**picture: Hoover Building, FBI HQ, Washington DC
Russell frowned at hearing Brock's request, then tried to swallow his laughter, and ended up coughing like crazy and covering his phone to not do it in Brock's ear. He had to be kidding, or in desperate need for a psych eval: he was in DC, with his daughter, nothing to do but rest and spend time with her, and he was asking Russell to send him cases to review and assess.
Russell's reaction made Brock scowl, and his silence made Russell scoff again.
"Sorry, Brock, but I ain't sending you no files. You're still on leave, and everything's going smooth and easy here."
"You mean no cases showed up in two whole weeks?"
"Yes, some cases popped up, but Cooper assigned other agents to them. And you should be glad you're away, 'cause she's been pressing on everybody's ass real hard lately."
"Do you know why?"
"Politics. Now Burton's taking a new post—abroad, they say—she wants the best numbers she can get to show to the new Violent Crimes Section Chief."
"Beg your pardon?"
Russell was almost as surprised as Brock. "You didn't know? Burton is leaving Violent Crimes."
"Any idea who's taking his chair?"
"Nope, but rumor has it they're sending new blood. They want someone more active in the post."
With such unexpected news in mind, Brock made his next call. He requested an appointment to be examined by a Bureau's physician, to be cleared to going back to work. Next morning he wore his suit for the first time in three weeks, took Andrea to school and drove down the streets carpeted in snow up to the Hoover building.
The doctor examined Brock in no hurry and performed all kinds of tests on him. Brock was already losing his patience when the man invited him to sit at his desk and sat opposite him, looking straight into his eyes.
"I shouldn't clear you, Agent Brockner," he said. Brock hung on to the keyword: shouldn't. "But we've known each other for many years, and I know you must be going ballistic after three weeks of leave. So here's what we're gonna do." The man paused and waited for Brock to nod, which he did right away. "I'm clearing you, but you're gonna give your ear another week before going back to the field."
Brock scowled and the doctor raised his eyebrows like a warning—argue and you won't get cleared at all for six months.
"No field work?" tried Brock.
"No, Agent. Find yourself some paperwork and spend your time on it for another week."
"And if I promise to be very careful?"
The man breathed in, as if Brock was a little boy asking for more ice cream despite his aching belly.
"I know you will be careful, Agent Brockner, but I cannot tell about the people around you. Anything like a gunshot near you could cause permanent damage to your ear, and then you'd be chained to a desk way longer than a week—unless you're planning an early retirement."
Brock breathed in too, knowing the man was right, but not pleased. Anyway, at least he'd be able to go back to the office. The doctor filled the form, stamped his signature on it and handed it to him. Brock took a quick a look at it and scowled.
"Not cleared to fly?"
The doctor held his eyes, his face a warning again, now to not try his patience. Brock nodded and stood up.
"Take care, Agent Brockner," the doctor said as they shook hands. And he meant it.
"Thank you, Doctor. Have a good day."
Waiting for the elevator, Brock wondered what excuse could he have to swing by Burton's office.
Ask and you shall receive, Brockner.
He stepped back when the elevator opened, to give way to a dozen agents who spread out in different directions. One of them stumbled onto an assistant, who waited to get in with a hundred files in his arms, which cascaded down to the floor.
While the rest of the people walked into the booth, Brock crouched to help the nervous young man. His load was actually too much for a single person to carry, so Brock took near half of it.
"Thank you, sir, but there's no need. I can do it," the assistant mumbled, blushing out of embarrassment.
"Which floor are you going?" asked Brock, authority flooding his voice.
"Fourth floor, sir."
"I'll help you," he ruled.
His voice and his scowl dissuaded the assistant to insist, so he just nodded, muttering, "Thanks, sir," and stood by his side, shooting fleeting glances at Brock, who held the folders like one who's spent many years carrying them.
Brock didn't trade a look, nor a word with the assistant on their way, and followed him to the main office of the fourth floor. A quick glance told him Burton's office was empty, and he swallowed his disappointment. He nodded at the assistant, who thanked him again, and spun around to leave. Right when Burton walked in with a younger agent.
Burton spotted him right away and flashed his salesman smile. "Brock!"
"Chief Burton," Brock replied curtly.
To his surprise, Burton paused to shake his hand. "This is a lucky meeting. Come, join us."
The Section Chief waved for them to go on to his office and invited them in. On their way, he introduced Brock to the other agent, one Roy Cassidy.
Brock had heard of Cassidy, one of the young promises of the Bureau. Supported by many big bosses in the brass, his career was set on the fast lane. In his early forties, Cassidy had achieved his Supervisory status about ten years ago. He'd worked abroad for the last years, earning one commendation after another. Would he be the new blood Russell had mentioned?
Burton signaled his secretary to bring them coffee and closed the door. He cut straight to the point as they were still sitting around the coffee table, and his words confirmed what Russell had said—Burton was leaving Violent Crimes for a post abroad and Cassidy would take the chair, starting the next week.
"But he's only staying here in DC for a few days, right, Roy?"
Burton tried to act like they were friends, but the other man hardly glanced at him to nod. "I plan to do a firsthand check on some of our field offices," he explained to Brock. "So I expect to meet you again soon, in Boston."
Then Cassidy changed the subject, shifting it away from his plans as new Section Chief. Brock didn't took part in the conversation, but rather studied his new boss, and he left Burton's office with a good impression. Cassidy didn't seem overly worried about his career, since it ran down a golden highway aimed to reach, in due time, the very top of the Bureau. Instead, he seemed more worried about having his agents where they would give the best results, and get rid of as much red tape as possible.
That was a nice purpose, thought Brock on his way back home, but it was certainly way easier said than done. Anyway, he liked the perspective of Cassidy being his boss. Well, he actually liked the perspective of Burton not being his boss anymore. About damn time, after being forced to play the man's games for ten years.