Author's Note: Wow, yeah, it's been... longer than I remember since I've posted something on here, but when I find out it is someone's birthday, how can I resist? Verkisto, this one's for you and all your great awesomeness. It's posted late, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
This was typed and edited on my phone, so please, don't hate on all the errors or roughness!
Happy Birthday Indeed
January was never known to be a warm month, but Burbank, along with most of Southern California, was experiencing a rather warm start of the year. The weather was so nice that it landed V, a woman of mystery, in a tank top and jean shorts, her feet enjoying the freedom from the warm weather.
John Casey felt similarly, only compared to Afghanistan, this weather was comparatively cool. Nonetheless, the sun put even him in a better mood. On these days he enjoyed washing his Crown Vic, his favorite non-dangerous pastime.
V enjoyed people watching, finding something to intrigue her. She had been walking around for a few hours, initially listening to two girls argue over some guy named Ryan, but when those two girls turned into a small apartment complex of some sort, she was stuck by a fountain. After a few moments of a break, V got up and started walking again.
That's when she saw John Casey, a soapy sponge in hand. He was humming, and, as someone who was good at figuring people out, V pegged this as unusual. What was even more unusual, though, was her hesitation.
He turned to grab the hose and saw a pair of flip flop clad toes standing right next to it. He looked up and grunted, having been caught humming. Instead of grabbing the trigger of the hose, his hand twitched towards his back to pull out his gun.
"Uh," his deep voice grumbled.
"Hi," she stepped in, offering a hand. "I'm V."
He, again, didn't know what to do. She picked up the hose and he stood up straight. "May I help?"
He gave her a half smile and allowed her to help rinse off his baby. When he turned his back, the mischievous side of her mysterious personality popped out, and she sprayed him.
He turned around, a serious face on. He looked somewhat frustrated, but his stone-cold expression made him hard to read.
"Oh, sorry! I'm horrible with guns!" She laughed and his eyes widened, then returned to a normal size.
"I," he started, breaking eye contact. "I could help you with that."
Her eyes glistened with the possibility of his very muscular arms wrapped around hers to place her in the proper shooting position.
The heat, she thought, was enough of a birthday present, but this... Happy birthday indeed.