It was time, Adon decided as he looked at the clock above his desk, to talk to her. He wasn't getting anything done. Between yesterday's distressing events, the resistance he'd received in obtaining warrants on all Reid property, and  rehashing his conversation with Groust, he was beginning to question. He began to feel a sense of futility. The things that mattered had slipped in order to make room for things that were pressing at work but still did not progress. And what was it all for? Was he making any difference? Was he accomplishing his dreams? He wasn't happy -- that was for certain, and hadn't felt really content for . . . perhaps since moving here. Probably a little before. But this wasn't helping.

And so, now seemed as good a time -- the best, actually -- to end it. Adon pushed away from his desk, smiling slightly as he rolled backwards, thinking of the joys of rolly-chairs a moment before rising and taking a step towards Raynor's door.

He paused mid-step before returning to his desk, rifling through the top drawer to obtain a small square of paper. He tugged a moment at the chain at his neck which carried his badge and, lifting it over his head, wrapped the paper about it before walking the short distance to Raynor's office. It seemed like it should feel a long walk, a long momentous walk. But everything felt normal. Hyper-real. Mundane, even. This was it and that was it.

The weight in his hand felt foreign: hard and heavy. But the weight from around his neck, like a millstone, was gone. With the other hand, Adon made a fist, lightly rapping on Raynor’s office door. It was, as usual, not closed.

A distracted “enter” was granted and Adon wondered if she had even looked up. Stepping inside, Adon paused. It was Saturday, and the office was nearly deserted. Nevertheless, with his back against the open door, he could not help but feel exposed.

“I’d like it if we closed the door. May I?” Adon had heard enough conversations – difficult to listen to – at his cubicle from this office. One of them, the one between Kabir and Raynor regarding himself and his conduct, was something which had weighed heavily upon him for a month now.

He had forgiven Kabir his words, but he had not spoken to Raynor about hers. He was not sure if he ever would.

Silence now from Raynor, though she did seem to be looking at him -- suddenly and keenly -- as he closed the door, waiting for the soft click. You could hear and see and feel everything in moments like this. Adon knew he’d remember the details: the fly in the upper right corner of the window, the fact that she was looking over Edward Pratt’s memo, that expression on her face.

Adon crossed the space to her desk and, reaching across it, uncurled his fist. As he drew back, he left his badge and weapons permit, sitting there, atop Pratt’s memo.

“There are a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

The fireplace crackled merrily behind the Head Auror’s desk warning off the threat of chill as October waned into November. Contently basking in its glowing warmth, Raynor leaned back in her high-back chair examining the various reports for the week, a common Saturday activity for her. The usual clamor of conversation, practical jokes, and criminal protests was subdued beyond her open door in a blissful calamity only present in the late hours of the night and on a weekend. It was an optimal time for her to concentrate on the kilometers of paperwork that coincided with her position. And Merlin, the last week had created paperwork.

Full moons always did.

She had once heard that muggle law enforcement had a similar gripe about full moons and how they always seemed to emphasis the mad in everyone. If only they knew the half of it. A werewolf attack in Hogsmeade Village, where Knox Greyfriar had been mutilated and three students placed at risk – including Fauna Blake. Her department had not responded to that one, but they were left with the filing and legal aspects of the attack. A surge of guilt assayed her, thinking of Greyfriar and she forced herself to quickly squelch it as it provoked contemplations of the May 2nd Murders case. No use thinking about lost causes when there were much more current investigations at hand.

Such as the runespoor venom in Knockturn Alley, where most of the stacks of parchment on her desk had originated from. Two arrests, one kidnapped victim, and a mess – that last one referring to Cináed Tawse. It was best not to think about the Tawse family in depth either, she lamented, as her temples began to throb with the mere suggestion.

It was much easier to concentrate on this unrelated report; which was saying something. Aurors were not noted for their superior penmanship.  Most of them were likely capable, but they much preferred to scribble through reports and signatures in order to get them over as fast as possible. A fantastic situation for them but havoc for their supervisor. Edward Pratt’s seemed to be digressing into a foreign language. She wondered if he was being distracted. He had not worked any of the recent major cases and this scrawl was bad, even for him. She made a note to check in on him. A bitter note, considering how well that had gone over the last time she had done that.

