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“It’s the season, it’s, you know. A lot.”
Joq shook his head. “It’s not the season,” he said quietly.
George rubbed his face. “It’s just… new. You know?”
Joq felt the atmosphere in the room charge. They were talking about it. The moment felt fragile, important.
“I get it,” he said carefully.
“It’s just fucking, but,” George glanced at him like he was checking if it was alright to go on. Joq tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“It’s…”
“It’s?” Joq asked, unable to curb his impatience.
George huffed. “You know,” he waved a hand, breaking the moment with the movement. “I mean, you know. You do this all the time.”
“Yeah,” Joq replied. “It’ll wear off.”
George frowned. He looked away.
“Yeah, he’ll get sick of it soon enough. And I’ll, you know... as well,” George got up, snagged his pants off the floor. “Nothing to worry about,” he dragged a hand through his hair and went for the door.
“Where’re you going?”
“Water,” George called over his shoulder.
He had a glass of water on his bedside table.
Joq was so distracted by it when he went into work later that week, he almost walked straight into Alison when he entered the break room.
“Sorry,” he said and just managed to not spill his coffee all over her.
“No, sorry, that was all me. Lurking, sorry,” she smiled up at him.
He smiled back and went to step around her.
“I’ve got something,” she said as Joq went to the sink to grab a cloth for the spillage on the mug. “I think you should have it.”
“Hmmm,” Joq wiped the mug, took a big sip.
“I erased it from the hard drive, but I downloaded a copy first. For you,” she went on. She was nervous.
Joq turned. It was then he realised the time, and thought to wonder what she was doing here hours before she needed to be. Hours before anyone else would be. At the hour when Joq always came in.
She was watching him steadily, her appearance the professional, tidy one she always had—mousy hair in a pony tail, eyes calm, black pants and white button-up tucked in, her suit jacket loose on her diminutive frame—but there was a defiance in her this morning too, and a hint of nerves.
“What’s for me?” he asked.
She came forward and held up a thumb drive. “I was on call for security last night and... Here,” she handed it over.
Joq took it, looked at the red plastic in his palm.
“You should watch that, then…”
He looked up, she was watching him steadily, and he recognised the defiance for what it was in a moment of clarity—loyalty.
He closed his palm.
