The rooms’ laughter melted into applause. Rebecca gathered her dress and ran as best she could to hug her friend at the center of the room. Once her friend relinquished her hold, Riza raised her glass, “To the happy couple.”

“To the happy couple,” repeated the crowd.

“To the happy coupplee,” a tipsy Fuery cheered, a little late to the punch. “Hear, hear!’ Breda shouted heartily, downing his whole flute before rising to take her place.

Riza settled back into her seat with a sigh of relief, her throat still tight as she reached for her water. Hayate hopped onto his stool, a black satin bowtie around his neck, fully expecting celebratory pets.  

From three seats away, Roy was eyeing his Captain. He had to admit, he was spoiled with her proximity on a daily basis. As his adjutant and bodyguard, she was nearly always, if not at his left shoulder, then the closest one to him in any and every room. Maybe it was the wine flowing freely and the emotions running high, but it was almost uncomfortable to be separated by not only the bride and the groom, but Breda’s seat as well.

If he was just even one seat closer, he could at least catch her eye.

So, he tried that.

Roy slipped over onto the empty seat next to him and leaned over the table casually, attempting to enter Riza’s field of vision. Instead, it was Rebecca Catalina who caught his eye and gave him the look. That condescending look that said, somehow, someway, she knew he didn’t just want to congratulate Riza on her speech. The look that said she knew he had had trouble listening to the wedding ceremony, the toasts, anything at all really. She knew he just stared at the maid-of-honor like he was missing something.

He stared at her like it had been so long since he had acknowledged his heart- It had been so bloody long that Catalina and Havoc had actually resigned from breaking up every five seconds and finally settled down.

Yeah, It had been way too long.

Roy glared back at her then looked away into the crowd.

He tapped his index finger on the table cloth impatiently. The crowd barked with laughter and applauded Breda’s speech onward. It was then Roy felt a surge of just enough courage and spite to move. His legs carried him quietly past Havoc and Catalina, ignoring the brides’ all-knowing glare. He landed on the other side of Riza, dethroning Black Hayate from his special Groomsdog stool, lifting the pup up and placing him back on the floor.

Roy sat down, huffing out the energy. He felt a sense of calm wash over him again. Yes, having her closer was much better for his nerves, to be sure.

“Nice speech,” he opened quietly.

Riza blinked at his appearance. She glanced down at her dog, then to Breda at the center of the room still speaking, then back at the General.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, mildly unsurprised.

For a moment, she watched him, expecting him to say his piece, explain the reason for his inappropriately timed visit. But, Roy just stared out at Breda and said nothing. She watched him swallow tightly then she reached for a water for herself.

“Tell me something, Captain,” he finally said as she sipped. She hummed. “Why is it that you are the maid-of-honor, but I am not the best man?”

She met his eyes curtly, “Perhaps you were not the best of the men, sir.”

He scoffed, “Preposterous.” She smirked softly, “Hardly, sir.”

Roy looked back to his man on the floor. He and Havoc were both now tearing up with a drunken laughter much more boisterous than any other guest could consider warranted. Come on, his speech could not be that funny.

“So, Breda,” “Yes, sir.” “I’m jealous, really,” he admitted. Riza raised her eyebrow as Roy turned on the charm. “For, as the best man, he’s gotten to work closely with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I can not get you promoted.” “You got Hayate promoted.” “Hayate is worthy of his position. sir.”

The pup whined up at the General, appearing quite offended that he would dare treat him like a common dog rather than the honored member of the Havoc wedding party he was. Roy reached downward to pet him in apology, mildly defeated. Riza turned back to Breda.

Roy wasn’t sure what to say next. He wasn’t even sure what his plan was here, or anywhere, at all in means of this subject. 

I mean, he wasn’t stupid, no. He was perceptive enough to know that his heart was planning its payback. He dealt with a similar feeling at Elric’s’wedding years ago. Except now, he knew what he was dealing with. He knew precisely what he was holding captive in exchange for his goal. He knew the consequences, and now the symptoms of neglect were beginning to take hold.

Roy sighed. He wasn’t sure what to say next.

Riza felt his head swimming beside her and broke the silence with a note of normality. “If it’s any consolation, Sir. I would not even select you for my wedding party.”

It was a soft serve. She had set him up to find a sharp tongued response.

He found it with ease. Roy hummed in feigned thought and surveyed her carefully, “Not even as the groom, Captain?”

She tensed.

He smiled slyly and shrugged cockily, hiding his candor, “I would give anything to forever nag you like you nag me.”

