Mace stood stiffly beside his seated Commander, trying hard to pay attention to the conversation. Arthur’s office was well-appointed, serene compared to the florescent-lit cubicle farms and slightly more harrowing missions he’d been subjected to for five months. The level of comfort made his mind wander, and he couldn’t afford for it to wander where it willed.
“Yes, sir,” he confirmed something, swallowed the knot in his throat. He’d given his lengthy report already, these questions were merely clarifications and formalities, but it was beginning to feel like an interrogation. Mostly because he wanted to be free of this process for a while – wanted to change out of his officer uniform into something without sock garters, wanted to drink a beer, wanted to look for her. Was she in the castle that day, or down in the Grove? “Exactly, sir,” Exactly? He’d pay for that later. Josephine twitched her tail beside him, shot him a look that suggested he either collect himself, or get bit. What if she’s forgotten me completely he thought helplessly, instead. The mountain lion sighed.
After an hour (two hours?) of this administrative nightmare, the four men in the room finally deemed their business concluded, and Mace was dismissed. He waited for his Commander to stand, and performed a crisp salute. The older man waved him to ease. “There is the…other matter,” he said softly, and Mace had to work to keep his expression from cracking. “I’ll handle it, I don’t think we’ll require anything further from you today. But there may be follow-up questions. You know how it is, when Aurans are involved.” Mace nodded and allowed his superior to gently turn him toward the door. He shouldered it open while straightening his cover.
It was unlike him to be caught off his guard, or to enter a space without devoting his full attention to it, but the whole morning was anomalistic. He was looking over his shoulder as the door swung open, he stepped out sideways, and only turned around to face the hallway as he felt himself collide with someone else. Mace caught the woman by the shoulders, with a firm but cautious grip, and steadied her.
“I’m so sorry Ma’a–” he started, before his face froze in place. The expression of his eyes wavered between shock, and fear, and desperate longing. “Morgana.” He managed, once he remembered how to breathe.
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