Chapter 4 Buried Things #2
A reminder that the world hadn’t completely fallen apart.
Sometimes that was enough.
As the morning continued, Ethan repeated the routine everywhere he went.
A joke for a stressed dispatcher.
A sarcastic comment for an overworked paramedic.
A ridiculous observation during a planning meeting.
Nothing extraordinary.
Just enough to lighten the atmosphere.
By lunchtime, several rescue personnel had started calling him the camp comedian.
The nickname felt embarrassing.
Unfortunately, it was also accurate.
Ethan didn’t mind.
If people were laughing, they weren’t worrying.
If they weren’t worrying, they could focus.
That made the job easier for everyone.
Including himself.
Especially himself.
A few hours later, another rescue mission brought him back to the main operations center.
The building remained crowded despite the improving weather.
Maps covered walls.
Radios crackled constantly.
Emergency personnel moved through hallways carrying reports and equipment.
The entire place felt alive.
Ethan stepped inside carrying fresh weather data and immediately noticed Riley sitting at a nearby table reviewing patient transfer paperwork.
She looked tired.
Not dramatically tired.
Just quietly exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that settled into someone’s posture.
The kind that became easier to recognize once you carried it yourself.
He walked over.
“Good news.”
Riley glanced up.
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“The coffee today is only mildly dangerous.”
For a moment she stared at him.
Then she laughed.
The sound immediately felt worth the terrible joke.
“That’s your good news?”
“Managing expectations is important.”
She shook her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“People keep telling me that.”
He settled into the empty chair across from her.
The conversation drifted naturally from there.
Work.
Patients.
Weather.
Rescue updates.
The usual topics.
Yet Ethan noticed something interesting.
Riley seemed more relaxed than she had been when they first met.
The guarded edge remained.
The constant sense of responsibility remained.
But occasionally he caught glimpses of the person underneath.
The woman who smiled easily.
The woman who appreciated bad jokes.
The woman who wasn’t always carrying the weight of the world.
He liked those moments.
More than he should.
A radio call interrupted them before either could say much else.
Another rescue request.
Another problem.
The mountains weren’t finished creating work.
Ethan stood.
“Duty calls.”
Riley smiled faintly.
“Try not to crash anything.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“You wound me.”
“Somehow I think you’ll survive.”
The exchange followed him all the way to the vehicle bay.
Unfortunately, so did the smile.
That felt significantly more dangerous.
The afternoon passed quickly.
Rescue teams responded to stranded travelers.
Medical personnel treated minor injuries.
Road crews continued reopening highways.
Progress happened one step at a time.
By evening, a large group of emergency workers gathered inside the common room for dinner.
The atmosphere felt lighter than previous nights.
People looked tired.
But hopeful.
The worst seemed to be behind them.
Someone convinced Ethan to tell a story.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon an entire table of rescue personnel sat listening as he exaggerated various disasters from his military days.
Most of the details were true.
Mostly.
The audience didn’t seem concerned about accuracy.
They wanted entertainment.
Ethan delivered.
Laughter echoed through the room.
For a little while, people forgot about the storm.
Forgot about exhaustion.
Forgot about everything waiting outside.
Mission accomplished.
Across the room, Riley watched from another table.
At first she found the scene amusing.
Then something shifted.
A small detail.
Easy to miss.
The kind of thing years working emergency medicine trained people to notice.
Between stories, Ethan occasionally went quiet.
Only briefly.
A second here.
A moment there.
His smile disappeared.
His shoulders dropped.
His expression changed.
Then someone spoke to him again and the performance resumed immediately.
The pattern repeated throughout the evening.
Nobody else seemed to notice.
Riley did.
Because she’d seen it before.
Patients did it.
Doctors did it.
Nurses did it.
People who spent their lives taking care of others often became experts at hiding themselves.
The realization stayed with her.
Later that night, after most people had left, Riley stepped outside for fresh air.
Snow drifted gently through the darkness.
The mountains stood silent beneath moonlight.
For the first time in days, the storm seemed peaceful.
Footsteps approached behind her.
Ethan emerged from the building carrying two cups of coffee.
“Thought you might need this.”
She accepted the cup.
“Thanks.”
For several moments they stood quietly.
Watching snow fall.
Listening to distant generators hum.
The silence felt comfortable.
Then Riley spoke.
“You make people laugh because you don’t want them worrying.”
Ethan smiled.
“Guilty.”
“You also do it because you don’t want anyone asking how you’re doing.”
The smile vanished.
Not completely.
Just enough.
For the first time since meeting him, Riley saw surprise cross his face.
Real surprise.
Not many people challenged the mask.
Apparently fewer people saw through it.
Ethan looked out toward the mountains.
“Occupational hazard.”
The answer sounded familiar.
Riley remembered saying the same thing.
Different words.
Same meaning.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
The silence carried understanding now.
Not complete understanding.
But enough.
Eventually Ethan laughed softly.
A quieter laugh than usual.
Less practiced.
Less polished.
“You’re annoyingly observant, Doctor.”
Riley smiled into her coffee.
“I hear that sometimes.”
Ethan shook his head.
Yet he didn’t deny it.
That told her everything she needed to know.
The jokes.
The stories.
The easy charm.
None of it was fake.
But none of it was the whole truth either.
Because somewhere beneath the humor lived something deeper.
Something lonely.
Something abandoned.
Something that had learned long ago that making people smile was easier than asking them to stay.
And for the first time, Riley wondered what had happened to make him believe that.
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