Learning to Dance

Taz.”
Her fork paused in mid-air. “What?”
“Just look at me, Taz,” he said, finally lifting his eyes.
What did he want her to say? That it didn’t matter to her
if he was broken, washed up, doomed to a desk job for the
rest of his career? That she didn’t care if he wasn’t the hero
the press made him out to be anymore? That it didn’t bother
her that he walked with a limp, that his moustache was
fake, that the idea of hitting someone, shooting someone,
killing someone now turned his stomach instead of giving
him a rush?
Yes, that was what he wanted. He wanted her to tell him
that she loved him anyway, no matter what. Instead, he saw
disappointment in her eyes.
“Dr. - Dr. Claw! What a surprise! We weren’t expecting
you today!”
Up stiffened.
“Well, being Admiral keeps you busy, you know, but I
was in the area, and I thought I would drop by and check up
on my favourite patient – they told me he’d be here in the
cafeteria.”
Taz looked at Up in alarm as Space-Claw’s voice drew
nearer. Then she stood, looking defiantly at someone over
his head.
“Ah, Lieutenant, how good to see you again!”
“Mierda,” she said. “Up’s not your patient anymore,
Space-Claw. What do you want?”
“Now, now,” Space-Claw said. “There’s no need for
hostility.”
Up stood, his back to the Admiral.
“I think there is,” he said quietly. He turned.
“Commander,” said Space-Claw jovially, but there was
an edge to his smooth, deep voice. “You’re looking well.”
“Am I?” said Up.