Send Me on My Way Still Smiling

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

“Keep it for me,” Ethan calmly interrupted, returning the envelope unopened; “until I get back.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Remington promised in obvious bewilderment and wishing Ethan had divulged more, but unwilling to question his closest friend.

 

“Thanks.” A hint of reassurance showed in Ethan’s expression, but that hardly satisfied Remington.

 

“So what’s next?” the carrot-topped ‘kid’ piped up. “Xorax?”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid,” Remington said, sipping his Pepsi. “Can’t go walkin’ in there lookin’ like Joe Human. He’s gotta change who he is and drop off the radar; get a fresh start without any heat.”

 

“Why not send somebody else?”

 

“Don’t got that kinda time. Nobody knows this case like Ethan.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re looking for him--”

 

“What’re you paranoid for, kid?” Remington interjected, between savoring his Pepsi. “Risk is part of the game.”

 

“No--” the younger man hesitated; “I mean, yeah, but--”

 

“Kid, there’s discretion and there’s paranoia,” Remington interrupted again. “Can’t hide under your pillow all the time. Don’t take the initiative ‘cause you’re too paranoid and you’ll get nothin’. Clean your own fish and you’ll be a man with sushi.”

 

The younger man blankly stared at Remington, obviously uncertain how to respond, and the latter flashed a grin and twitched his brow before guzzling the last of his drink. Ethan reciprocated with a smirk, shook his head and casually retreated to the exit, as Remington engaged the young man in more of his unique smalltalk, knowing he wouldn't see Ethan again for some time.

 

“Listen, Ethan,” Remington called as Ethan neared the door, waving the envelope. “You are gonna explain this when you get back, right?”

 

Opening the door, Ethan smiled and faintly inclined his head. “I might,” he said and then slipped through the doorway, the lock clicking behind him.

 

Remington could only throw smirk at the closed door, displeased by the mysterious sender of the envelope he held and frustrated with Ethan for his unexplained part in it.

 

***

 

 

Ethan didn’t like what the Crewman had told him, but being a ‘bad date’ wasn’t illegal. Contemporary society wouldn’t censure him; the modern service wouldn’t discipline him. A few remarks on social tact might drift around, but the days of really frowning on swingers had gone out with gender stereotypes and the so-called ‘traditional’ marriage. Still, what he had heard left a bad aftertaste in Ethan’s mouth and, as he saw it, there was only one solution.

 

He’d have to step in and clean up after his teammate.

 

Wearing a blank frown, he left a buddy and unfinished drink at the bar and weaved through the crowd of guests, eyes on the spot where the Crewman had last seen her sitting, gloomily nursing a drink. He’d already resolved to offer her a ride home before talking to her, secretly wanting an excuse to leave and presuming she wouldn't desire to stay after her escort disappeared. He wasn’t looking forward to doing the dirty work; it wouldn't end well. Hearing from a stranger that her date had walked out on her and receiving a polite but implied invitation to leave: that couldn't end but badly. It just had to be done before someone embarrassed the Admiral at his party. But as Ethan parted the wall of people that surrounded her table, he found it empty.

 

“Chief?”

 

Ethan turned to address the twenty-something young woman and couldn’t help the hint of a surprised smile. Pleasingly statuesque in her evening dress, she fixed him with intense, mesmerizing blue eyes and brushed a length of loose, raven hair from her fair cheek.

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“Chief,” she said, showing a modest smile. “Would you be interested in a dance?”

 

Ethan felt his smile grow in mild disbelief at his poor luck. “I would,” he answered honestly, “but I’m looking for someone.”

 

“Oh.” Her gaze lowered and Ethan felt a sudden empathetic drop in his chest, but she preempted the few apologies he couldn’t think of with a bright smile. “Maybe I could help?”

 

“Uh, sure," he said, brow rising in surprise at how quickly she’d spun disappointment into a useful positive. "I think her name is Nava; dark hair, wearing a -- uh -- heh.” He faded into a subtle chuckle as the realization hit and he watched her face fill with confusion, shapely eyebrows knitting.

 

“You’re looking for me?”

 

“Yes,” he affirmed, unable to bite back the incredulously amused smile he wore.

 

“Why?”

 

In a brief silence, he considered the answer and then gestured toward the floor. “You still interested in that dance?”

 

He watched her gaze narrow on him and, for a moment, he thought he’d alarmed her and saw the bridge burning. Then, lowering her eyes and briefly masking that enthralling blue with dark lashes, she fixed him with another smile. “I am.”

Edited February 23, 2012 by Ethan Neufeld