A rap resounded on the open doorway and she granted a “enter,” on sheer habit, still rubbing a temple while peering down her nose at the slip of parchment, jokingly considering calling in a favor from a runic translator on Level Nine. The knock had not sounded urgent, so when Adon Eleor’s voice drifted over to her, requesting to close the door, she looked up abruptly.

Tamis Raynor had an open door policy. She assured anyone that came into her office, that if they had something to say she entirely trusted her Aurors should they overhear it. Though, those Aurors often rebutted that she kept it open on behalf of intelligence; it was easier to make sure the lot were not getting into trouble that way. So, when one of those very Aurors requested to close the door, knowing full well the tacit statement that was making it put her on alert.

Silently she gave her permission watching him intently as he drew near. No alarm on his face. No worry or concern. There seemed rather to be a solemn and resolute determination. A moment later he placed an object on the table – two objects. She recognized the heavy golden badge. She did not deserve the office if she did not.

Then he spoke. There was a long pause where Raynor absorbed his statement, putting down the report. It could wait.

“There are less dramatic ways to get my attention,” she advised wryly, but not without humor . Yet she placed the quill down and leaned back in her chair, “but now that you have it.” She motioned to him with one hand, signally that he was free to continue. The badge and slip of muggle paper remained forgotten on her desk; she kept her gaze locked on the man.

Raynor didn't fight him on this, at least. Which was promising, initially. With the closed door at his back, he felt more at-ease. Others weren't listening. That was heartening. And she was. That was even more so. She was earnestly looking at him with those boring eyes that would gouge out a barnacle from its shell, but Adon didn't squirm; he had nothing to hide and he'd let her know all. Even if she didn't want to hear it. He was tired of listening to conversations in her office about him, pretending he didn't sense the topic when he couldn't quite hear the words. It was time she hear his thoughts on the matter. They'd crystallised, and now they were both there to examine them. He looked down at the badge on the desk. It was hard and metallic, and while he could not see with physical eyes his resolutions placed out into the open, they felt equally tangible. Crystallised.

“There are less dramatic ways to get my attention, but now that you have it.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Adon's face, leaving him looking a bit more perturbed. He shrugged.
"Didn't want to talk with that on my chest." He sat down across from her, deciding it best to put one arm upon the armrest, the other upon his lap. It avoided the ridiculousness of appearing too much a chastised school boy, hands clasped before him or, arms upon the rests, a Henry VIII.

"I have considered this for the past couple of weeks -- and up until then," he said, lowering his gaze to meet Raynor's. "I understand that things are run differently here than I have been accustomed to. I also understand that we have been working under . . . particular and exigent circumstances recently." He considered October 1st. The hasty (and yet overdue) promotion. At first, he had thought it easy; preferable, even. No ceremony. He just was an Auror, and that was that. No celebration afterwards. . .

But the reason why that had settled better with him was because it didn't feel right. He had slipped up -- big time -- and not in the way anyone seemed to suspect. Or notice. Raynor might think this was about Heathrow. Or even Margaret Groust. Those two instances had been attributed to him -- very publically but also privately in Raynor's office -- as insufficiencies on his part. But he didn't agree. His use of agency there still felt right. He challenged anyone else to see a better solution, in his shoes. Even with hindsight -- he'd not have done anything differently.  It was Spencer -- his failure there -- that kept him from sleeping. Or talking.

"However," he continued after a moment of recollecting his thoughts, "since I was not asked to weigh in on my evaluation process when you and Spencer were deciding my fitness for the task at hand, I’ll do so now: I think you should have that. Which is to say,” he elaborated, “I think I should not.”

Gray eyes never left the darker, more foreign shaped ones of the newest addition to the Auror Corps. Every move he made was carefully planned, ever gesture calculated and every step measured. He moved like a man on the brink and tampering dangerously with the edge of the cliff. When he sat down, he eased into the chair and consciously set his arms. The corner of his mouth twitched once at her initial response but fell back into the solemn mask he had greeted her with.

Not for the first time, Tamis Raynor was overcome by just how little she knew about this man. It was not a sensation she was used to having in regards to one of her Aurors. She usually had three full years getting the scope of them, finding out who they were and what their work ethic was and how they handled stress. Three years for trial and error. With Adon Eleor, she had not had three years; she had had little more than three months. 

