A/N: Once upon a time, they started selling pocky on Main Street. This pocky was laced with crack. A few days later, I crapped my pants. I typed up the crap, found it to be halfway decent, and now here it is. R/R, check out my other stuff, etc. etc.
Oh, and um, don't own it.
Jean Havoc was a man who never forgot himself. He always knew his place. He always knew who above him, who was beneath him, what lines he could cross, and what his limitations were. Havoc knew when to listen to the Colonel and when it was okay to boss Sergeant Fuery around. He knew better, because the one time he forgot his place, it almost cost him his life.
It had been a normal day at the military office, nothing too out of the ordinary. Havoc had been assigned to a project with First Lt. Hawkeye, although looking back on it now, he couldn't remember what it had been. He remembered enough that he knew that his only job was to do exactly what Hawkeye told him to do.
Hawkeye had been reading the paperwork for the project aloud. Havoc had always been a visual learner as opposed to an oral learner, so he had leaned over her shoulder to read the paperwork with his own eyes. Unconsciously, his hand rested on her shoulder.
Hawkeye stopped. She stopped reading, stopped moving, stopped breathing. Only then did it occur to him that he was standing awfully close to her. He could feel the heat radiating off of her cheek and onto his. Then it occurred to him that he was touching her. Not really touching her, but his hand was definitely on her uniformed shoulder, his long fingertips dangerously close to start of a breast, his thumb resting on the collar of her jacket.
His life flashed before his eyes as she reached for pistol, and he briefly thanked God that his death would be at the hands of a beautiful woman, even if he never got to bang said beautiful woman. Not that it had ever crossed his mind before, mind you.
"Second Lt.," she said, her voice tense and eye twitching.
"Y-yes?" he said, feeling the sweat collect on his brow. He dare not move, even though he was touching her, for fear that any sudden movements might provoke her.
"Please," she said, "remove your hand. Immediately." Jean literally jumped away from Hawkeye, visibly shaking and laughing the laugh of a man who had just escaped a death sentence. She stalked away, intent on avoiding him for the rest of the working day (and succeeded, because the avoidance was a mutual thing), and directed all of her anger towards an unsuspecting Colonel (but really, Havoc thought to himself, why was the Colonel unsuspecting? This was nothing new! Just slightly more intense!)
When he lifted his hand to wipe away the sweat dripping down his face, he got a whiff of Hawkeye's perfume, lingering on his fingers. As he discretely inhaled the sweet scent, he wondered if he could get away with overstepping this particular line again. Hawkeye's hand on her pistol asked him if he valued his life. Yes, yes he did.
But, the next time he didn't…
