1. Military Personnel

The mess hall was never too loud. Soldiers argued and laughed, but many quietly ate and then were on their way. Most sat in the same spot every day. Most came at nearly the same time, in and out like clockwork. The food changed minutely, offering a few choices here and there and a wealth of coffee. For some, coffee was better than an actual meal.

Roy came here three times a day, most days. He was sure, by now, that the men at the table he normally occupied could rattle off his likes and dislikes easily. He liked sweets, red meat, and coffee, lots of coffee. He disliked fish, thick soups, and water. He was predictable.

Havoc (who fell into the coffee-is-a-fine-meal crowd) had come and gone earlier with Breda (who was entirely unpredictable; Roy was certain the man would eat anything that could even marginally be called 'food'). Falman had elected to eat out that day (at the café he normally went to when he had the time; otherwise, he and Roy agreed rarely on food and Roy had, on occasion, been known to sit elsewhere when he chose to eat the fish entree). Fuery had disappeared hours earlier on an errand, but Roy knew well enough that if he were here he would have chosen the daily sandwich.

"Should I be worried, sir?"

Roy looked up from his still-full plate to find wry amusement threatening the corner of his lieutenant's mouth. Riza Hawkeye was also entirely predictable. Like Fuery, she nearly always chose the daily sandwich. She liked to accompany it with a cup of whatever soup they were offering (even, to his disgust, the thick ones). Regardless of what she was eating, there was always a cup of tea with a slice of lemon and a tablespoon of honey to be found. He could make her tea in his sleep. He was fairly certain he had done just that at least once.

"It's nothing," he said, smiling, and began to eat. She watched him momentarily, then returned to her simple meal.

He knew his men would clock out at 5 on the dot, but Hawkeye would stay. The door would shut, and they would quietly continue their work until 6, when both would walk down for the evening meal. More work would follow, before they went home at some ungodly hour. They would walk to the front together, and then go their separate ways.

Their routine. It was surprisingly quiet, sometimes, the way they navigated the corners of their lives, oft-entwined as they were. Sudden explosions would rock them, but then the next day they would be back, drinking coffee and tea across from each other at 12:30.

He wouldn't have it any other way.