[an update in honor of the 2-hour quiz I just completed]

Josh gasps when he sees me kick through the doors to the precinct. It's Friday. I took three days off work, a new record I don't intend to break, and I'm exhausted from doing nothing. I want nothing more than to get back into the swing of things. Don't get me wrong, the few days off were fantastic, but I was itching to get back to business.

"Hey, Josh, how are—"

"Where were you? What happened? Why did you leave? Tyler said you were gone because you were going undercover in Australia to bust a drug deal, is that true? Did you hear about the—"

I stop in front of his desk and slam my hand down on top of the tin of papers. He stops talking when I clench my jaw and grip my coffee cup a little tighter. Maybe I'm still tired, but I'm certainly not in the mood to deal with all of his poking and prodding. "I was at home. Lieutenant Swift forced me to take a vacation. I left because I was told to. I was not undercover in Australia to bust a drug deal, my Australian accent is terrible. And no, I have not heard anything. I am on my way to speak to Lieutenant Swift to learn what developments have been made in the case, so thank you for stalling me from learning anything of importance."

I lift my hand and shake off the paper clips that had dented into my palm. His desk is a mess. Blue post-it notes are scattered everywhere and taped down where they wouldn't stick. Highlighters, pens, pencils, and markers are held to the low walls of the cubicle with grey duct tape. The picture frames around his laptop are filled with stock photos, and he has an image of French fries placed in a heart-shaped frame. Some brown substance has began to crust to the glossy pink finish. It's food.

"Your desk is a mess." I mutter. "And I have the sneaking suspicion that you're keeping food in the middle drawer. Peanut butter and grape jelly? Peanut butter and marshmallow?"

Josh gulps. I see Tyler grinning from his cubicle, watching from above the low divider. He likes Josh, but he's full of energy and difficult to handle sometimes. He's a good kid deep down, but it's impossible to not want to push him out of a moving vehicle some days. It also doesn't help that his organization skills never developed. "Sorry."

If I squeeze my cup any harder, it'll burst and stain the last white button-down shirt I own. "You didn't answer the question."

He shrinks in his seat, cowering in fear. "It's... it's peanut butter and strawberry jelly. Sir. Sorry, sir."

I haven't heard him call me that since his first day. "Clean it out before you attract ants. We don't keep food in the desk drawers. And don't ask about my vacation again, please. I would much rather have been here."

He frowns and I can feel him staring as I walk off. "What kind of sociopath doesn't like vacations?"

I turn around just in time to see him get pelted with a paper airplane and three squishy stress balls from Tyler.

Josh unfolds the airplane and squints at the writing. He's already forgotten about everything I said and the way he felt. "Do I have to remind you about what just happened, you illiterate raccoon?" He reads aloud. His expression falls blank as he crumples the paper, tosses it in the wastebasket, and gets back to work.

I give Tyler a thumbs up.

Nobody else cares to comment on my absence, and I walk through the main area for another ten seconds in peace before Taylor leans out of her office to beckon me inside. She leaves the door open and heads back inside while I set down my bag and cup that Brendon got me for Christmas one year. It doesn't even have coffee in it, just leftover cherry Kool-Aid.

The hushed bickering between Tyler and Josh ceases as I shut the office door behind me. Sweet, sweet silence. It feels so good to be back.

Taylor's workspace is different than how I remember it was when I hung out with her earlier in the week. The stack of paperwork has only grown exponentially alongside all of the reports ready to be distributed — she's nearly hidden by the piles when she's sitting down. I assume a fair amount of packets have been handed out already based upon the two packages of empty staples in the trash can. Set beside the can are three Starbucks cups, ready to hit the recycling bins.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Long few days?" I ask and grab one of the spinning leather chairs across from her desk. The cushions are cold and suggest either isolation or a lack of visitors. Taylor slides the stacks of paper out of her way and readjusts everything to her usual setup.

She presses her index fingers to her temples, massaging in little circles. A bottle of aspirin sits beside her golden name plate. The label is peeling like she's picked at it while her symptoms subside. "Oh my god. You have no idea."

The image of Josh and Tyler arguing pops into my mind instantly. "I can imagine. What'd I miss?"

Taylor bites her lip and slumps back in her chair. "Not much. I said I'd call if there was a break, and there was not. Nobody called to identify any of the victims, Josh brought in a panini press and refuses to take it home, and Pete can't figure out what exactly happened to the driver if it would save his life. The crime scene analysts can't figure out much more than the order the cars crashed in and a few COD's."

She's frustrated. There's a Red Bull can sitting on the shelf behind her, I assume to be freshly opened because of the condensation on the can. I wonder if that attributes to her upset, or if the lack of information in the case is the main aggressor. I don't believe caffeine sits well with her.

"Sorry. I tried to convince Brendon to let me come back in, but that conversation didn't go over too well."

