Title: Friendly Encouragement
Author: vanillavinegar
Rating: PG-13 (language, Havoc's libido)
Summary: Havoc gets a pep talk.
Warnings: Spoilers for the manga/Brotherhood up through the Promised Day.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
Author's Notes: Originally written for prompt 93 at fma_fic_contest on livejournal – "cold".

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The storm was of that wild kind that made you forget spring was a mere month away. A long month, Jean thought, rolling the cigarette between his fingers idly. Only an idiot would go out in that violent wind and icy rain unless they had to, and he highly doubted anyone would brave the storm just for a trip to Havoc Sundries. But his mother had decided the store was opening today, and when his mother put her foot down nobody crossed her.

But damn was he bored.

He fiddled with the cigarette in his hand again. It wasn't lit (his mother had decreed when he came back home that smoking in the store was strictly forbidden), but he was restless. He was well able to man the register alone, so the others were taking stock of the various warehouses today. Jean sighed. Nobody was going to come in. Might as well take some inventory; at least he could do something useful.

He had just rolled one-handed over to the garden tools, cigarette clamped in his lips, clipboard and pen in his free hand, when the door flew open, bell tinkling frantically. "Damn is it pouring or what?" laughed a vaguely familiar, definitely female voice, its liveliness at complete odds with the rain and wind suddenly rushing inside.

The door slammed shut before Jean could make his way to see the unexpected customer, but the normal greeting rose easily to his lips. "Welcome to Havoc Sundries, what can we do for—" He nearly swallowed the cigarette when he recognized her. "Lieuten—" He shook his head, annoyed with himself. You're a civilian now. "Catalina," he substituted, blinking.

"Havoc!" Rebecca Catalina responded brightly, bounding over to him, dark wet curls bouncing. "I was just in the neighborhood, and I saw the sign and thought, hey, I know that name. And here you are!" She sounded terribly self-satisfied.

"It's a long way from Eastern Command in this weather," Jean replied warily. There was a wall between them, the same wall he'd first felt in Central, with the rest of – with the colonel's men. It was that awkward sense of former camaraderie unceremoniously stripped away. He felt cold. "What can I help you find?"

Rebecca – Catalina – maintained her grin. "What, too good to gossip with an old military buddy?"

"I'm retired." At his flat tone, the overt cheerfulness dropped from her features, turning her suddenly brisk and businesslike. She wasn't wearing her uniform, he noted idly. The snug jacket and knee-high boots were very flattering on her. He shook that thought away too. Without invitation, she perched herself on the counter, and Jean forced his gaze from her stocking-clad legs to her face. She glanced around the store, either not noticing or not caring about his wandering eyes.

"The Promised Day is coming," Catalina finally said, her voice low despite the emptiness of the room. "Soon."

Jean rolled the cig along his knuckles, looking away from her. "I'm retired," he repeated.

"I didn't invite you on a parade march," she snapped. Catalina had always had a temper like quicksilver.

"Good, because I couldn't come," Jean said, being intentionally cruel. She flinched. He told himself he wasn't sorry. He'd always known when he was lying to himself.

"That was thoughtless of me," she whispered. Jean didn't acknowledge it, hoping maybe she'd take the hint and leave.

She didn't, of course.

"We're going to be outnumbered and outgunned, Havoc. Everyone knows it."

"So?" Jean asked bitingly. "You think a paralyzed sniper can help? You must really be desperate."

Catalina hopped off the counter and was in his face before he could add anything more, her eyes so full of fire he didn't even attempt to check out how her cleavage looked from this new angle. "So you're useless now that you can't walk, huh? Is that what you think?" She didn't wait for a response. "My great-grandfather was a major in the First Southern Border War." Jean winced; he'd heard horror stories about that war from his own grandparents as a child. "He lost one of his legs there, and automail wasn't so affordable back then. But he took my great-grandma to every single dance he could when he got back, even though he was in a wheelchair too. He helped build their house when she was pregnant with my grandpa. And he died rescuing her and their three sons when that house caught on fire. Half the stories in my family are about things he did after the war. Are you going to tell me he was useless? Are you just going to decide you can't do anything else because you can't walk, or are you going to repay the faith that Riza told me the colonel placed in you? Well, Jean Havoc? What kind of man are you, anyway?"

He stared at her, mouth open. Even though her face was less than two inches away from his, and her speech had left her cheeks attractively flushed and her lovely bosom heaving, he couldn't tear his gaze from her blazing eyes. Their heat melted the cold that seemed to fill his soul so often since he'd left – fled – Central, and he couldn't hold back a burgeoning grin. "Aw," Jean said, scratching the back of his head, "trust me to need a pep talk from a pretty girl to make me stop pitying myself."

Catalina – Rebecca smirked at him, eyes twinkling now instead of burning. "That's a beautiful lieutenant to you, civvie. And I'm too good for you, anyway, Havoc."

Jean shrugged, letting his own eyes blatantly trail up and down her figure. She snickered and punched him in the arm; he tried not to wince. "Then I guess I'll have to take you out to dinner as an apology. But first," and he grabbed his pen again, flipping to a blank sheet in the clipboard before turning the grin back on her, "what can Havoc Sundries do for you – lieutenant?"

THE END