“Your seat is over there, General.”

From any other perspective, it appeared he had crossed a line. From any other seat in the room, it was clear Riza Hawkeye truly did not appreciate whatever sort of mock-proposal he let spill out of his mouth.

Riza wiped the sweat off her forehead, peeled off her military jacket,  and cut open another box, fighting through the heat to unpack the very day she moved in.

That way she could be past it. That way she could be home.

Riza scrunched her nose knowing not even her meager flat in East City, much less her flat in Central, were even close to reaching  such a status of comfort.

She was never quite sure what was missing. Black Hayate, she knew, had helped some.

But, Riza found that the rooms to which she returned simply to sleep after hours at the office, she could collectively call them her house, her flat, yes, but never her home.

It was a terribly cheesy sentiment, and dealing with such thoughts was not at all Riza’s strong suit. Yet, so thankfully, it was interrupted by the knock, the knock on the door.

Riza flipped her lock and opened it to the hall, yet in front of her stood absolutely no one at all.

Then there was the voice behind her, muffled, yet strikingly familiar.

“Wrong door, Captain.”

Riza then glanced over her shoulder to find another door that surely had no reason not to be noticed.

Yet, it was understandable that she hadn’t for Riza was certainly not looking for a door in the middle of the shared wall of her new apartment, much less expected to see one. So, she was understandably surprised to flip open a different lock curiously not attached to her front door, turn the knob and reveal General Roy Mustang on the other side.

“Hawkeye,” he said her name carefully.

“Why is there a door in the middle of my living room?”

Technically, she thought, it was also in the middle of his bedroom, of his kitchen, of his entire apartment, a door opening straight into her own.

Riza blinked then surveyed the doorpost, for the existence of a door where this door currently stood, was certainly not understandable at all.

“I have not the slightest clue, General,”

Riza took pause, then hummed in diligent thought, “Would it be possible that every apartment has one, Sir?”

She, of course, could not think as to why one tenant would need direct access to another to the extent that it became a feature through out the complex as a whole. 

Riza tilted her head in disregard for that un-understandability, and thought the door might be a blessing in cases of break-in or emergency. If she suspected some dangerous something, she could get to the General very quickly, provided they kept the door unlocked or obtained a key of some kind.

Solely for safety, of course. That would be understandable.

But, Roy watched her think and swallowed tightly. No, he knew. “Possibly,” he still said,

“Possibly, but probably not, no,”

One quick sly check into Havoc’s room across the hall confirmed Roy’s theory. He pointedly brought up the subject the following day during his telephone call with the Fuhrer. Within the updates and what not, he slipped in his query, assuming the Fuhrer had, indeed, glanced at the blueprint at least once, 

or perhaps, more than once.  

Roy was, indeed, correct.

“Solely for safety, of course,” Grumman said.

“Ah, I see” Roy said surely, hiding just a speck of skepticism, knowing, of course, that justifying the door with his safety was reasonable, prudent even, to be sure.  

“You are bound to have some enemies out there, Roy. I imagined your Captain would appreciate the ability to reach you in a moments notice.”

Roy nodded, scratching his head, the doubt understandably persistent.

It could have simply been true that the Fuhrer of Amestris chose to oversee, yes, an excessively minuet detail, in the name of protecting the leader of his forces out East, the security of the beginnings of the Reconstruction of Ishval.

However,

Though the Fuhrer he may be now, Roy’s mentor he had always been,

the same mentor that had forever been quite dead set on hooking him up with his granddaughter, more or less for life.

Regardless of intention, the reality remained: that very granddaughter was now his next door neighbor, living in the apartment directly on the other side of this spontaneous special order of a doorway leading straight from his bedroom to hers.

It simply seemed entirely too convenient.

Of course, not to suggest Fuhrer Grumman was encouraging any inappropriate, much less any illegal behavior, but Roy still ruminated on how thoroughly he did enjoy any occasion Riza visited his previous flats for some overtime work, regardless of how much paperwork she had in tow. 

Having her closer was always a luxury, yet, understandably, did not come free of risk.  

“That’s very considerate of you, Sir. Thank you,” Roy responded graciously, yet sighed understandably so.

“However, if anyone is to see the door and question the purity of its purpose-“

“Tell them they can telephone my secretary for an appointment, my boy, “Grumman grinned “Though, I may have conflicts on that day.” 

And, that seemed to be that.

The door connecting their apartments was for his own safety, as verified by the Fuhrer himself, and that was understandable.  

