I don't own FMA
"Where'd you disappear to?"
Havoc grinned and leaned back in his chair. He'd wanted them to ask. "Had a date."
Breda looked up from the shogi board that covered his desk. Falman quickly dropped his piece in place and turned around.
"Date?" Breda echoed. Havoc hadn't said anything about meeting anyone recently.
"At lunch? Isn't that cutting it a little short?" Falman asked
"Only time we can meet up until next week. She works nights," Havoc explained.
"Who works nights?" Mustang barged into the conversation as he entered the office.
"Havoc's new girl," Falman answered.
Mustang's eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs. "Does she charge you extra for the lunch dates," he asked, smirk forming as he said the last two words.
Havoc's eyes narrowed. "She's a nurse, works in the emergency room," he growled.
"You know what they say about those night-shift nurses," Roy shot back.
"She's not like that, besides, that's just a fantasy. I bet it never really happens," Havoc argued.
Mustang's eyes glinted at the challenge. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. You ever met Hughes' wife?"
"He met her when he broke his toe."
"She was volunteering," Havoc reminded him.
Mustang shrugged. "But it happens."
"Why so glum?" Fuery asked as Havoc slumped onto the bench next to him.
"Didn't you have a lunch date?" Falman asked from across the table.
Breda elbowed Falman.
"It's over," Havoc murmured, absent-mindedly pushing around the carrots on his plate.
"Some guy the doctors thought was a goner asked her to marry him. After some pressure from the rest of the staff, she agreed. Then, he pulled through. She said that it must've been meant to be—that they're soul mates or some crap like that," he elaborated.
"How about we all go out for drinks tonight," Breda suggested.
"Only if it's on Mustang," Havoc muttered.
"Oh, it will be," Breda assured him.
Havoc looked up from his plate of mystery meat and carrots and glanced across the table where Breda sat chuckling to himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Havoc made a mental note to make sure the redhead never put such serious thought into pulling one over on him.
A.N. - Just a little piece of gen written for Havoc Appreciation week's "Lunchtime Havoc" prompt.