He was still uneasy, or maybe just concerned, but Noble got up from his seat and abandoned his paper to mix Ford a drink. (It was the same as what Noble was currently drinking, and he didn’t ask, because — well, he knew that Ford liked gin drinks.)

He brought it across the room to hand it off. Maybe there was something with Ford’s pants — there was something about them that seemed off, although Noble hadn’t figured it out yet, and tended not to spend much time looking at Ford’s pants anyways.

“Here,” he said, trying not to look curious and landing on — that same mixture of confused and concerned. ”Maybe this’ll help.”

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