Rufus runs on scotch and grumpiness and babies (isentropic) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-08-04 16:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-08] august, alastor moody, rufus scrimgeour |
Who: Rufus & Moody
Where: Aurorville
When: After this; 4 August 1979
What: A friendly chat
Status: Complete
Rating: PG
Rufus left Barty's office with a sense of accomplishment and vague dread; it was quite the ambivalence, and he didn't think he liked it. Beelining for Moody with the sort of stride that only heads of office with senses of purpose seemed to pull off, he eyed their surrounding rubberneckers (who immediately seemed to find something very important to do). "Thank you for staying. I've spoken to Crouch and --" but he was cut off by a flapping memo that came zipping around the corner and into the main area. "Yes." He pointed at it.
Moody was silent as he read the memo, setting it down on the desk and looking up at Rufus for a moment. He closed his eye and rubbed the bridge of his nose, avoiding the still-sore scar tissue. The headache was still there.
"You should've saved it."
Rufus frowned, and decided that he wasn't in the mood to go about the sensitive root. Putting his palms on Moody's desk so he could lean in and speak only loud enough that the other man could here, he said, very precisely. "Don't you dare go anywhere. You want to be pissed at Crouch, fine. You want to deck him in the nose when this is all over? Have my blessing. But don't even think of walking out of this building when I need you the most and just put my neck out to tell Crouch, of all people, that he was wrong."
"And do what, stick more band-aids on severed limbs?"
That had been a poor choice of words, as Benjy's death surfaced unpleasantly in his mind. He grimaced, sliding his fingers under the strap of the eyepatch to rub at the edge of the socket, where the healing flesh itched. Benjy's death, the Prewetts, the murders -- it was all-too-sharp in his mind, a contrast to the fight that he couldn't properly remember.
Rufus's expression softened, and he crouched down so he could look Moody more levelly in the (remaining) eye. "If you're leaving because you don't want to get injured again, retire properly and get the damned medals you deserve. If you're leaving because of Crouch or because you think you're worthless, I'll strap you down to a damned desk because it's bullshit, pure and simple. You'll get over the eye, Moody, and you'll be better for struggling through it, but I'm not going to lose a good officer to egos, whether its yours or someone else's."
"This whole blasted institution is worthless half the time," Moody muttered. "And I'm not afraid of a few more scratches."
All right, so it was a bit more than a scratch. That didn't mean he had to acknowledge it.
Rufus's lips tightened. "I'm sorry you feel that way." What the hell else was he supposed to say? "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't give up on us just yet, but if you're determined, there's damned all I can do about it, is there?"
Moody sighed, absently shredding the memo between his fingers.
"Look... give me a few days. I'll put in a request for medical leave, get my head straightened out a bit."
Rufus straightened up and put a hand on Alastor's shoulder. "Good man. Take some time to decompress and then get your ass back here." Thank Merlin. He really did not want to deal with Moody gone forever, but a few weeks he could handle.
"Make sure Guffy doesn't get herself into worse trouble," Moody remarked, finding one of the official inter-office memos and uncapping a bottle of ink. "I'll be back in a week."
"Count on me." And Rufus headed back to his desk, wondering how he could shift the universes to keep that promise.