Max gently closed the journal, placing it back down on the bar top by Markus' elbow. Letting out a sigh, he felt a bit like he did each time one in the squad had come to him with their problems whenever the chaplain wasn't available. As if being the medical sergeant had anything to say about his skill in head-shrinking. He'd stuck to common sense and some tough love, alongside firm orders to go to the fucking chaplain.
There was no chaplain to go to now, and Max did not know who else Markus had around him to ease whatever psychological despair the man might've been in. No one, maybe, if he was meeting strangers in bars to commiserate over a dead woman's last written word. Strangers he seemed to imply he'd wanted to... confront, somehow? Look him in the eye? It just made Max think the guy was so wrapped up in solving it he was seeing suspects everywhere, even if the Exchange had their perps, by all accounts. It was just the matter of hunting them down.
“I appreciate knowing. Knowing what was going through her head, that she wasn't just blowin' me off,” Max started, speaking softly, slowly spinning his beer glass in his hand, the condensation assisting the spin. He met Markus' eyes, the stare down more significant to a werewolf, but not one he'd turn away from first. “But you. In all this, you're the FNG. The new guy. You're too late for clues, like you said. What you want, from this–” Max touched the journal, the pile of papers underneath, his asking Max to tell him about anything that stood out. Looking for clues. “–is going to drive you fucking insane if you keep chasing it.”
There was no chaplain to go to now, and Max did not know who else Markus had around him to ease whatever psychological despair the man might've been in. No one, maybe, if he was meeting strangers in bars to commiserate over a dead woman's last written word. Strangers he seemed to imply he'd wanted to... confront, somehow? Look him in the eye? It just made Max think the guy was so wrapped up in solving it he was seeing suspects everywhere, even if the Exchange had their perps, by all accounts. It was just the matter of hunting them down.
“I appreciate knowing. Knowing what was going through her head, that she wasn't just blowin' me off,” Max started, speaking softly, slowly spinning his beer glass in his hand, the condensation assisting the spin. He met Markus' eyes, the stare down more significant to a werewolf, but not one he'd turn away from first. “But you. In all this, you're the FNG. The new guy. You're too late for clues, like you said. What you want, from this–” Max touched the journal, the pile of papers underneath, his asking Max to tell him about anything that stood out. Looking for clues. “–is going to drive you fucking insane if you keep chasing it.”