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"Ottawa expects us to wrap up all open cases pertinent to this liaison office before they shut it down."
Meg had yet to decide which of her transfer options she was going to take, but given that it wouldn't be until early next year when the liaison office was closed and the consulate itself was staffed with non-RCMP personnel, she had time to chew over her options. From now to the end, at least, everything would simply be a matter of putting things into order.
"Yes, sir," Turnbull finally answered. He hadn't said much since she had explained the closing of this particular liaison office. Of course, it was made far easier by the 27th precinct putting a moratorium on him riding along on cases and therefore getting into business that he shouldn't. Any cases he had been personally involved in with Vecchio would doubtless, even given the inefficiency of the court system in this country, be wrapped up by then.
"In the meantime, we're expected to continue processing visa requests and immigration forms, as well as offering aid to any Canadian citizens abroad in the city," Meg added, tapping her blue pen against the desk. "Do you have any questions?"
"No, sir."
No babbling, blithering or wailing. Meg considered that to be a good sign. "Dismissed, Turnbull."
He nodded, shortly, and left; stiff-backed and head up. It figured, she thought, that he would finally learn to carry himself as a proper officer right at the very end.
Absent this... issue with Vecchio, anyway.
Meg still wasn't sure how she felt about that.
Well. It wasn't her business. Unless it interfered with his duties, anyway. Admittedly, dealing with Ray Vecchio was not her idea of fun, particularly as he made himself a clear nuisance in regards to Turnbull's duty shifts and assignments. But on the other hand, the various fragile objects in the consulate had taken considerably less beating since they had started... liaising.
Meg scoffed out a breath.
She had always known Turnbull was odd, though she hadn't particularly figured him for gay. Perhaps brain damaged. Perhaps simply ill-suited for police work. His career had started off with low but passing scores out of Depot, though there was a period of a few years in Nipawin where he had apparently done well. But then, she supposed, his true colors showed and after a series of mistakes, he had been dropped on her like a goofy, too-literal, too-clumsy sack of potatoes.
Though, she had mostly learned to tolerate him as an often difficult but necessary presence over the past few years. More recently, especially since the aftermath of Muldoon, he had been indispensable. Her right hand man, as much as that galled her. She was relieved that he mostly managed to live up to it; he was still apt to be clumsy on occasion, and then there was the issue with Vecchio, but he had done fairly well. Efficient. Perhaps his campaign bus had knocked loose his competency.
At the very least, he was less troublesome in many ways than Fraser had been.
Of course, that was a man that Meg didn't really want to think any more about. She'd spent far too much time thinking of him already.
It was clearly time to move on. It was time for new beginnings. Even Turnbull and Vecchio, as strange as that particular...
Oh.
Meg tapped her pen on the desk again, looking down at the official orders for the liaison office to be closed early the next year.
Naturally, the first several thoughts she had were about how it was none of her business. The next several thoughts were about how it was his own fault for taking up with an American. Did he think this assignment would last indefinitely? The set after that was mostly composed of trying to figure out what Vecchio's reaction would be and how much screaming was going to happen in this very office -- the Detective could be shrill in ways that made Meg's teeth hurt.
The fourth set was conducted on her way to Turnbull's desk.
The fifth was uncomfortable.
"Are you all right?" she asked, and made it sound as firm and official as she could.
He stared straight ahead, jaw set. "Yes, sir."
"Very good," she said, and was perfectly prepared to leave it at that, except then she found herself adding, "This isn't a surprise, given how they've refused to send us additional staff."
"No, sir."
"No assignment lasts forever, Constable."
"No, sir," he said, and she saw something flash across his face too fast to read before vanishing back into a blank slate of stoicism.
"This is an opportunity for new beginnings."
"Yes, sir."
Meg knew she was being placated. It was a little galling; couldn't he understand that she was attempting to offer some form of comfort? But she supposed that it really wasn't her place. This was none of her business whatsoever. They both apparently agreed with that. She should turn around and walk back to her office.
"My official recommendations will reflect your exemplary work during this recent time," Meg said, briskly. And then she did turn around and walk back to her office without looking back.
It wasn't much. But placated or no, she was glad she gave it.