Desperate Sin: Shattered

It was cold outside, the wind howling as the autumn leaves ripped through the air with such violence as to leave one considering if Mother Nature was in a temper. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun was a bright pale speck in the sky. The heat was minimal, but even with the wind pushing against his back, the spiky haired blonde man with blue eyes and a cigarette on his lips, could feel a fine trickle of sweat run down his spine. Why was he wearing so much damn clothes?

Laden with a coat and scarf, he slid his bare hands out of his pockets and felt the corner of his lips curl. She'd insisted he wear proper clothes if he was so hell bent on going out to get more of those cancer sticks. He chuckled and fingered the hunter green and black checkered scarf around his neck. She'd given it to him last week for his birthday. Right out of the blue. He smiled at the memory. She'd blushed and stammered, had looked up at him with those guileless green eyes, her face so much lovelier when not encumbered with those heavy glasses.

She smiled at him shyly, "I didn't know what to get you, and I read somewhere in one of the files at the office that today was your birthday." she began hesitantly. She was looking down at her shoes and shuffling her feet awkwardly; a faint blush made her cheeks glow and lent her a seldom seen endearing air. She was even wearing a skirt! It wasn't mid-thigh as he'd fantasized, but it was something. It flowed from her hips in a dark sweep of rough cotton. Her shirt hugged her upper chest and gave him a clear outline of her figure. But as per usual, it covered most of her body. A body he'd begun to dream about in the wee hours of the night.

He smiled reassuringly and reached out to touch her face, "Did you get me something?" he asked teasingly and managed not to laugh when her color heightened and she ducked her head. How timid she was. She took a deep breath, seemed to brace herself and presented a small bundle. "Happy Birthday" she murmured and bit her lip.

Jean Havoc looked down at his Girlfriend in surprise, "You really did get me something" he managed and reached out to take the bundle in his hands carefully. He hadn't gotten a gift in…a very long time. Unwrapping it with infinite care, he blinked down at the thing in bemusement. "A scarf?" he asked, puzzled. She smiled, one of those rare curling of her lips that lit her eyes up, "Yes, you never wear one, and winter's coming, I wouldn't want you to get sick." she said quietly and threaded her fingers together.

He looked down at her bent head, the light catching on her auburn hued hair. She was growing it out so it reached her shoulders now, swinging around her face when it was unbound and held in a tight bun when at the office, of when she was reading.

He understood her feelings, she was afraid for him. After seeing her mother suffer from her illness, she just didn't want to go through that again. Holding the scarf in one hand, he let his other lift to her face when he cupped her cheek gently. His callused hands sliding over the smooth surface of her porcelain face. "Thank you" he said sincerely and brought his lips to her forehead.

Here eyes fluttered shut on a sigh, her slender arms sliding up around him with a faint tremor, "It might keep you safe, and maybe, you'll think of me when you wear it. " she whispered. Jean pressed his cheek against her hair and wrapped his arms around her, "How can I think of anyone else when I have you?" he teased. She smiled up at him, her joy at his words apparent, "so you like it?" she asked, so utterly trusting in her naïveté.

Slowly, gently, he lowered his head to brush her lips with his own, "Yes, I do. Now lets get going, we'll be late for dinner." he ran his knuckles down her cheek, enjoying the feel, the knowledge that finally, finally, he'd found her. He'd found his salvation.

"I love you Scheiszka."

A smile, a hug, a soft kiss. "I love you too, Jean."

He whistled as he walked down the street, Life was good, the sun shone brightly and all was right with the world. He had his health, he had his job, he had his beloved.

Jean Havoc was a happy man.

He should've known it wouldn't last.

He stared blankly at the report First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye handed him. Female, age 23, Secretary of Intelligence, killed.

Hawkeye was saying something to him, her expression sympathetic. What was she saying? He turned his head to the side and blinked.

There she lay on the floor, her face buries under her blood splattered hair. His angel, his love, crumpled like a broken doll. Her glasses, broken and forgotten, rested upon the cold concrete floor. Distantly he realized it was raining. The rain spattering down upon her cooling blood making crimson tainted rivulets of water flow aimlessly towards him. He watched numbly as her blood seemed to search for him, surround him.

His legs moved with a mind of their own and he found himself nearing her fallen figure, found kneeling down and turning her lifeless body. His hands shook as he traced the line of her cheek, as images of her smile flashed in his mind, smiles he'd never see again. He heard her laughter, soft and sweet flow in his head. He could still remember her warmth, her lips on his flesh, her heartbeat as it raced with his.

His eyes burned. His throat ached. His heart cried out in denial.

"You should've worn a scarf Scheiszka."