31. Home cooking
By candle light (the storm had damaged both the electric lights and the gas generator), on the floor (the desk was somehow awkward), Hayate at her side (as if the dog had somehow supplanted her inconsistent shadow), they managed well enough with a sandwich that Roy had guiltlessly ordered Hawkeye to pilfer from Breda's snack drawer and the fruit juice that Furey had inexplicably left in the company lounge. The sandwiches were not quite stale; Roy's was made up of thick white bread layered with tissue-thin pieces of some dark and flavorful meat and tasteless, dense tomatoes (out of season, of course). There was lettuce as well, and, to his immense and delicately expressed disgust, mayonnaise. Hawkeye had brought her own sandwich—left over from the lunch hour she had forgotten to take. Hers was whole wheat, avocados, sprouts, and a judicious application of turkey salad. There was a dill pickle next to one of her as-yet uneaten crusts that both Hayate and Roy were eyeing.
It was very late, everyone had gone home, and except for that damn dog (Roy thought), rather a perfect set up. He wondered if his first lieutenant would lighten up any time soon or if he would have to work on her a little. Judging from the sizable pile of paperwork in her lap, he was betting on the latter. One of those things, he thought, that never quite changes, even when you wish devoutly that it could.