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Mason stomped out of the doctor's office a few weeks later and tore his truck door open. "Stupid son of a bitch doesn't know what he's talking about. Neither of them."
He almost peeled out of the parking lot but needed to calm down before going back to the office. He wanted to burn the papers on the passenger seat, but it wasn't going to help.
He stopped for lunch, but he was still pissed when he stalked up the steps to the office. Several people waved and smiled, and normally he'd have no problem shooting the breeze with them.
But his career was on the line. He stopped by the secretary's desk and said, "Tell Johnson I need to talk to him."
She nodded but kept typing on her computer, so he went to his desk and sank into the uncomfortable chair. A stack of paperwork was in one corner. He glared at it. They must have added at least three folders to the pile while he was gone to the doctor's.
Simon started to walk past, then stopped. "Whoa, who pissed in your cereal today?"
Mason glared and crossed his arms. "Don't start."
Simon leaned against the desk and sipped his coffee. They'd been friends for years, ever since he'd moved to the Dallas office fresh out of training. He didn't say anything, just waited Mason out.
Finally, Mason sighed and raked a hand down his face. "The doctor wants me to have six more months of physical therapy and won't sign off on full-time field work. So I got a second opinion and that doctor said the same thing. Now I have to tell Johnson."
Simon nodded, his lips thinning. "So he's going to bench you."
"Probably," Mason grumbled.
"You could take a sabbatical."
Mason narrowed his eyes on his friend. "Why the hell would I do that?"
Simon shrugged. "I saw your vacation request for next month on Johnson's desk, and I have an idea..." He trailed off and his gaze unfocused. Mason knew enough to let him puzzle out whatever was eating at him, but before Simon could say anything else, his desk phone buzzed.
"Hello?"
"Mason, I'm ready for you," Johnson said before hanging up. Mason sighed and stood, drawing Simon's attention.
Mason smiled ruefully. "Wish me luck."
Simon nodded absently and wandered away while Mason strode to the hallway that led to his boss' office. Simon and a few other FBI agents worked out of their office, choosing to keep a skeleton crew at the actual FBI office. Simon said it was a matter of security. Mason secretly thought it was so the FBI would have their hands in the Rangers' pie and know more of the workings and dealings in the state.
Mason knocked on the door and peered into the office. Johnson sat behind his desk, an even larger stack of papers on the wooden surface. Actually, there were three piles. Mason sat in the chair across from the desk and waited for Johnson to look up from whatever report he was reading.
When he did, steely blue eyes met his own. "So what can I help you with, son?"
Mason sighed and slid the two doctor's notes over. Johnson skimmed each with a frown. Then he looked up over the rim of his glasses. "More physical therapy? This is about that drug bust in Denton last month?"
Mason winced and sat up straighter even as he kicked his feet out and crossed the ankles. "Yes sir. I shouldn't have tackled the suspect, and it's put me back a bit in the recovery department. But we can still continue the plan, right? I can do longer range field work. Watch and observe from a distance instead of doing the hand to hand cases?"
Johnson rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know, Mason. Do you think you can keep yourself out of the hand to hand work? Because I have my doubts. You like to be in the thick of it."
Johnson's frown made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and Mason shifted to bring his feet flat. He fought against bouncing his leg and leaned forward in the seat.
"I can do what needs to be done. If that means staying out of it and watching, then I will."
Johnson propped his elbow on the chair and rested his chin in his hand. "Hm, and if it means a suspect gets away or you stepping up to stop him? What then?"
Mason shifted in the seat, unable to answer. They both knew he'd do whatever it takes to stop a perpetrator, whether he was signed off on the work or not.
"Exactly," Johnson sighed. "I can't have you following the rules while it's convenient only to throw them out the window in order to solve a case. I'll partner you with Taggert for the next six months. You'll work with him to dot all the I's and cross all the t's on the reports."
"But sir—"
"No buts," Johnson barked. "If you have even a hope of going back in the field, we need you in tiptop shape."
