Depression
Roy had never before realized that Jean had a physical/psychological disorder. In Ishbar it never really came up and the blonde had always somehow managed to disguise it during the winter.
But here Jean was, huddled by the fire on a drab, rainy day. Not even coffee could cheer the man up.
"Jean?" Roy knelt by the man. "Jean, are you all right?"
"M'fine," the man said dully.
"No, you're not. What's the matter?" He ran his fingers through his lover's messy tumble of hair. "Can't you tell me?"
"I told you, I'll be fine at some point. When the weather clears, probably."
"Probably?"
"It's a psychological disorder." Jean curled tighter, huddling up against the sofa. "It's... it doesn't really matter. It's not much of a problem."
Roy allowed his fingers to start rubbing the back of Jean's neck, releasing a lot of pent-up tension. "M'mm... five days of administrative hell, six days of worse weather..."
"You're almost as good as Hawkeye with the whole 'second sight' bit."
"What? Did I actually get something right?"
Jean transferred his attentions from the sofa to Roy, winding his arms around his middle and burying his face in his chest. "Can we just stay like this for a bit?"