*looks back at you calmly, his features reflecting nothing so much as stillness and sympathy, for all that it costs him to manage it (how it breaks his heart to hear you so lost)*
We'll take care of it, don't worry. (I hate this; it's all wrong.) *maintaining only the very smallest shred of hope or faith that you will listen to his words and take them to heart* You concentrate on getting better now. *can't help faltering slightly as he continues (the words makes him sick to his stomach and everyone screws up on the job...everyone, but not you)* When...when you feel ready to come back, I'll want you to get a physical first, and a psychiatric workup. I'll need to know you're healthy. I'm not about to pour job stresses on you again so long as you're unwell.