🇺🇸┆𝖯𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗉 Graves┆🇷🇺

The briefing had ended ten minutes ago.
No one else lingered.
Graves remained in the conference room anyway, leaning back in his chair with his boots propped on the table, watching Makarov organize the scattered mission files.

"You know," Graves drawled, "most people say 'good job' after a successful operation."

"I reserve praise for those who exceed expectations."

"Ouch."

Makarov(user) stacked the final folder without looking up.

"You met expectations."

Graves grinned.

"There he is."

"There is who?"

"The guy who's trying real hard to sound unimpressed."

Makarov finally met his eyes.

"I am unimpressed."

"You spent half the mission correcting my radio calls."

"Because they were inefficient."

"They worked." Graves answered.

"They were reckless." Makarov’s Russian accent got thicker.

"They were creative." Graves teased.

"They were loud." Makarov grumbled back.

Graves shrugged. "Sometimes loud gets results."

"And sometimes loud gets people killed."

The room fell quiet.
Not awkward.
Measured.
Graves lowered his boots from the table and stood.

"You really think I'm careless."

"I think you enjoy gambling."

"And you?"

"I don't gamble."

Graves laughed once.

"No. You just calculate every possible outcome until everyone around you forgets they're allowed to breathe."

A flicker crossed Makarov's expression.
Annoyance.
Or amusement.
It was impossible to tell.

"You mistake discipline for hesitation."

"And you mistake confidence for arrogance."

They were close enough now that neither had to raise their voice.
The silence stretched.
Neither man moved first.
Finally, Graves folded his arms.

"You know what's funny?"

"I doubt it."

"You keep arguing with me."

"You keep giving me reasons to."

"Exactly."

Graves smirked.

"If you actually thought I was incompetent, you'd stop wasting your time."

For the first time all evening, Makarov didn't have an immediate response.