Operation ONE
Entry ONE
Winter Wonderland
UNION Military Base: Codename DESMOND HEIGHTS
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
December 18th, 2306
"Graham, just so you know, this means nothing."
"I know, Billy," Graham drawled, his faint southern accent more pronounced when sarcasm was hinted, "Just keep your hands on your knees and we'll be fine."
"Good."
To think that on all of the days that the MSWAD base had to cut its power source for twenty four hours in order to accommodate a local town; it had to be the day when Billy and Graham happened to have coinciding days off and decided to work on the Flag's OS. Snow fell in heavy clumps just outside the protective roof of the hanger, covering the ground and a single Flag in a blanket of white. It was nothing short of beautiful – if it weren't for the key for the operating room being locked inside the operating room itself and Billy and Graham unable to leave the premise, that is.
"There's only one blanket? Are you sure you checked everywhere?"
"Yes." Billy sighed exasperatingly, and adjusted his glasses; "It's not that cold out, so you can use this blanket."
"Says the man who was raised in Vancouver." Graham shot back with an indignant huff. He had the brown afgan wrapped around his waist and shoulders, his eyes and nose barely peeking out above the warm confines.
Billy laughed, barely audible, "I'm still a Canuck, through and through." He sat beside Graham, and leaned back against the wall, shivering as his shoulder blades made contact with metal panels. He tried to not show it.
"Regardless of where you were born in, you've cold and it's obvious."
Billy shuddered as a gust of wind blew through the open hanger, bringing fluttering snowflakes with it. "I'm fine, really."
Graham opened his mouth to retort, but closed it suddenly as he rolled over all options. He could share the afghan with Billy and have someone walk in on them (he doubted it, but it was still a possibility that some lost soul wondered where the pair had gone); or he could do just as Billy said and keep the blanket to himself, and let Billy freeze regardless of what his tall, handsome partner wanted to make him think.
I mean handsome in a complimenting way. Men are allowed to say that, Graham told himself reassuringly, despite another part of him whispering seductively to him otherwise, He does look cold.
Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion, Graham began sliding closer to his technical adviser. He felt embarrassed, but did not show it on his face. "Billy, here." He offered a corner of the afgan, warm and inviting.
Billy stared at is as if it had grown a head, "Graham." He stated quite harshly, as if scolding a small child. Graham's ego swelled, but not enough to deter him from his mission. "I mean it, take it. I don't care if you were born in Nunavut, you still feel the cold as much as any other person and I can't risk getting you sick on behalf of my selfishness."
Silence passed between the two men as their eyes locked, befuddled brown and persistent emerald clashing in a mute battle. A strong gust of wind found it necessary to howl through the hanger with a high whistle at that moment, bringing with it a sudden cloud of blowing snow that danced over the sleek bodies of the Flags. The cold seemed more real than ever as part of the snowstorm made its way over to where the two men sat against the wall, and Billy only had enough time to close his eyes and hope his skin wouldn't get frost-bite in a fleeting thought.
However, that moment never came. Only a mere second after closing his eyes, he heard a sharp curse word being muttered just above his bangs, and opened his eyes to see Graham shielding him from the wind with the afgan wrapped protectively around his body. The blond's face was tinged red from the cold or from embarrassment – Billy liked to to think it was the former – and his eyes were sharp, meeting his for a fleeting moment before shutting tight as the wind whipped around his face and brought sharp ice crystals in between them. Somewhere, in between the flurry of snow and ice, Billy found himself taking Graham's torso into his arms and pulling his face into his exposed dress shirt and tie. A surprised grunt was his only reply.
A minute later, the winds died down enough for both men to open their eyes safely. The cool wind still swept through their hair, and as Billy stared up at Graham, he remembered what fairy tales would say about Princes with flowing blond hair with sparkles fluttering behind them. With the sunlight peeking in through the clouds and illuminating the hangar with a golden bask of rays, Graham indeed would have been a picture-book reference for such a cliché.
Emerald eyes blinked at Billy, somewhat confused, but very annoyed that his pants had crystallized on the back of his thighs from the snowstorm. Both men slowly realized the proximity between them, and pulled apart as if the latter were suddenly scorching hot instead of freakishly cold.
"Well," Billy coughed, taking his glasses into his hands gingerly, wiping the lenses clean of ice with his thumb, "Thank you for your protection, Graham. I believe I owe you a coffee?"
"You don't owe me anything." The blond ace grumbled, and Billy swore that the new red flush to Graham's cheeks must have been due to the cold. "Just accept my offer next time."
A door across the hangar opened up suddenly. It yelled for the pair to come inside, warm up and report to HQ for a sudden briefing, and then closed just as quickly. The brunette still sat on the bench, this time with a smile on his face as he put his glasses back on, "Seems we never get a break." He said quietly.
Graham paused, "Yeah, I suppose so." And began off for the door.
Billy watched his partner for a second. Sometimes, you need to be more honest with yourself, Graham. He got up, dusted his pants off and slung the afgan over his shoulder. He caught up to Graham once realizing that the blond had stopped, turned around, and waited for him to catch up. ....
//END OF TRANSMISSION