B&B: Janus, Steve, Atticus
Janus too was in a strange mood, and for once he had enough self-reflection to wonder why. He was annoyed, somehow, that Steve and Atticus had had an affair (however brief it may have been). Janus prided himself on being able to read people well, and before this curious little incident he would have said Atticus' was as skittish as a deer and about as experienced as your average bookworm. And the Captain, he would have assumed to be the wine-and-dine type, and not the kind to find someone for a sweaty interlude in some dark corner. That he didn't know either of them were interested in other men before this also nettled, like they had been concealing some fascinating hobby he had a passing interest in. In short, bizarrely, he felt left out. Janus had leisure enough to think on this, and concede that he had not done anything to make himself appealing (in the most physical of ways) to either man, so it wasn't like he had room to be churlish about it. Logic, apparently, didn't much factor in. Nor did what form that he was wearing. It was a very strange feeling to have, and he looked forward to the time when it would pass.
For now, he had plenty else to think on. Somehow he was expected to play spy, and despite his facility with physical form, Janus didn't have the temperament for espionage. He had an honest soldier's dislike for the people who skulked about and ignored the rules of battle, and a real scorn for people that served up information to the other side. It made him a little anxious about what side he was on, because he hadn't reported the angel-blood's appearance to anyone but the Captain, who hardly knew what Janus was talking about anyway. Janus' job had to do with learning about people and asking them to make choices. This was different.
Janus was wearing his bus stop blues, obviously off the late night shift, and he saw Atticus over the rim of his coffee cup when the man walked in. His scowl was bleak and immediate. "Stubborn bastard."