When she was contacted about the transfer, she had initially met it with a great deal of skepticism. She had not known how much training he had and what the quality had been. The difference in regulation – such as in regards to the possession and use of muggle artillery. And most of all, she had not known where his loyalties would lie; if he would have fidelity to Israel or if she could trust him under her command. She harbored these concerns for some time. Then she got to know him.

His adjustment had not been ideal. Not under any means. With so much happening there was little she could have done to rectify that. After Spencer was arrested, Raynor had backed away from the man, giving him some space. Losing a partner was rough, no matter the duration of time. She had thought giving him the air to breathe would help before confronting him. Clearly, that had been one of those mistakes. She should have been paying more attention.

 There were a lot of issues riddled in his words. All of which would require addressing. It did not look like she would be meeting Archer for lunch as she had promised.  So many issues to address, but for the meantime, best to keep it simple.

“I do not need a paperweight,” she replied to him, still not looking at the indicated badge. “That is all the use I would have for it.” She already had her own. If this was any other Auror, she would not hesitate in considering how to proceed from here. But this was Eleor. Anything could be a risk. So, she might as well take them. There was a lot still sitting on his chest, badge or no badge – that weight was not physical.

“So you have come here to challenge my judgment?” She asked, arching an eyebrow. There was no heat or insult in her words, just simple inquisitiveness.

As Tamis informed him she had no use for the badge, he gave a strained smile. That was not his trouble. "You see, I don't want to put it to use. Perhaps you might not have use, but someone else might." He sighed. "Kabir is well-informed on the Runespoor case, but I can arrange another Israeli Auror, if you'd like," he said, cracking a bit of a smile. "Someone who likes tea and keeping to themselves. I'll even inform them of the unspoken 'no gun-toting' policy. Someone who can read you guys." Someone who could fit into this place. Someone who might be able to tell their partner and friend was imperiused. Who didn't mind all these unspoken policies and silent assessments. Now that he was leaving, there was really no need to keep to himself. Speaking felt liberating; Adon felt more free than he had since his first week, when he realised things were done differently here.

"So you have come here to challenge my judgement?" she challenged and Adon gave a wry smile, understanding what she was trying to do. Tweak the words, put them in a new perspective to render them ridiculous. A person had to either shift positions -- aligning themselves with the speaker or shift arbitrarily to another position, risking looking peevish and mercurial -- or remain adamantly tied to a philosophy now rendered useless.

Rhetorically, one didn't answer "absolutely" to these questions. But Adon didn't have anything to lose. "You could say that," he shrugged, "if you'd like to see this personally. I'd have said that, as privy to knowledge and evidence you do not seem to have, I have judged the case differently. I, like the rest of the human race,  value my own opinion above others'. Nothing personal. Just human."

“I do not want another Israeli Auror,” was the terse response. “If deserting in the heat of an investigation is Israeli work ethic, the office is better off without.”

Raising a hand, the Head Auror cut off any attempt to protest, pinning him with a much less inviting gaze that she had offered when he first walked through her door. “Do not delude yourself into thinking you are doing otherwise.” It was annoying her, the small self-pitying smile that was touching his lips in such a sad and sarcastic way. Adon Eleor had potential – no matter what he thought of himself, he was emotionally extraordinarily green and hotheaded. But he had potential. And he was letting it go to waste because he preferred to act like a smacked puppy.

“It was your idea to be reassigned to this office,” she reminded him. “And was made possible on behalf of a lot of international goodwill.” Having the man’s brother already working in the department for International Cooperation as the ambassador for Middle Eastern relations had helped considerably. But there had still been a lot of strings that had been needed to be pulled. For the first time that she knew of, the UK Aurors Office had accepted an outsider into its ranks. It had not been a decision lightly made.

“Life becomes a little difficult and you have trouble fitting in. You are a man, Eleor, act like one.”  A contradictory statement, seeing as Raynor was, in fact, a woman and lacked certain masculine traits. Though many in the office believed the contrary anyhow.

“I do not want another Israeli Auror,” was the terse response. “If deserting in the heat of an investigation is Israeli work ethic, the office is better off without.”

That was meant to cut, and it did. But it also steeled his resolve. He could not help but fail here -- he didn't sign up for that. And, if he was failing even in quitting, well, then. All the more reason to leave. Adon breathed in through his nose, feeling the nostrils flare, and let the breath out slowly, shaking his head. She did not understand and he did not want to make her. He wanted to be done with this. And if she did understand, well, that made this all the worse.

