Fictober Prompt 9: "There's no right side to this."

Implosion

Compton had been silent throughout the firing. He hadn't been able to say anything in Bob's defense or argue against the facts Truman brought against his uncle. What had happened on that mission was nothing short of a disaster. Agents had been harmed, not killed, but the injuries to their psyches were severe enough to warrant several days in the medical bay under strict supervision.

It wasn't like Compton supported Bob's termination. He despised it, but he didn't know how to present his case. Bob needed help. Truman understood that as well, providing Bob a number to call to help sort through the issues that plagued him since Helmut's death. Bob had rejected it. He had torn up Truman's scrap of paper. He had screamed at Otto with words Compton wanted to block out by covering his ears. He had pleaded with Cassie to listen to him. In the end, Truman slammed down the gavel and dismissed Bob from his duties, Compton as silent as a mouse throughout the ordeal.

With the breath trapped in his throat, Compton found himself unable to speak. When it was over, Truman's office hung heavy with silence. He looked around at his superiors and fidgeted with his bowtie. Otto rubbed his temples. Cassie pressed her hand over her eyes, sighing quietly. Truman sat down and raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a shaky breath.

Taking the initiative as always, Otto broke the silence. "Don't blame yourself for this, Truman. We tried."

"But we let him leave like that," Cassie spat, throwing her arm out. "Otto, you know he needs real help. We shouldn't have sent him off like that."

"Cassie, we couldn't have done anything else for him. We attempted to help Bob, and he rejected us. We can always check in on him. We know where he'll be." Otto rubbed his neck, his brows furrowing. "I don't like this at all, Cassie. I hope you don't think I'm supporting this as a permanent firing. That's not the side I'm on. I want to see him healthy in his office alongside us, too, and I-"

"There's no right side to this!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms. "And as if you really cared about him when you were flaunting yourself to every camera to show off the Psychonauts after Helmut died. I'm the one who kept trying to reach out to him. When was the last time you tried?"

Otto bristled, and Compton sunk deeper into his seat. "Are you implying that I don't feel terrible about all of this? Do you think I just sat around twiddling my thumbs when he kept reaching for the bottles? Because I've been-!"

"Stop," Truman interjected, raising his hands. Compton felt a swell of relief race through him as Otto and Cassie pursed their lips, facing Truman. He pressed on his armrests and pushed himself to his feet. He focused on a framed photograph on the corner of his desk, and he reached out for it, but he stopped short of touching it.

Otto looked back to Cassie. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I'm aware this seems cruel, but we know where Bob will be and how to contact him. We can still help him," he quietly said.

"It's not enough," Cassie insisted, an edge in her voice that made the hairs on Compton's neck stand.

"But for the sake of his recovery, you still agreed he shouldn't be working here. You even said that he needed a break from the Psychonauts," Otto countered with as much gentleness as he could muster.

Cassie didn't offer her rebuttal. She glanced at her feet, then to bookshelves lining Truman's walls. When her attention fell on Compton, he resisted the urge to disappear and bore the brunt of her stare.

Compton's heart raced, and his lungs felt compressed. Sweat dampened his brow, and his suit clung to him like a second skin. An itch ran through his scalp. Pressure swelled in his head. He wanted to take off his bowler hat and unleash the fear and frustration that boiled from deep within his mind.

But he stayed quiet. He smothered it all inside. He avoided her critical eye and deferred to Truman, waiting for him to speak.

Truman stepped out from behind his desk. His hand swept into a few pens, knocking them off. He didn't bother grabbing them and let them roll onto the carpet. "I don't know if I made the right choice," he admitted. "My uncle has suffered tremendously. I don't know if I could empathize with how much suffering he's endured. I just thought - I don't know, I just thought that he would've accepted help." He held up his hands, his fingers twitching. "He's stubborn, but God, maybe, maybe, we went about this the wrong way. If he thought we were ganging up on him, then, of course, he wouldn't listen to us, and I resorted to yelling at him when he was at his lowest."

Otto stepped to his side and clutched Truman's trembling shoulder. "You did what you believed was right for Bob," he said. "As I keep saying, we can always keep an eye on him. We can always welcome him back when he finally starts taking steps in the right direction." His tone took a turn for the merrier. "Who knows? He might reconsider by tomorrow or next week."

"Are you sure?" Compton noted the hopeful hint in Truman's voice.

"I know Bob. He'll see reason eventually."

Cassie shuddered. She stirred in her spot, Compton watching as Otto and Truman conversed like they weren't present. He shifted off his chair and slowly approached her. She towered over him, tall and firm like a tree, her expression fixed in a flurry of conflicting emotions.

"Cassie, are you okay?" he whispered.

She gasped as if startled by his presence. Cassie's sharp tongue lashed at Compton. "What do you think about this, Boolie? You haven't said anything this whole time."

He recoiled. Truman and Otto immediately ceased speaking. All eyes were on him, waiting for his answer. Compton wanted to chew up his tongue and spit it out.

He replayed the termination hearing again and again in his head. Bob's emotions had run wild. He had shouted and insulted and pleaded for clemency. Otto had tried reasoning, and Cassie had appealed to his better half. And Truman had simply done all he could. But they couldn't grant Bob's request, not under his conditions, not while people were wounded. Compton remembered how Bob looked to him for help when Truman grilled him over the mission, and Compton stewed in his self-loathing.

"I think we, um, we had to do it. Bob wasn't well. That is, he isn't well," he managed to say. "Uh, well, it isn't like we're forgetting him." The corners of his lips twitched upward. "We can visit him, perform check-ups. Those kinds of things."

"Exactly! Well said, Compton," Otto exclaimed, grinning. He strutted over to Compton and clapped his hand on his shoulder, his grip too tight for Compton's liking. "See, Cassie, Truman? It's going to be okay. We'll help Bob, I promise."

Truman seemed to consider Otto's vow before dipping his head low in a nod. Cassie shook, her fists clenched by her sides. But she closed her eyes, Compton wishing he knew what words would have comforted her. With a sigh, she nodded as well, bringing the meeting to a close, and Compton sunk into himself, ashamed.

(When Cassie later left the Motherlobe, possibly catching his gaze, Compton, alone with his regrets, finally released his anguished regrets.)