Sebastia sat on the counter in one of John's old t-shirts, a cuppa grasped firmly between her hands. John would be home soon, so she had his tea steeping as well. As she finished the last of her tea, she sat the cup down and began fiddling with her dog tags. When she heard the door, and smile crept across her lips. She heard him set his things down and inhale, investigating the scent of tea and her perfume that that mingled in the air. He chuckled and headed for the kitchen, rolling his eyes when he saw her on the counter.
"What are you doing?"
He wasn't asking why she was in his flat. He wasn't asking where she had come from. He wasn't asking why she didn't just go to her own place. It was a simple question, posed in a way that she could answer as simply as she wanted. He was good with those.
"Making tea." She nudged his cup toward him, her other hand still fiddling with her tags. He ignored the cup, hooking a finger around her chain instead.
His eyes glazed over, remembering times long past. She could practically see him filtering through memories, trying to swim up through the past, back to the present. "Afghanistan or Iraq," he mumbled with a soft smile. Then he was back, glancing up at her, waiting for a reaction.
"Iraq," was all she said. Between the two of them, questions were few and far between.
"Well then, soldier, time for a cuppa."
"Colonel, actually."
He stared at her in surprised disbelief. "Really? Colonel?"
She nodded, sliding of the counter. She took his hand, his cup in the other, and headed toward the living room. "Yes, Captain Watson, and as your ranking officer I'm making it an express order that you need to come sit and enjoy this tea. I worked hard on it."
"You poured hot water on it."
"Shut up."
He didn't try to stop her though. He let her pull him to the couch, made room for her to curl against his side. He didn't try to argue that they weren't in any sort of war zone. Really, they were. When she was around, his flat became their own little war zone, and he was fine with losing.