Derelict

"That's a pretty serious charge," the major said, smoke puffing out with every syllable. He carried the cigar in his mouth like a dog with a bone.

"I'm aware," she responded firmly.

He looked up from the paper and directly into her eyes. They were aimed straight ahead, her chin up. Disciplined, defiant, or strong? Probably a combination of the three, he thought. He shook his head. "Are you sure?"

She paused. "Yes, I'm--"

"No," he almost yelled. "You're not sure. You hesitated. Just now, you hesitated. And do you know what that says to me?"

She was still staring forward, not at him, but he felt the ice of her glare all the same. "What?" she asked pointedly.

He stood, pushing himself into her view. She flinched a little in surprise, and he couldn't help the flicker of joy that it gave him. "It means," he said, removing his cigar and setting it on his desk, "that you better think about this some more. Because this is an honorable man you're accusing here. A good man, with a good record. So until you are sure enough to answer me without pause, you're dismissed."

Her eyes focused on his, narrowed. But she didn't say a word. She left, and she closed the door respectfully behind her. He listened to the click of her heels as she walked down the hallway, and when he couldn't hear them anymore, he sat down, put the cigar back in his mouth, and took a deep drag.