4. "Speak Without Accusing"


"Where is he? Where's that jackass?!" Russ demanded.

"Russ! Russ, hold on a minute-" Font called after him.

Russ paid him no mind. The detective stormed down the hall, clothes dripping wet, ready to quite literally rain hell on whichever unfortunate soul had incited his wrath.

In this case, that unfortunate soul was none other than Agent Milton Chamberlain.

Russ barged through the doors, past the secretary, and right into said agent's office. Then he stood there for a moment, seething.

"Russ," Milt greeted, "how's-" glancing up from his paperwork, the agent stopped short. He frowned, eyes lingering on the sopping wet detective. "Can I get you a towel?"

Russ smiled viciously.

"Please do," he replied. "Then maybe I can strangle you with it-"

Milt's secretary glanced over, alarmed. Milt smiled at her reassuringly. "Everything's fine," he said.

Russ choked. "Fine. Fine?! A suspect drove me into a freaking lake while you were sitting here the whole time doing..."

"Paperwork," Milt supplied.

"...doing ZERO," Russ yelled, "and everything's fine?!"

Milt leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.

"I would've been happy to accompany you," the agent replied calmly, "but you said you didn't need me on this case."

Russ only stared at him in disbelief.

"You're a bastard," he marveled. "You're a narcissistic, lying, manipulative bastard."

"I was only doing as I was told," Milt replied, unfazed.

Russ sneered. "Yeah, of course you were."

A thick silence settled over the room. Milt looked away, returning to his paperwork with renewed eagerness. Russ watched, radiating cold fury.

"I was wrong, " he said suddenly.

Milt glanced up at that.

"Oh?"

"You're not a tool," Russ spat, "because tools are actually useful."

The detective then turned to leave, but not before shooting the other man one last detesting look. Milt met his gaze, going completely rigid.

"You'd better find a way to go back to Detroit," Russ said coldly, "because you sure as hell don't belong here." With that, Russ stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Milt watched the detective's retreating form, face oddly blank. There was a sudden, loud snap, and the agent looked down to find himself grasping a broken pen, knuckles white. He sat there for a moment, staring numbly as ink splattered onto the papers, dripping down from his one clenched hand.

Then, Milt released a heavy breath, and he buried his head in the other.