"I told Brendon to make sure you took time off. I knew any type of breakthrough would take time, but I didn't think we would pedal backwards. Either way, I'm glad you stayed home. Clear your mind, right?"

I thought the call was just a tactic Brendon had thought up to convince me to stay home and relax. I feel betrayed. "You actually called him?"

She pauses, visible fear in her eyes. "I'm your superior. I demanded that you stay home and I took the measures to make sure that you did."

"If I had been here on duty, I probably could've helped advance the case by miles. We could probably have multiple definitive COD's by now. What does the public think? How many reporters are knocking at the door?" I'm grateful for the vacation, yet upset that my absence set us back. I couldn't have done half days, I had to leave entirely.

Taylor clenches her jaw to hold back a grin. What a stupid argument. "You are a workaholic. Your cause of death will be your own job. I'll pay anything for someone to chisel it into your gravestone."

"Don't assume I'll ever die." I say. "Do you have any pictures of the driver on hand?"

She squints at me and goes searching for the documents without breaking eye contact. "Quit arguing with me or I'll make sure you'll die. The bodies are still preserved with Pete if you care to take another look. He clocks out at three o'clock today and won't be back until Monday morning."

Damn it. It's Friday. I have the weekends off. I only went to work for two days this entire week. I wonder if Brendon would be pissed off if I brought a few files home. "What are the chances I can come in over the weekend? On a scale of one to ten?"

"Ten being you'd be able to come in? Negative seventeen." She hands me a thick stack of paperwork encased in a Manila folder. "Had an employee briefing with some of my superiors on Wednesday. You were a topic of concern among them."

I don't sift through the documents immediately. "I'm a what?"

"A topic of concern. You have weeks and weeks worth of vacation days that have been unused for years, and you work overtime multiple times per week to gain free days you refuse to use."

"That's called dedication. Was I the only concern?"

"Of course not. Tyler broke the copier, his chair, and the break room coffee machine in less than twenty four hours. Josh is still just starting out here, and unfortunately he is very ditzy. Pete was late to the crime scene by hours and failed to provide an acceptable excuse for his tardiness. We didn't just talk about you, we just believe you're at a point of concern and it needs to be addressed."

I have a premonition as to where this conversation is going, and it's not good. "I won't be taking any leave of any sort. I belong here, and you know that. I'm not running from anything, I'm running towards everything."

"You say that every time this is brought up."

"Because it's the truth."

"Take next week off, please. If we need you then you'll be notified, but I sincerely doubt it. If a team of professionals can't come to a single conclusion in regards to this case, then I don't believe you will be able to." She folds her hands on her desk and locks eyes with me. "Dedication is important, but only to an extent. You're pushing the limits."

There's no point in arguing. She's called security on some before, and I don't aim to be next. Being escorted off a premises has crossed off my bucket list already. "This is a mistake."

"As I said, if any thing significant comes to light, you'll be one of the first to know. Think of this as, like, working from home. You want to spend time with your fiancé, don't you?"

I can't say no, even if the answer I want to provide suggests so. I want to spend time with him, but I know where I'm needed most. I didn't bust my ass for years to stay at home and read through files. "You can't just kick me out of the investigation. This is my job, this is my area of expertise. I'm good at my job and you need me."

"I never said that we don't need you," she flexes her fingers across the desk, "I just think you need some time off. You get so... so wrapped up in these things."

"It's my job—"

"I didn't want to bring this up but it's the unhealthiest coping mechanism I've ever seen in my goddamn life. I know you, I hired you for gods sake. I know this job is ridiculously unhealthy for you. But you still do it because you're a genius and absolutely fantastic at what you do, but you tend to take these things too far. You. Need. Time. Off. I know where you live. Off the record, I will personally beat your ass if you don't take a vacation."

"Oh," I taunt her in the hopes she'll change her mind, "so now this is a personal issue? I thought this was in regards to the amount of vacation days I had accumulated, not my childhood. I don't believe that's an adequate reason to place me on forced leave."

Her eyes widen like she's about to impale me with daggers. "I didn't say that this was a personal dispute either. As your superior, I am making a decision and I expect you to cooperate. You can take some files home so you aren't bored out of your mind, but I'm begging you to dedicate some time to other things, Dallon. I know all about you and your self-destructive tendencies, motherfucker. The case is running cold anyways. No leads and even less from investigation."

I bite my tongue and resist the urge to let it loose. I don't even know what I would say, but I'd do anything to stay for this case.

I just have to look into her eyes again to see how angry she is. She is not to be fucked with. There is no use in fighting her over this. I should take what I've been offered and deal with it, no matter if the case is going cold. "Have the final autopsy reports been written up?"

She nods. "Yesterday. They are still subject to change as information develops, but don't expect anything."

"I expect to see them in my email by tomorrow if I'm unable to pick up paper copies by the time I leave today."

"Done deal. Enjoy your vacation."

I will not.