Van had known it was coming. It had been coming for a while. He welcomed it, in a way. No more waking up early, no more sleepless nights. It was over. Nevertheless, he would protest it to the end.
"This isn't exactly orthodox," said Van. The Inspector sighed. He had known this wouldn't be easy.
"I'm afraid you don't really have a say in this." Van scowled.
"So I'm going again? Out on my ear?" The Inspector rolled his eyes. Van pressed. "As if the last year or so never happened? No assassination attempts. No explosions, no rescue of Ford, no ComsSecc, no crystal and no Sophia!" Van let his rage build. They had taken him back, half-begged for him to work for them, and now he was gone again. Across the table, the Inspector shifted uncomfortably.
"You're too close to this case. You're too close to it all." Van spat. Actually spat onto the table.
"And so, after saving your ass from those assassins, after saving Ford's ass from ComsSecc, after I saved the world and after Sophia DIED FOR ME, this is what's left? Another firing? Another forced retirement?" The Inspector pulled his shoulders back, resolutely.
"Yes. Another retirement. No ifs. No buts. You are very lucky I pulled a few strings and you're not being prosecuted. Talking to her like that, in the open. What were you thinking? Did you think how this could come off on me? On Ford?" Van seemed to slump in his chair, just a little.
"So be it," said Van, as if starting a new train of thought, drained. He got up, stiffly, and moved to walk out. The Inspector called from behind him.
"Van Helsinki!" Van turned, slowly, coldly furious.
"Yes?" he gritted out. The Inspector forced a smile.
"One more thing. Your guns. I've got what was left of Sophia's pistols already. We found her Dragunov up in your old apartment...but...your service pistol. I'll need it back as well." Van tensed, suddenly, and the Inspector's hand went to the panic button under his desk, but the now ex-detective simply composed himself for a moment, then walked over to the desk, removed his SIG-Sauer P228 in its holster from one side of his belt, and his two magazines from the other side, and placed them, with over-emphasised care, on the Inspector's desk. The Inspector breathed out once Van removed his hand. "Thankyou," he said. Van said nothing, but turned on his heel again, and moved towards the door. The Inspector said nothing, and Van pushed out into the police corridor. Normally, Van would have gone to see Ford, but she was out today, still recovering from accumulated stress. He was on his own. Again. The ex-detective moved slowly towards the door. He could already feel his right hand throbbing, the problem that had never really gone away, not since Geoff had broken it on a grassy field outside a church. This was the end. Van walked down the corridors he had used to roam, past the firing range he had accumulated his skills on, along the corridor where he had first met Sophia, past the office where he'd been assigned to the Inspector and the coffee room where he'd bumped into Ford. Van turned, pushed past the last set of double doors, and out into the dying sunset.
Alone.