It would just stay closed, unlocked, but closed,

in case of emergency, solely for safety, of course.

Of course.

But, of course, either fortunately or unfortunately so, the door certainly did not stay that way, closed not at all.

And here and now, Riza Hawkeye, stepping out of a shower that was not her own, wondered how, why, and when she had so un-understandably crossed this line.

The shower in her apartment had been broken all week. So, it was certainly reasonable she used his.

He had then requested her assistance, as she was already there,

in reviewing his rough draft of the procedure proposal for the establishment of an education department in the Ishvalan state.

It was due at Central in two weeks and was, by far, their biggest project yet, so it was certainly understandable she lend her aid, encourage his most new found lack of procrastination.

It was all very reasonable, Riza thought, understandably so.

Yet, it wasn’t the logic that troubled her, no.

It was the truth that once she left the little bathroom and its veil of steam, he would read through his proposal aloud. She would ensure the document’s clarity, verify its eloquence, and do so all while terribly exposed in her deteriorating discipline.

Riza paced the patch of carpet in front of his bed, biting her thumb nail in concentration, like she only ever had in private, dressed so comfortably in her little pajama set, its debut appearance to an audience outside of the pup sleeping in the corner.

She dried her hair with his spare towel, washed her face, brushed her teeth, even smoothed on a layer of moisturizer,  

all while claiming to be working, all while in front of her superior.

She simply didn’t seem to care, Riza struggled, it was as if she were-

She stumbled on the word,

home.

Riza swallowed thickly, shook her head, caught up with Roy’s voice and focused on the logic.

The logic was no issue, no.

They never seemed ever free of deadlines to meet, reports to author, developments, construction, all to oversee.

This, of course, was the work they had been waiting for, and they threw themselves so very willingly into the fire.

It was exhausting, she could admit.

Yet, the General persistently accepted, even encouraged, her requests for overtime. Her productive little heart was spoiled to the uttermost by his compliance, of course, under one condition; they burn the midnight oil in the most comfortable fashion.

They did, in fact, have that door.  Roy had shrugged, feigning nonchalance at the time. They could put it to good use. Quite reasonable, indeed.  

So, comfortable they were, and perhaps too comfortable she became.

For there was one particularly long night after one particularly arduous day she most understandably, yet still foolishly drifted off at the foot of his bed, expense reports, half finished, in hand.

Of course, Roy picked her up, tucked her under his covers and let her sleep there in his room under the pretense that the shorter distance was less likely to wake her from her much needed slumber.

It was, Riza was reluctant to admit, the best night of sleep she had ever gotten in that desert.

She woke up to a mop of black hair on the pillow next to her. Her stomach washed so un-understandably warm,

and Riza supposed that’s the moment, pinpointed it as the culprit, when she most shamefully began to falter, began to be baffled by her own behavior.

She so wished to blame it on the heat, on the blazing desert sun, but she knew there was a piece of her that melted after they all settled down in Ishval.

Yes, this piece had dwindled, but only because she had been so wonderfully warm, so very blissfully often.  

It was a curious feeling that accompanied the new door, it seemed. Gone were her defenses, a gooey puddle was left of her resolve.

Riza worried over her lip, at least for a moment every night.

It was so sloppy, so foolish, so very uncharacteristic,

so very dangerous

It wasn’t illegal, no, this company that they kept.

But, neither did say a word about the imprudence of the thing, nor what precisely might their excuse be were they to get caught so perilously familiar with one another, consistently returning to such a place together.

Because, in no matter of time at all, Riza was working long nights most every night, fell asleep in his room most all the time, and soon enough

a toothbrush joined his at his sink, for convenience a set of spare pajamas lay tucked away in the second drawer, just in case, and her suite, only one door apart, was left clean and nearly wholly untouched.

For, by chance, she had allowed herself this place, this comfort, this sanctuary

after she, for so long, never allowed herself nearly anything at all. The chance. The reason why she returned.  It was something she most certainly did not understand.

Perhaps, she might snap out of it. Oh, yes, she so hoped she might snap out of it, and soon.

Roy had stopped reading. Riza stopped pacing.

For a moment, she felt maybe he was reading her mind. If he was, she willed him to keep his opinions to himself, for his endorsement for the continuation of the generous amount of time she spent in his flat was, firstly, already thoroughly voiced, secondly, not helpful to her

in any capacity, whatsoever.

Then Riza blinked and felt the lazy fan on her legs, and realized Roy had taken pause, not to read her mind but to admire her shorts.