"It' not a matter of deserting, Madame Raynor, but a matter of what I desert and what I protect," Adon responded evenly, his thumb feeling and rubbing at a jagged hangnail as he thought. There was a slight sting of pain as he rubbed the raw skin, but it kept him focused. "I'm not, really," he said, looking levelly at the Head Auror from across the desk, "someone who deludes himself for consolation. I try to make the right choices. When those choices -- or opinions, or suppositions -- end up being the wrong ones, I change my choices, not just the way I see them." He took another breath. "And so now I'm making a decision to turn away from all this. I made a mistake in coming here -- in trusting my judgment too deeply." He opened his mouth, but faltered a moment before shaking his head silently in frustration.

"The past month I've jeopardised my family, my partner -- even in acting with what I thought was my best judgement. If I cannot trust my judgement, I can trust in nothing. And that does not work here. We know this line of work enough to know that."

"You are a man, Eleor, act like one.”

And that was meant to cut as well. But it did not. Rather than wear him down with unrelenting criticism, it steeled him, caused a flare of temper which, for the present, he restrained. Adon shifted in his seat. The candidness, the openness, the tendrils of vulnerability he'd tried to show moments before were shut off and Adon visibly withdrew, jerking his hands back as though she had struck out like a viper.

He sneered, speaking in a quieter voice. "That is a desperate accusation -- the insult of a person who has no other recourse," he observed. "And that is what you all do here! You act as though you've no other choice but to intimidate, to conceal, to persuade." He gave an amazed laugh. "Good God! You've made it very clear what you do not want -- I've never once heard what it is you do. I am not one who runs from challenges, Madame," he said firmly, getting ready to rise. "But I've learned from this," he said, pointing to his face, "not to be foolhearty enough to fight battles I can't win. I tried to fight silence with silence, here, but I cannot. I've never once gotten a notion of assessment from you. I cannot, with my eyes, improve the situation before me. The way I see it: When you are on the wrong course, you do not continue upon it for fear of quitting. You get out." He felt the muscles of his jaw twitch, protesting the sustained tightness. "But please," he tried to lighten the tone but could not keep the blaze from his eyes, "if you see any reason why you have not already fired this deserting, unmanly Auror, or see what he might change to improve this situation, now would be quite timely to say something stretching beyond disapproval -- it works against your purpose, if you're trying to get me to stay."

 “You have assessed your work to be foolhardy in a mere three months?” She quipped in reply, raising an eyebrow in severe inquiry. She did her best to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but it was a losing battle.

There was a momentary satisfaction when his composure finally broke and some of his anger leeched out, filtering into his voice and his face. It had been what she had been prodding for. For all of these complaints about the behavior of the British, he was surprisingly more adapted that he was apparently willing to admit. Having to rile him up in order to glean some of his more adamant emotions that provoked this change, and reveal those feels it certainly had. The woman had enough social grace to refrain from pointing this out, however.

It was extraordinarily difficult to believe it had really only been three months ago that the slightly arrogant and incredibly cheeky trainee had shown up at her Office door, checking in. So much had happened in those three months; Akiva being kidnapped, the assassination attempt on Kabir, Gawain Robard’s murder, and the new SAWS epidemic, and the runespoor explosion. It felt as it was impossible that all of that could have occurred in the twelve weeks Eleor had been with them. It was enough of an initiation to send anyone over the edge.  But it had felt so much longer. It had felt he had been a part of the Auror subculture longer – he had melded right in. And it was for that reason, and that reason particular, that she discarded his concerns as rubbish. At least on that account.

As for the others…

Rising from her seat did not give the Head Auror any commendable additional height, but she did it anyhow. Back straight, she planted her fist on her desk and leaned across to table to meet him at a more eye-level, one hundred percent serious. Lacking even her usually condescending air of self-imposed authority. She did not yell or scream or rebut his allegations against her, but instead said, with composed certainty,

“Never. Doubt. Your. Judgment.  That is the first ordinance above all others my Aurors abide by, Puppy,” she told him, purposely adapting the nickname that had occurred to her as an analogy earlier. With how green he was acting and with how self-doubting and metaphorically whimpering he it was fitting enough. “You have been wrong a few times. We all are. That is how we learn. Other situations are beyond our control. The point is to trust yourself. I do not care how wrong you were in doing so. Experience helps with that. I only care about whether or not you disobey a direct order.” Which he had exactly what done when he brought the muggle weapon with him to the scene of the explosion; the fact that he had decided to go with his gut in using it was not what had bothered her, it was that she had previously told him to forsake it.

