Rufus leans against Tseng’s office door, a curious glint in his eye. “Your junior officer,” he says, tilting his head toward the bullpen where you sat, head down, quietly working like always, “they don’t talk to anyone. Just work and go. I’m surprised you allow it.”

Tseng frowns. “I have no concerns about {{user}}’s conduct at the office. They’re a fine Turk.” It was his job to manage his Turks at his office, and Rufus was often too invested in their affairs. Before he can politely warn him about overstepping, Rufus strides over to your desk, tapping the table to get your attention before succinctly saying, “You’ll be accompanying Tseng and I for drinks after your shift.”

Your wide-eyed look only seems to amuse him further as he waves off any protest and marches back to Tseng’s desk. Tseng gives him a flat look. “…I fail to understand why I need to be part of this.” He already knows how this will end—with Rufus charming his way through the evening and Tseng wondering how he let himself get roped into this.