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Title; Tea.
Rating; PG
Fandom; Fullmetal Alchemist
Summary; There's a part of her duty that's a rest from it.
Wordcount; 529
"Oi, Lieutenant." And she looks up at the blonde, who stands holding out a mug of hot tea. Coffee maybe. "I had some left over when I made mine." Definitely coffee, in that case- but reaches out automatically, sparing the hints of a smile for the thought, setting the mug down on the desk and letting her hand curl around it. "Thanks." And he wanders off, and she turns back to her papers.
Then it's her turn, and she makes tea for everyone, setting mugs down on each person's desk, talking briefly with everyone, accepting their thanks with a smile. Everyone except the Colonel, who merely exchanges a glance with her, and a smile so quick that only she would have caught it.
Breda, this time, dropping the mug down on top of her papers with a thunk. She starts to protest automatically about the state of the poor papers, she has to turn those in, you know- but he cuts through the second word. "Drink." She shoots him a look instead, wasted on his back, he's already thumping mugs down on Fuery's and Havoc's desks. He'll never learn, she thinks, as she takes the first sip.
She makes rounds, offering more coffee for empty mugs, late at night, thanks muttered by all as the brew is gulped down.
Fuery, asking ahead of time if anyone would like coffee, and then bringing it to whomever had asked.
The Colonel, wandering over to get his own cup, standing a long time at the window absentmindedly sipping at his drink until she taps the edges of the papers she's holding against her desk, and he turns back to his own work with the smallest of sighs.
Havoc, handing her two mugs, with a jab of his head towards the Colonel, who's sitting at his desk looking like he's in a mood. She nods, and takes the spare, wordlessly trading coffee for some of the paperwork sitting on his desk.
The Colonel, sliding a mug onto the paperless corner of her desk when the office is too-brightly lit for the darkness outside and she's still working, the only one who hasn't gone home yet. She looks up briefly, murmurs a "Thank you, Colonel," and goes back to writing out forms with a small sigh. His hand rests briefly on her shoulder, and he's gone again, to fetch his own mug and nurse his own paperwork.
That was how it should be. How it had been.
Her hands were busied with loose tea leaves in fancy sieves, expensive porcelain, making sure things were proper, that it was hot enough, that the tea had not steeped too long, and she sets the cup on the tray, finely worked, and stands, carrying the whole thing to the highest power in the country, face silent and mouth stoppered, as formal in demeanor as she had been when she presented him with new mandates to sign, a few minutes prior.
This was no longer a rest from her duty. It was part of it.
Rating; PG
Fandom; Fullmetal Alchemist
Summary; There's a part of her duty that's a rest from it.
Wordcount; 529
"Oi, Lieutenant." And she looks up at the blonde, who stands holding out a mug of hot tea. Coffee maybe. "I had some left over when I made mine." Definitely coffee, in that case- but reaches out automatically, sparing the hints of a smile for the thought, setting the mug down on the desk and letting her hand curl around it. "Thanks." And he wanders off, and she turns back to her papers.
Then it's her turn, and she makes tea for everyone, setting mugs down on each person's desk, talking briefly with everyone, accepting their thanks with a smile. Everyone except the Colonel, who merely exchanges a glance with her, and a smile so quick that only she would have caught it.
Breda, this time, dropping the mug down on top of her papers with a thunk. She starts to protest automatically about the state of the poor papers, she has to turn those in, you know- but he cuts through the second word. "Drink." She shoots him a look instead, wasted on his back, he's already thumping mugs down on Fuery's and Havoc's desks. He'll never learn, she thinks, as she takes the first sip.
She makes rounds, offering more coffee for empty mugs, late at night, thanks muttered by all as the brew is gulped down.
Fuery, asking ahead of time if anyone would like coffee, and then bringing it to whomever had asked.
The Colonel, wandering over to get his own cup, standing a long time at the window absentmindedly sipping at his drink until she taps the edges of the papers she's holding against her desk, and he turns back to his own work with the smallest of sighs.
Havoc, handing her two mugs, with a jab of his head towards the Colonel, who's sitting at his desk looking like he's in a mood. She nods, and takes the spare, wordlessly trading coffee for some of the paperwork sitting on his desk.
The Colonel, sliding a mug onto the paperless corner of her desk when the office is too-brightly lit for the darkness outside and she's still working, the only one who hasn't gone home yet. She looks up briefly, murmurs a "Thank you, Colonel," and goes back to writing out forms with a small sigh. His hand rests briefly on her shoulder, and he's gone again, to fetch his own mug and nurse his own paperwork.
That was how it should be. How it had been.
Her hands were busied with loose tea leaves in fancy sieves, expensive porcelain, making sure things were proper, that it was hot enough, that the tea had not steeped too long, and she sets the cup on the tray, finely worked, and stands, carrying the whole thing to the highest power in the country, face silent and mouth stoppered, as formal in demeanor as she had been when she presented him with new mandates to sign, a few minutes prior.
This was no longer a rest from her duty. It was part of it.
