When she got home everyone at the office treated her like a pariah. The crazy girl that had bolted off to Europe to chase the Whitmore file. The girl that didn't know when to stop. Chase had been the one to suggest she take a day in the weekly coffee and donuts rotation, it might, he told her, help them feel a bit more like you're a human. In his typically sly manner, he had neglected to mention that it would also get him off the hook for Wednesdays.



Chase watched her staring out the windows the break room, wondering what she was thinking, he could see from his desk, even through the blinds, the furrowed browser and he could imagine the hard green of her eyes, the way they really did seem to glint when she narrowed them. 


She was still thinking about, anticipating it even, when she stopped for donuts and coffee  She knew the rest of the office was uncomfortable around her. 



I have seven open cases at the moment. I'm about to close one that is yes, a bit old and was fun to track down. But as for what I get next, you know that's up to Peters, not me. So go back out there, tell them that I have no desire to make them look bad, I just happen to really like this job. Tell them they need to fucking relax. Maybe get a life, garden, carve miniatures, golf, something, I don't know, live while you can, indulge yourself, do something you love, that sort of stuff. I mean, if most of them don't like this job, and I have gathered that impression in my brief time here, why the hell do they do it? And even more to the point, why do you do it Chase?


 Unlike most, it did not break her, it did not produce the mild sense of hopelessness the cut through the rest of Skull and Bones like a current of quiet despair.