It had gotten too hot. They lived in the desert. She had chosen the shorts. It was reasonable, understandable.

yet so terribly terribly unwise.

Roy had looked up at her, just once, from his place on the bed, lounging against the headboard, and well-

He never had the pleasure of seeing Riza’s legs nearly at all, much less like that.

Riza froze, most probably from her lack of clothing. She clutched the bridge of her nose,

“Is this going to be a problem, Sir?”

“Hm?”

His eyes met hers, though they certainly took their time.

“Should I return to my suite?”

Some small piece of her hoped he’d say yes. She felt she needed it to be an order.

Otherwise, she feared she might never leave, being so very delightfully, wonderfully toasty this way.  

That pesky feeling, unidentifiable. It was so very unreasonable, un-understandable.  

Roy, of course, did not oblige and suggest she need leave him nor the delightful, wonderful warmth that spread from her chest to the tips of her toes.

He did not even grant her the mercy of a definitive answer.

Roy just gave a lopsided grin, so very deliciously warm in itself. He cleared his throat for good measure and picked up where he left off.

Riza tried her very best to concentrate, bit her lip, bit her thumb, made suggestions.

It was in her subconscious that she was directed toward his freezer to scan for sweets.

Ice cream sandwiches, she grabbed two.  

Riza unwrapped her own carefully and took her place on the edge of the bed, knees folded under her.

Roy had stopped reading, again. 

She lifted an eyebrow, opened her mouth to advise he appreciate her legs in a less overt manner before she grabbed her spare pistol underneath the pillow next to him.  

He beat her to it-

“I was just thinking,” he promised. “About, Sir?”

Roy stared at her still as she broke a small piece of her sandwich and popped it promptly into her mouth. He inched off his reading glasses. Riza cocked her head just so at his sudden somber.

“Have we ever existed like this?” Roy hummed, “had this peace?”

She blinked, realizing perhaps he too had noticed. 

This most particularly pesky feeling, so alarmingly, uncomfortably comfortable.

Peace, Riza pondered. It was a peculiar word she had missed when attempting to identify that warmth from her head to her toes, every time she knocked, every time he opened that door, and invited her to make herself at home.

Home.

No, she did not feel that often, Riza could reluctantly admit.

“Not that I can recall, Sir.”  

Roy took pause, read his packet, flipped a page, and mumbled softly,

“Do we deserve it?”

Riza swallowed, her throat much narrower than seconds before. She picked at her sandwich and came to the definitive answer much too quickly.

“Probably not, no.”

Chocolate cookie stuck to her hands vexingly. Riza felt the need to move, refocus, rethink, before she became trapped in her endless world of regrets. 

She slipped off the bed for a napkin.

As if to catch her, as if she were to leave him, Roy called after her as calm as he could manage.  

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?”

It was a reasonable question, understandable, to be sure.

Riza picked the chocolate off her fingers, and bit at the inside of her cheek, knowing the real question

Should she more comfortable somewhere else?

Ah, this is where she so often got stuck and fled the thought rather than tread on such terrifying territory.

The gut answers were simple yes, she should, yet no, she wouldn’t.

Riza shook off all the reasons why, with one shamefully beautiful little smirk of her own.

She shrugged,

“Probably not, no,”

parroting her previous response, a little joke with herself. Such silly humor so splendidly simple, so seldom shown, set aside for the moments when she was Riza, the moments when she was home.

Roy felt humbled to be a part of such a spectacular thing.

He grinned goofily, stretching his arms behind his head, “Oh? Sounds like you enjoy my company, Captain.”

Riza’s smirk fell into a cutting glare, warning him not to test her with that ego, not to push the point.

For, truthfully, she’d rather not venture further into the topic, because, most unfortunately so, he was right.

Riza plucked the second sandwich off the bed and threw it in his direction, perhaps more forcefully than necessary,

“I only prefer your dessert selection, General.”

Roy fumbled on the catch, dropped his arms, dropped his act. He gave an exasperated sigh as she took her place next to him, on the bed, lounging against the headboard.

Riza plucked the papers out of his lap, and shuffled to find where they left off.

Roy ripped open his ice cream and took a healthy bite.

They sat there in silence-

perhaps silence was much too heavy of a word.  

They sat there in peace,

the quiet only broken when Roy tried sucking the chocolate off his fingers. Riza handed him the napkin at her side wordlessly.

Roy found himself lost in thought again, watching her read, resisting biting her nails.

His voice was lower, not serious, but simply not cocksure confidence,

It was honest when he smiled at her.

I only prefer your dessert selection.