It was very rare that Tamis Raynor strung more than five words together at a time. It was not that the woman was incapable of prolonged speech, just that she often did not feel the need when something could be stated much simpler. Now was not one of those moments for concise discussion – she was dealing with an Eleor after all.

“Mistakes happen. Sometimes people die.” Tait Aldridge flashed through her mind and she swiftly slammed that door shut. Her tone gentled for a moment with the memory, “That is a pain we have to live with.” She reaffirmed her resolve, “You can wallow in the failure. Or you can push forward and do something about it .”

It would take a blind fool not to realize that Adon was easy on the eyes but the sneer currently curling his upper lip was doing nothing for him. Her back straightened but she remained silent through the small rant, listening attentively. He was not the first of her Aurors to rant and rave at her and he would not be the last. Sometimes these confrontations were necessary and she knew that. It was a part of her job but not one that she saw as an obligation.

“Sit. Down.” She told him when he began to rise. If it came down to it, she would magically restrain him – again, she had done in the past. But he was not going to storm out of this office in a self righteous fit. She was not done with him yet.

“I am not going to convince you to stay,” she clarified. “You cannot ‘convince’ a person to do this job.” It irked her that he was not only fishing for positive reinforcement but that he was, in not so many words, demanding it. Raynor did not have an issue with expending them, but pride was a devilish weakness and since he had requested the endearment, she did not want to comply. He really was a puppy, whimpering in a corner until he was granted kind words telling him that everything was okay. She almost ran a hand through her hair. If she had known he was this insecure earlier on, this situation could have been avoided.

“I would not have promoted you if I did not believe you capable,” she replied. “You have made mistakes, Puppy. You are not on the wrong course. I would have told you if you were.” Or even taken his badge. “If you need praise as a motivator to do this job, then you are right, perhaps this was not the correct career path for you,” she conceded. “You have the making of a damn good Auror, but I am not going to hold your hand.” And that was about as much of a compliment as Tamis Raynor gave anyone.

“You are on paid leave for a month,” she told him, sitting back down in her chair, subconsciously swiping a lock of hair back behind her ear. “If you have a better reason to quit in one month’s time than ‘I am screwing up’ then I will write you a letter of recommendation. I am not taking that badge until then.”

“You have assessed your work to be foolhardy in a mere three months?”

"No," Adon said curtly with a shake of his head. She did not understand. He'd misspoken somehow. . . His brows knit as he thought. "It was foolhardy to think I could assess at all. And yet I cannot continue to progress in my work without an assessment. I've tried to assess myself and failed. And I've tried to understand your unspoken ones and also failed. Thinking I could lead myself, who am blind, or listen to a mute -- that was foolish."

She was not necessarily being mute now -- giving a bit of feedback. Following orders was the chief valued attribute. Alright, something he could work with. He'd not, to his knowledge, ever disobeyed a direct order, but the pointedness of the critique would be cause enough to go back to reevaluate that. He had known she had disapproved of firearms, but she'd never explicitly said. He sensed the sentiment grow after the Knockturn Alley Runespoor-kidnapping, which was why he'd brought his government-issued license along with him today. That ought to have appeased. From previous experience, he had thought she functioned on an "act now, ask forgiveness later" policy -- it had been, after all, why he had left his work without permission when Dree had not shown up for his -- but now he could not be certain of anything.

And that was just it. He thought he understood, and when putting it to the test, he found he had not. But he had no better counsel to go by. It was at such times that the absence of his mentor, Adnan Musallam. They'd not gotten on well at first: Adnan, nearly seventy and a grissly-haired veteran of the field -- and very Muslim -- had thought Adon too green and arrogant. Adon had thought him overly stern and peevish. This had eventually changed when Adnan had, in the course of customary assessments, come to compliment Adon's undeniable skill and show no tolerance for his equally apparent insufficiencies. Adnan's response -- -- had taught Adon that he was not too proud to compliment. Adon's expression of sincere gratitude had taught Adnan that Adon, likewise, was not unwilling to learn.

