Jean Havoc had been looking stressed recently. Cain Fury didn't bother to ask. It wasn't something that a soldier could ask another; it was the 'old soldier's disease', which Fury had managed to escape rather lightly from. Working in Communications had its perks. Quite a lot of them really...

But really, he admired the way that Havoc could just wave away his own troubles and laugh someone else back into shape. He was also pretty sure that the tall blonde wasn't even aware of it.

He should have been a stand-up comedian, he thought dourly, glaring at a recalcitrant typewriter. At least then he would have been a little bit healthier...

A heavy, calloused hand dropped on top of his head. "You're worrying. What have I told you about that?"

Automatically, he reached up to grab the arm. "Oi, oi, oi!" he protested. "You're distracting me!"

"From a dead typewriter? Honestly, Fury, you'd be better off burying that thing and playing 'Taps' on a kazoo."

Despite himself, he grinned. "A kazoo?"

"Sure! It's the only musical thingamajig that I can play, and if I can play it, so can you."

"A funeral?"

"After so many years of devoted service, it requires a –"

He elbowed the taller man in the stomach. "Quit yammering, you."

"Ow! I'm not yammering. Actually, I'm kinda here on business. I know, I know, me and business don't belong in the same sentence, let alone the same room."

"Well?" He'd better get this through, otherwise something irreversible to his pride was going to happen.

The blonde jerked his thumb back. "Mustang wants you. No clue why."

"Did he... er... look unhappy?"

Pretty blue eyes (pretty? how the hell could such a feminine thought be attached to something so enticingly... masculine?) brightened. "Nope. In fact, he looked absolutely foul."

"And how is this supposed to help me?" he asked, trying to pry the 'j' key off the board.

Havoc scratched that unruly thatch of straw that he insisted on calling 'hair'. "Well, he's not mad at you, if that's what you're worrying about. Elric just left the office when I got my orders to drag you in. Understandably, he's a bit... snippy."

"That is the understatement of the day."

"Damn. I was trying for the 'Understatement of the Year' award."

The 'j' key popped off and he threw it at the taller man. "Go away. Tell Mustang I'll be there when I get there."

"Something in your water today, Cain? You're unnaturally fiery."

Ohshitohshitohshit... "Um." Way to go, Cain. Scare off your crush, whydoncha!

"Cain?" Calloused fingertips hooked and tugged his hands away from his mouth. "You feeling okay?"

Is blue the color of worry? he thought dreamily. So pretty...

"... Cain?"

"I'm fine!" he squawked, blushing bright red. "I swear!"

Jean looked a little skeptical at that. "Uh-huh. Did you catch some weird parakeet flu?"

"Parakeets don't transmit the flu virus."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," he said firmly. "Now, scat. I have to go talk to the Colonel."

Jean saluted and slouched out the door. "Gotcha. I'll go tell him that you'll be a little slow..."

"Gah! Don't do that!" Cain grabbed his jacket and shot out after the taller man, shoving his arms into stiff blue wool.

"Right-oh."

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dedicated to Spades 44. Because her Jean/Cain drabbles rock. And she asked. Sorry for not doing 'cute widdle Cain.' I figured that if he was in the military, he's got to be strong underneath. Jean can probably outfight him, but he's definitely the sanest of the bunch.

... 'course, that ain't saying much.