Anarchy at its most orderly

The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for July 25, 2007.



An average day for November 11 starts with the sound of April invading his apartment with July in tow, slightly hungover from all the beer she's been chugging and rather imperiously demanding that he get off his arse and get out of bed. He gets up, not because she is asking him to, but because he is pretty sure that she's going to start breaking things and he doesn't feel like filing in a note for new furniture with their superiors and explaining to them, in painstaking detail, why he needed all of that junk. July certainly isn't going to stop her from getting destructive. He really doesn't do much of his own accord unless they're out on the field.

He makes French toast for all of them to eat, serving it with a jam that he makes himself in between missions and whenever the right fruits are in season. April, of course, is not exactly as appreciative as she should be just yet, but he pins it at a huge overabundance of hangover-induced migraine. He serves her another bottle of beer (because there's no better way to get rid of a hangover then to take more booze), then puts some of the toast on a plate. He rounds over to the sitting area and plops the plate on the floor beside July, who is, by now, staring down at coloring books the way normal-ish little boys would stare down at dead birds (read: with this blank, bordering on morbid sort of fascination). He pats July on the head and goes off to fetch the morning newspaper.

April is alive again after she's had two more bottles beyond the one he gave to her, and is alternately bitching or railing about their job with the Service. November 11 flips from section to section of the paper, reading nothing beyond the articles whose titles vaguely interest him, enjoying the cadence of his partner's voice and the sound of July's crayons scribbling color over newsprint paper.