Besides. Adon'd been able to show off on the second day. He'd liked that. There had been plenty of opportunities for that here, it was true. And plenty of sternness . . . it was the lack of feedback -- he had no idea if he was as good as he thought he was, significantly worse, better -- Adon had at first compensated by thinking himself quite good. The sterner Tamis or Spence were, he decided, the more it showed they had to push harder to find areas of improvement. That had been before Kabir. Then Robards. After that, he began to reevaluate. The sternness, the disapproval he sensed in voices -- perhaps the increased distance and severity in fact indicated he was not good but in fact failing. And. . . if so, how could he have thought himself a success before? How could he reconcile two different interpretations of their behaviour on his performance? How could he be so wrong, how could he endanger the office and Dree through giving information to an Imperius'ed individual, how could he act to save a hostage in an exigent situation only to, in listening to others, later hesitate, allowing the culprit to escape? How could he be sure of anything anymore?  Perhaps Tamis was right: if he needed someone to guide him, he was not fit for this. If he could not assess and judge things for himself, there was no one else.

Adon puffed the air from his nose as he listened to her lecture, hoping dearly for something he could use as a mooring point. What he got, however, was useless.

“Never. Doubt. Your. Judgment.  That is the first ordinance above all others my Aurors abide by, Puppy."

Adon grit his teeth, feeling the burning bile rising from his stomach to his throat as he regarded the words with resentment. Yes, of course. It was simply a matter of not doing. She made it sound possible. Possible! If it was, she was sitting upon the holy grail of knowledge; Adon'd struggled with how he could accomplish this for a month now. He could not do it alone. And he had no one else. And now, even going to her -- well, this was why he was quitting. If he could not help himself with it, it was now apparent that no one could.

"Well, gee, cupcake," Adon replied back, a lightness in his voice and a sarcastic smile that disguised somewhat the tightness in his chest -- he might only be teasing -- "that sounds like a direct order. When you put it that way, I'm suddenly able to obey. I'm cured through your imperatives." The last word was sharper than he had wanted it to be, but Adon could not help but feel that ordering a command so contrary to Adon's own disposition, so impossible, would require nothing short of a magical charm -- magic in that it had no necessity of processes. It simply was. 'Because I said so,' was never, to Adon, a satisfactory answer. Not because he felt the need to rebel, though sometimes he did. It was insufficient because it did not explain why or [/i]how[/i].

This chastisement might have been precisely what Adon had wanted -- if it gave him some direction. However, when she once more assured him that he was wallowing, failing to act Adon shook his head again. "I am pushing forward. It just also happens to be away from this. I need to step away, or I run the risk of myopia." It was a word Dree would have used, Adon thought in the back of his head, and he gave a bit of a small smile at the recollection.

“You are on paid leave for a month,” she told him, sitting back down in her chair, subconsciously swiping a lock of hair back behind her ear. “If you have a better reason to quit in one month’s time than ‘I am screwing up’ then I will write you a letter of recommendation. I am not taking that badge until then.”

"No," he replied with a finality. "I didn't ask for your money any more than I asked for your praise," Adon said, shaking his head. He didn't need, really, either. His family had plenty of money, though mostly they'd sat on it for generations. Nor did he need praise. He'd served three years in the military, the most thankless job -- which had been a struggle. But he'd found his niche -- he was placed specifically in assignments because of well-documented strengths; he knew what he did well and he ensured that he kept doing those things: quick reaction time; hand-to-hand combat; comparative analysis; linguistics. In the military, he was also told where and how he could improve: controlling his temper; remaining professional in interrogations; obeying hierarchy. He tried to adapt.

Now, this was not to say he didn't want both or value the British Ministry's paycheck or Raynor's praise to some extent - in fact, the , but it was not what he wanted most. It had not been his objective. His lips twitched as he surveyed her expression, attempting to calculate how this might be taken.

It didn't matter. It was what he was thinking and he'd say it.

"I'd wanted your advice." Arms moving to the armrests, he pushed himself up, gave a bit of a cleansing sigh, and moved towards the door. "If I find myself able to, somehow, follow your orders to just -- somehow -- trust myself," he gave a bit of a bitter laugh here, "I return. I've been trying  alone for a month now with no success, but maybe another month. . ." Another shake of his head. "Well. At any rate, you'll hear from me in a month. One way or another. Until then, cupcake," he said, pointing to the desk where the badge still lay, heavy and discarded upon the paperwork,  before raising his hand up into a casual -- but not insulting -- salute. His fingers moved up to the handle, feeling it a moment before twisting it and turning it.

