Gloved
Roy had no illusions why his Captain was now wearing pristine white army-issue gloves. He also had no illusions as to why Jean was also wearing crisp white dress shirts instead of the ratty black tee-shirts that he used to wear under his uniform. He'd like to think that his tumble-headed man was taking more pride in being Military, but he knew... that there were other reasons.
He watched, brows furrowed, when his Captain limped down the hallway. The only thing that he couldn't figure out was why. No, he knew why. Maybe the question was how.
Jean wasn't self-conscious by nature. He rather suspected the man to be pathologically incapable of caring about fashion or looking nice. Jean's motto was 'Whatever Works'. It was a pretty good motto for a rough-and-tumble soldier that had more use for common sense than pretty notions of chivalry. So... who (and how, and maybe even what) convinced him to change his style so dramatically?
The shirt may have just been an adjustment for comfort's sake. The blue wool was scratchy and starchy at best, and it had to be irritating to raw skin.
Morbidly curious, he took Jean's hand one day (after hours, so as not to scandalize the entire staff) and gently drew off the glove. A rather weak and damaged-looking hand lay limply in his.
It'll fix soon, Jean told him cheerfully, trying to drag his hand back.
And things just went downhill from there.
