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Trench glared at the cane in Darling’s hands. Then he glared at Darling.
“It’s only temporary,” Darling said in the kind of upbeat, eager tone he used when announcing that he’d discovered some new deadly object or force. Then he made a face, gave a little shrug. “Well. Probably temporary.”
“And necessary.” As was to be expected, Marshall’s tone was much more matter of fact. Practical. “Unless you plan to stay in your office until you can walk without help.”
That wasn’t the worst idea. It wasn’t like there was any point in Trench leaving to go back to the apartment where he slept. It wasn’t a home. He had whiskey in his office too too, and even with the grind, he felt better when he was working. Although given just how battered he was right now, he’d probably run out of alcohol here before he fully recovered from his injuries.
“Maybe I will,” he muttered anyway, just to be stubborn. “Darling, you have plenty of cots from all your overnight research sessions. I could requisition one.”
“Or you could just use the cane!” Darling stepped closer and tried to literally push it into his hand. Trench clenched his fists and growled. “Look at this. It’s stylish, even sexy! Nice beautiful wood, not a sterile metal device that belongs in a hospital or something. When Medical ordered— er, suggested that you use one, I made sure I picked one you’d like.”
“I don’t like relying on anything.”
“Well, right now you’re relying on a right leg you can’t put weight on without falling down.” Marshall gave him a look. She’d been there when he got hurt, crushed between walls during a particularly volatile House shift. He didn’t mind being hurt, but he hated the fact that he’d screamed in front of the two researchers he’d saved. “You don’t want to look weak in front of our people, but using a cane when you need it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you smart.”
Trench still didn’t open his fists. “Use a cane how? Have you forgotten that my right arm is injured, too?”
Marshall took a step closer now too, like she was considering trying to pry his hand open so Darling could shove the cane handle in it. “Your left isn’t, and that’s the one you should be using for the cane anyway.”
“Exactly.” Darling, the pushy bastard, did actually start trying to pry Trench’s left hand open. “It’ll look cool, and help you do your job. Come on, take it.”
Sighing, Trench finally took it and leaned on it. Against either Darling or Marshall, he had a chance of resisting. Against both, he didn’t. They were his team, and he’d chosen them well.
He took a few tentative steps. Pain seared and snarled through his injuries, as if the whole of his right side was still crushed by shifting walls. But with the cane in his hand, stable and secure, it was easier to ignore it. To keep moving.
“That’s better. And if you still think look weak, think about this.” A small, wry smile tugged at Marshall’s lips. “Falling on your face in front of the whole Bureau because you were too stubborn to rely on a damn cane would be much worse.”
Trench snorted, making his way for the office door. He could always count on her for the most straightforward approach, and on Darling for a boundless enthusiasm for any new idea.
Slowly, still getting used to the cane, Trench made his way out of the office with Marshall on one side and Darling on the other. Bureau personnel looked at Trench, but not with disdain for a weak old man. With admiration, probably for being injured while rescuing people.
There was no need for their admiration. Trench had just been doing his duty as Director. And now, he did it again by keeping the pain off his face, taking even steps with the cane keeping him steady.
This wasn’t so bad. He’d been tired for a long time. With the cane, he wasn’t so tired, didn’t feel so weak. Maybe using a cane would help him to keep doing his duty.
And if there were an incursions, any threats for the Director to deal with… Well. A cane could make a good, practical weapon, too.