The Next Best Thing

In all the good bed time stories the hero fought off the villain, while the princess looked on, frantic for her true loves safety even as she cheered on every drop of blood spilt. The hero would win, sweep her off her feet, and carry her off to the castle, where she proceeded to show him just how thankful she was…



Ok. So maybe the stories ended with a less…physically celebratory climax.



And like hell Havoc wanted to think of himself as the princess. He knew damn well he wouldn’t look good in a dress. Legs were too hairy.



Though, he had to admit, there was a certain charm to be had watching Roy launch himself at Archer like some sort of avenging angel. Or irate bullmastiff. Though one image was definitely more flattering than the other.



Not that Havoc was really used to thinking of Roy in flattering terms. He had never paid attention to what his brain was using to describe or explain the man, but now, as he watched Roy land a particularly impressive punch across Archers left cheekbone, Havoc found himself trying to find some gallantly flattering adjectives to attach to Roy.



Havoc rested his chin atop interlaced fingers and watched the show in front of him. Nothing like a good old-fashioned testosterone laced brawl to add a bit of life to the afternoon. Hell, he should have suggested someone beat the shit out of Archer days ago if he had thought it would actually happen.



Well, Roy always did take good care of his men.



Havoc tried not to allow a little bit of possessive consideration to twist the mental intonation of the ‘his’ in that last thought. He didn’t really want to belong to the man…the kissing and groping, well, that was another matter entirely. Hormones and adrenaline and shit. Nothing more. No particular reason for Roy to be taking Archer’s continued sabotage so very personally.



That sucker punch to the crotch looked like it had been rather personal.



And it encouraged a chortle to escape from Havoc’s grinning lips.



Archer folded to the ground, and embarrassingly miserable ‘o’ stretching his face into a look of agony that every male instinctively sympathized with. Well, every male apart from Havoc, who was busy hoping little Archer had been damaged beyond all function or repair.



There were a few spectators, but neither Hawkeye nor the unfortunate cadet that had wandered past were likely to say anything in Archers defense. And Archer himself…well, Havoc hoped the bastard was too conscious of how messy a court-martial a rape case was like to be. Havoc had the bodily damage to defeat any protestations of innocence Archer might attempt, and currently lacked the sense of shame that would keep him from telling everyone who would listen just what the fucker had done to him.



Hard to have much shame when you had been trussed up like livestock and fucked within an inch of your life on your commanding officers office carpet, hard to be too proud when you were routinely molested in the public bathrooms.



The future looked beautiful and glowing, filled with the look of shock and pain that had exploded across Archer’s face as Roy’s fist had made intimate contact with his groin. To hell with pride. He could slouch around for a bit longer. As long as he could smile sweetly and call that expression to mind before he went to bed at night he was guaranteed a good nights sleep, which was a fine change from the hell he had been dealing with.



Sometimes things just needed a Knight in Shining Armor to kick the shit out of the bad guy.



Roy didn’t make much of a knight, his uniform jacket tossed to the side, his shirtsleeves rolled up past the elbows, and a scowl deep enough to frighten kittens etched across his face, but damn was he a sight for sore eyes.



“Hey, boss, you need a cup of coffee?” Havoc stuck his head out the window as Roy stalked away from the downed Archer.



“No thank you.” Roy called back, reclaiming his jacket.



“I was gonna go get a bite to eat. You interested?”



“Stop shouting and come over here.”



An instants hesitation, an unwillingness to get within fifty feet of the bastard curled on the grass, and then Havoc shrugged.



Hell, if this was the results he would get, he should ask Roy to take care of the vermin more often. One flippant comment, one muttered complaint about being afraid of his own shadow, and Roy was out the door and intent on dealing with the problem. Really, when Roy wanted to know if there was anything he could do, Havoc had no idea the man was willing to be so…proactive about it.



For the first time in about a week, Havoc allowed himself an almost jaunty step as he wandered out of the office to join his commanding officer, blithely ignoring Archer’s panting form. “So. Food?”



“Sure. Looks like things are taken care of here.”



“Yeah. About that…”



“Never mind.” Roy patted Havoc on the shoulder lightly, mindful of a few cuts that refused to heal cleanly. “It should have been taken care of earlier. Where did you have in mind for dinner?”



“There is this diner I know. Too few spoons, surly waitresses, not too many bugs. Soup to die for.”



“Sounds…charming.”



“Don’t it though.” Havoc flipped Roy a fair attempt at his usual cocky grin.



“I find myself questioning your taste…”



Havoc wanted to let Roy know he was questioning his own taste, as he fought the urge to snag Roy’s left hand in a loose, friendly sort of grip. Not a handshake. That would be too acceptable. He wanted to snag that hand and hold on for dear life. Just in case.



Just in case this was just the deceptive beginning to another nightmare.



He was managing without his pride fairly well, but the lack of confidence was proving to be a far more insidious issue.



Thankfully he didn’t look back at his felled nemesis. The sight of Archer’s lips, the way they curved up into a distressingly pleased sort of smile, would really have ruined the breathlessly jubilant mood the impromptu fistfight had inspired.