He added, over his shoulder with sincerity, "Thank you. For letting me close the door." He had not liked all that had been said -- but it had been said between them. It was a deviation from her typical modus operandi, and he would not forget that.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the Head Auror closed her eyes to take a moment and mentally remove herself from the situation; reflecting on all that had happened since May. A senior Auror, and a dear friend, murder gruesomely before most of the Wizarding United Kingdom. A missing boss –and his murdered replacement. Murdered by one of her Aurors. Spencer’s fate was, as of yet undetermined and was currently on probation.

On top of the misgivings of having to absorb the duties of her superior while maintaining optimal performance with those required of her own title, she was contending with an overworked and understaffed team of dark wizard hunters. And now, her primary investigator on the second most important case the Office was dealing with was wondering why she was not more understanding about him wanting to quit. In fact, seemed to believe himself wronged that she was not offering a play-by-play on his performance.

If he was contemplating inadequacies about himself, how did he think Tamis Raynor felt?  She had been on that stage when Timmins had been decapitated. She had been interviewing a criminal for probation when Gawain Robards had been murdered, never knowing that one of her staff had been inflicted with the Imperius Curse. It was her job to keep the Aurors safe. It was her responsibility to ensure the smooth and efficient handling of the investigators and investigations of this Office. When something went wrong, it fell on her shoulders. And now, here was another of those men, handing over his badge. 

There had been more than one reason she had turned down a promotion in recent months.

She was stressed beyond a level that was healthy and it was causing her to lose her careful control on that infamous temper of her youth. She was trying to cling to it though, taking a few careful rational breaths as she considered the options before her.

“Offering leave without pay would require proving that the absence is a part of a disciplinary action,” she explained with strained patience. “It is one of your benefits, not charity. Give the money to a charity, then. I do not care.”

Cupcake? The response to her near-literal ‘pet’name was not unmerited, but the sheer lack of logic behind it caused an eyebrow to raise. In a less strained situation, she may have asked him to justify. Even now, there was a flicker of humor that registered in her brain, but she ignored it, given the situation.

Then, something he said caught her attention. “I was not aware you were requesting my opinion,” she replied honestly. “I was under the distinct impression that you were giving me yours. Perhaps, in the future, a direct inquiry would be more beneficial.”

Picking up her quill, she touched her wand with her other hand and the badge on top of her desk vanished. It would reappear, waiting for him with the rest of his belongings.  A badge was very unique to the wizard that wore it. They were enchanted with a recognition charm to avoid impersonation; a built-in homing device if one would, which had saved many an Auror from the lost-badge syndrome. He could remove the enchantment. But it would be a nuisance.

“You have to twist it the other way,” she offered as he tried the rather underused door handle.

Adon watched that expression on her face, compressing his own lips as he marvelled, a slight shake of his head. She really was a cupcake. Short and so sweet. And covered in sprinkles. Just dripping with niceness and frosting; the irony was fitting.

"Fine," he conceded to the pay. The money would go  . . . somewhere. Adon didn't care where. Maybe he would donate it. Or give it to Dree. He had plans for that sort of thing. Adon didn't want it. He didn't want it passing through his hands, his vault in Gringott's -- he didn't want any of this anymore.

“I was not aware you were requesting my opinion,” she replied honestly. “I was under the distinct impression that you were giving me yours. Perhaps, in the future, a direct inquiry would be more beneficial.”

"I had no indication this was the case; I didn't think you all worked that way," Adon defended quickly before schooling his face and nodding. "I'm glad. I'll keep that in mind in the future. Thank you."

Adon hadn't even tried to push at the door, his hand still on the knob, twisted, door closed. Her quick assumption, that any hesitation on his part must be owing to a mistake, so quickly following upon his sincere thanks, made him bristle. Made his stomach acrid. He looked back momentarily, astonishment on his face, not wishing to think even Raynor would be that glib. But he did not let her see astonishment shift to indignation as he twisted delicately and with a clear demonstration that he knew how to be obedient, even if he could not appear competent. "G'bye, Madame," he muttered before closing the door and striding through the aisle of cubicles, not even bothering to grab his crimson Auror's cloak on the way out.