Havoc yawned cavernously. He was tired, grouchy, and damn it if it wasn't raining. The railway cars were probably down again to boot, so he'd have to walk home. In the pouring rain. Without an umbrella.
He wondered if Cain wouldn't mind letting a rather wet stray shack up for the night.
Echoing his thoughts, Sergeant Major Cain Fury tugged on the back of his jacket. "I'm going to be a little late tonight, Lieutenant. You still have the spare key?"
"'Course I do," he snorted. "I may be a blonde, but I don't lose keys."
Cain just blushed a little and smiled shyly.
They were the worst-kept secret in the entire unit.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
He ambled out into the hallway, nodding placidly at a rather flustered (... the hell?) Mustang being figuratively chased by one Lieutenant Hawkeye.
Probably getting on his case again about those mysterious lilies that keep showing up on her desk.
Havoc felt smug. He'd always put lavender on Cain's desk. It had taken the poor guy two months to figure that one out.
'Course, Hawkeye got that in a matter of minutes. She actually had confronted him, demanding why he was putting flowers that molted their buds on Cain's desk.
He'd just given her a trademark grin and she put two and two together.
Smart woman.
Which probably explained why she was yelling about 'wasting military funds for a grade-school crush'.
She was harsh on herself.
He ambled farther, humming to himself. Maybe he'd be nice for once and make Cain a cup of tea instead of coffee. He'd like that.
Bleah. Now it was a thunderstorm. Wonderful.
He got to Cain's place (a family brownstone that the Furies (ha ha?) had had for years) and inserted the key and twisted sharply. The mahogany door actually hated him – surprising, considering it was an inanimate object – so he had to be extra forceful. Luckily, the neighbors were well acquainted with the eternally cheerful blonde sneaking into little Fury's house.
He filled the teapot and set it on to boil, getting out a tin of tea and a tin of instant coffee. He wasn't fond of the metallic taste of tinned coffee, but he was used to it by now.
Fresh-made, fresh-ground coffee was ranked up in the 'luxurious, death-by-orgasm' category.
He was still faintly surprised that he even had such a category.
Well. Not really. He was just surprised that anything besides Cain was in that category.
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Lilies mean purity and platonic love. Lavender means 'sweet dreams'.
Am I the only one that finds this amusing?
This is a 'yes I'm still alive and writing Jeanslash' type fic. The Havoc/Broche fic... is... well... bust for now. It'll be up next week, promise. Please don't eat me, sketchyheart.
This is for Spades 44, because Cain lovin' is m'm, m'm, good.
... don't shoot me. Please.