Disclaimer - All characters belong to Fullmetal Alchemist.
Tilting his head to one side, Jean slid the shaving down one side of his jaw and repeated. With little to do - and only allowed one cigarette a day - the man needed something to keep his mind occupied. A nurse provided him with a shaver, mirror, shaving cream, bowl of water and a towel earlier and he was enjoying the chance to take care of himself for once. Having a wonderful nurse around was fun, but he didn't like it when she was there to take care of his personal business.
"There," he smiled to himself, cleaning off the shaver before turning his attention to the other side of his face. He didn't raise his eyes when he heard a familiar voice at the door. "Come in, mom."
The older woman came in with her normal bluster and scoffed when she saw him with a shaver. "JJ, what are you doing? You should be resting."
He cringed at his mother's nickname for him. "Quite calling me that and I'm fine to shave myself. It gives me something to do." He turned his attention back to the mirror, ignoring his mother's hushed venting as she tootled along, straightening his pillows and his hospital curtains. "Much better." He smiled to himself again, patting his face with the towel. "What do you think, mom?"
Mrs. Havoc walked over and looked her adult son over. "What about this here?" She motioned to the beard he was keeping.
"What? I'm keeping this. I actually like this." He placed his hand protectively over his beard and pulled away defensively.
His mother frowned slightly and sighed. "A real shame. You were so handsome when you were clean shaven." She picked a few things from his bedside table and frowned again, holding up the remains of a cigarette. "You're still smoking? You almost died on the job and you continue this habit?"
"Oh, knock it off, mother." He looked himself over in the mirror and raised as brow, continuing to admire himself. "Well, if the scars disturb the ladies, the beard should get their attention. I'm not half bad looking, actually."
Softly snorting, his mother folded the clothes she had brought for him. "Sometimes, I don't even understand my own son," she muttered with a smile.
End