside, Goldberg, I have words to have with you."
The door opens, quietly; Marcus enters. The door closes after him again, just as quietly.
"Well?" Thacker asks, eventually, impatient. "You going to explain yourself, lad?"
Marcus steps forward and takes one of the chairs, sitting without waiting for more of an invitation. "That was a remarkably sick and twisted world you sent us to, you know," he says, conversationally. "Magic or not, it was more than he could handle. You're lucky he's still sane."
Thacker scowls, again.
"No. Quite honestly, sir. He's a good kid, a promising agent, and he should never be placed in a situation like that again. I'm rather convinced that he hates me, just at the moment, and I don't particularly blame him. I also had to hurt him, quite a lot, in order to convince several of the crimelords that I was who I said I was. Also I'd rather you not call me Goldberg, at least for a few weeks. Theirn is not the only one who's still dealing with the aftereffects of this mission. I would really rather not be who I've been for the past few weeks, if I can help it."
"What would you recommend I do instead?" Thacker snaps.
"Give him as much time as he needs to find himself again. Hell, take it out of my vacation time if you need, I'm sure I've still got at least a little bit of it stored up." Rather surprisingly bitter, that, and Thacker's eyebrows raise again, and he leans back in his chair to study Marcus for a moment.
Marcus... Marcus looks tired, and thin, as though he has been neither sleeping nor eating much. It's entirely possible he hasn't been, for that matter. The lightest possible touch, around the edge of his shields, and there's still enough leaking through that his eyebrows continue their climb towards his hairline.
"Get out of my office."
Marcus blinks, looking up, startled. "Sir?"
"You heard me. Get out. You've got a month, figure out what the hell you're going to do on it. Two weeks comped, the rest is vacation time of yours. I don't care if you lurk about or go back to that house of yours or what, but you will not be working. Not even paperwork."
"Sir, why--"
"Shut up, lad, and go make your plans. If I see you at all in the next thirty days, if not to request a transport, you're fired."
Marcus shakes his head, expression an interesting mix between amused and bemused. "-- as you say, then, sir."
"Get the fuck out of my office, Marcus," Thacker says again, with something that one might almost assume to be tired fondness. "You can explain yourself more fully a month from now, if you need to."
"Yes, sir," says he, and exits as quietly as he'd entered.