Chapter Title: Evil and Hatred

Pairing: Shoyles

Characters: Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles

POV:Broyles

Genres: Certainly not "fluff"

Spoilers: None

Warnings: not beta'd :P

Challenges: Flashfic

Word count: 718

The list of what Phillip Broyles hated about Nina Sharp went on for miles. Everything from her thin lips to the constant black clothing to the expensive perfume she wore offended him. He hated her auburn hair and its simple cut, he hated the stormy blue of her eyes and the mascara she wore, he hated her throaty chuckle and hyena cackle she managed to produce, both of which he was sure she saved only for him.

That made him shudder—he didn't want Sharp saving anything only for him. He figured anything she kept up her sleeve could be considered a weapon, even if it was something as seemingly harmless as a laugh. And that smile that made his skin crawl—he was completely sure that she was the only person who could curl her lips like that.

Broyles rubbed his fingers over his knuckles nervously, coiling his work tie into a tight roll then stuffed it into his coat pocket. He was dressed neatly in a new suit and was currently waiting in the DHS lobby for the taxi he had called to take him to the restaurant he was expected at in twenty minutes. He made a pained noise and realised miserably that he had less than twenty minutes of freedom before spending an entire night with Sharp and other dark characters.

These orchestrated dinners were such shit. "It'll help relations with Massive Dynamic," his bosses explained. "These dinners work wonders with her type."

'No, the fact that you've pimped me out is what works wonders,' he'd always think darkly.

There would be Massive Dynamic shareholders, assorted executives, a handful of lawyers. And of course Sharp. He arrived at the restaurant, some fancy French place he'd been to too many times and still never managed to remember the name. He didn't want to go inside just yet so he stood against the dark edge of the brick wall, head lowered as he stared at his shoes. God, he just wanted to be at home, seated in front of the tv while he ate another microwave dinner. But he knew he had to "be a man" and he made his way into the restaurant.

Sharp was wearing black—big surprise—and her eyes sparkled when he approached the table she and the others sat at.

"Bad traffic," he lied quite believably and she smiled at him.

"Of course," she agreed quite believably. "I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of ordering for you."

"Not at all," he lied again as he sat to her left.

She nodded and returned her attention to the other suits sitting around the table. She began to tell a story of something "inspirational" she'd seen on her way to work earlier that morning; Broyles felt it was heinous how easily she'd lie to make herself look like a humanitarian. He knew for a fact she hadn't gone that specific route this morning and under the table her left foot touched his right—he hated how comfortable and natural it felt.

Sharp continued on with her little story and she held out her glass for him to pour more chardonnay while she spoke. He tried not to grimace as his own naturally polite reflexes kicked in and he automatically obeyed the wordless command.

The maître d'hôtel returned with a gaggle of other waiters to serve them their dinners. Apparently Sharp had decided to order the spring lamb for herself and him as well, the most expensive dish on the menu—it was his favourite and as he gave her a polite nod in thanks, he hated the food all the more.

He hated the conversation, the forced niceties, the way she held her wine glass.

And when the dinner came to an end and he awkwardly paid for the entire ticket with the government spending card, he waited outside in the cold for a taxi to come by.

"Are you waiting for a cab?" Sharp asked, as though she didn't know the answer.

He wished he could look away from her. "Yes."

"I could give you a lift," she said calmly, her smile revealing pearly white teeth.

Broyles wondered if this was how women felt after their date had paid for an expensive dinner, when they were expected to put out afterwards. He nodded and sighed.