Then he’d stop feeling weird and uncomfortable. The man made him too nervous for his own good.
He looked down at himself, realizing he was still in his hospital gown. “Zephyr, do you know where they put my clothes?” He looked up, suddenly puzzled. What happened to a person’s clothing when they went into a solitary room? There must be lockers somewhere for that type of stuff. “Ah, yeah, they told me you’d need new,” Zephyr squirmed uncomfortably. “Apparently you had a problem when you passed out,” he pushed a check out bag across the floor to Fane.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Fane turned beet red, imagining what he must have done to warrant needing new clothes. These’ll probably be coming out of my pay, he mused, riffling through the material. “These aren’t uniforms,” he looked up at Zephyr quizzically.
“Your gym clothes were sent to the cleaners. You should be able to pick it up tomorrow after 1300. For now, I brought you clothes to meet up with Orlov. It’s after 1400, so we’ll have to have you in that quickly. We’ve got a guy waiting downstairs to take you to meet him. He’s got the formal dinner this evening with the general, so we need to not waste his time,” Zephyr urged as he got up to leave the room.
“Yes, sir,” Fane responded, pulling out the deep red blazer. The door closed behind his commanding officer with a thud. “W.T.F?” he asked, holding the garment up to himself.
Less than half an hour later, Fane was seated in a black taxi, watching highway signs flash by too quickly for his unsettled stomach. He swallowed, hoping to ease the nervous roll in his gut. He picked at his fingers, not quite comfortable in the travesty Zephyr called clothing. It all fit, he had to give his chief that, but it was not something he would have ever chosen for himself.
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