The Next Best Thing

Havoc tried, desperately, to convince himself he was not running away, he was merely obeying an order.

An order to run away.

“Ah hell.”

The overall feeling of pathetic futility that had been doggedly stalking him the past few days returned in full force, taking up the slack left from fading adrenaline. He was a military officer, damn it, not some little girl, to be harassed and abused. He had a gun bigger than his left leg and a vast assortment of more conveniently concealable little treasures that could be just as persuasive.

And here he was skittering his way down a hall.

“Crap. Might as well wear a skirt.” Coming to a depressed halt, Havoc smacked his head, almost experimentally, into a wall. “You are an ass, Jean Havoc. An utter ass.”

And it damn well irked him that Archer had gotten what he wanted; alone time with an angry Roy Mustang. He knew Roy was what Archer was ultimately after, and still he had scurried off as soon as he was given an escape.

Maybe a few more hits against the wall would make it all better.

Nope. Just inspired a perplexed sort of headache.

“Jean?”

Havoc flinched, and wanted to howl. ‘Wonderful. Now the Colonel’s voice makes me want to piss my pants. I'm a stunning example of a soldier, aren’t I?’

Even his mind’s voice sounded disgusted with him.

“Are you all right?”

Mustang sounded so…pathetically unsure. It was inappropriate. “Ah, fine sir. Just a bit of a headache.”

“That might be due to the fact you appear to be testing the integrity of the wall with your skull.” Mustang drawled, covering up his own discomfort with a bit of good old-fashioned sarcasm.

It was a bit of normalcy, and Havoc decided to cling to it with everything he had. “Well, sir, you can’t be too careful. Never know when there will be an attempt on HQ. Wouldn’t want the walls breached.”

“Indeed.” Mustang snorted at his lieutenant’s antics, a small lift to the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement just as the glitter in his dark eyes revealed his relief at finding Havoc well enough to be an ass. “I don’t suppose you have eaten yet?”

Havoc’s stomach did a little dance to remind him it really was not at all interested in food. In fact, in the event food was introduced, he might have a full-scale revolt on his hands. “Ah, actually I have, sir.”

“Ah.” Mustang sighed. “Join me for coffee then?”

Coffee. Acidic, disgusting, beautiful coffee. Just the thing he did not at all need. “Sure.”

Havoc felt his stomach rumble something rude and gave his gut a little smack as he straightened. ‘Quiet you.’

“So…what brings you into work early?”

It was inane, almost as bad as asking about the weather. Such a blatant attempt at normalcy, at non-conversation, made Havoc’s gut sour further, something he had not thought possible. “Nothing much, sir. Couldn’t sleep, thought I might as well come in. You?”

Now it was Mustang’s turn to wince, knowing exactly why it was Havoc hadn’t slept. “Ah, same here.”

While the silence wasn’t exactly companionable, at least the two men had a good chuckle over the frantic gurgling Havoc’s brand new ulcer made when it discovered how much coffee Havoc intended on ingesting.

The topic of Frank Archer was not brought up, but so carefully avoided they might have well been discussing him. After all, he was the source of their current unease with each other.

And Havoc had the unfortunate impression that Mustang was watching him a bit too intently, with a bit too much interest for him to be comfortable. ‘Try that kissing thing again and I will kick you in the balls, superior officer or not.’

Some of that thought must have reached Havoc’s eyes, for Mustang cleared his throat suddenly, and decided that it was time to add some sugar to his coffee. Nine spoonfuls. And a rather generous amount of milk.

Everyone knew the colonel liked his coffee black.