“Only?”  

Roy huffed a light laugh. Riza blinked at the query.

He watched her cheeks dust pink as she fiddled momentarily with the corner of the pages, refusing to spare him a glance.

“Probably not,”

she felt warmth, understandably so.

Havoc probably knew the most, the outline. The night he arrived in Central, he camped out in their hospital room, knowing all too well the sting of a spontaneous life-altering disability.

He could offer comfort, understanding.

Sure enough, Roy cracked, mumbling a few things here and there, a brief recount while Riza slept, her face ghostly white,  her temporary peace fragile as the thinnest glass.

They used her against him, Roy had muttered in the dark.

He watched her die and was then pinned down and forced to perform human transmutation.

Somewhere in that chaos, his sight was taken from him in exchange.

“That’s stupid,” was all Jean Havoc had to say in response. For, that’s all he really could say. This was psychotic.

It wasn’t fair.   It was so cold-blooded, ruthless. Science, of all things, deciding to violate its own damn rules.

His commanding officer, his truest of friends, the most honorable man he had ever known was forced by the Universe, or whatever, to pay for a horrible criminal something he didn’t actually do.

even after he had let her - his most precious subordinate - even after he had let her die to successfully not actually do it.

It was just stupid.

Still he was blind. She was half dead.

But, they were here. They survived.

And, that’s all Roy Mustang would say for now. That’s all there really was for now.

The new General and his men instantly began to prepare, focused on moving forward. Mustang strategized and reanalyzed and did not let on for a second that he was out of the fight. Perhaps he would not be Führer.   But, he would still work.

They were still alive.

Then.

Out of absolutely nowhere, there was a way to reverse all this. The all-powerful ultimate cosmic red stone of alchemy or whatever. Stupid, but perhaps used for good, for the future.

Havoc was kinda shocked when he got the call. He just bought his ticket back East, leaving the next day, entirely resigned from the notion of full and total recovery.

Havoc had gotten so settled in his convenience store, into his chair, off his feet, no longer a soldier.

Life was different. And, then it wasn’t.

Roy Mustang gave him orders.  

“You get your legs back. You rejoin my team.” “This is weird,” was all Jean Havoc had to say.

He studied his ticket for only a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it out. Dues Ex Machina, it seemed, one miracle ending to a bad horror story that didn’t have the guts to pull through to the grim finish.

Havoc shrugged. At least they were alive.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Boss.”

So, here they were, all six of them, crammed into a crappy hospital room waiting for Dr. Marcoh to arrive. Here they were in a most unceremonious manner, making small talk, twiddling their thumbs, waiting on a most life-altering event, while the Lieutenant repeated their coffee order.

Large black coffee - light hazelnut creamer. Two cappuccinos - one light, one extra-dry. One latte. One Americano, and one mocha for her,

heavy chocolate, heavy whipped cream, heavy sugar. 

“I should come with you, Hawkeye,” Breda tried again. She was just released from bed rest a day ago, for heavens’ sake.

Riza opened her mouth to protest. She needed to walk. She needed to process. She needed to recite their order over and over and over.

Large black coffee - light hazelnut creamer. Two cappuccinos - one light, one extra-dry. One latte. One Americano, and one mocha for her,

heavy chocolate, heavy whipped cream, heavy sugar.  

Repeat.

If she did not follow suit, her head would ache with worst case scenarios. Her most childish heart had fluttered at the hope Dr. Marcoh had offered.   Foolish. She should know better than to expect a positive outcome.  

The stone could fail on a number of cruel technicalities. But, Riza could not help the piece of her being that had forever insisted on hope.

So.

Her head reeled, her heart raced, her stiches seemed all too thin. She felt all too weak. She needed to walk. She needed to process. She needed caffeine with chocolate with sugar and a lot of whipped cream.

Riza opened her mouth to protest. Mustang beat her to it,

“Let her go. She’ll be fine.”

The men exchanged a look. That was weird.

Really weird.

If anyone were to be obsessed with Hawkeye’s wellbeing, it would be the General. But, while the physical effects were so painfully clear, no one knew what had happened that day, deep in the tunnels under Central.

Hindsight revealed the General had orchestrated Hawkeye’s absence. He suggested coffee. He had asked her to fetch it, despite her condition. He wanted her out of the room, needed her out of the room.

For it was clearly no coincidence that right after Riza left the building, Dr. Marcoh circled the corner, held up a red gem, and speedily walked through some mumbo jumbo scientific specifics.

“Ready?”

He was supposedly scheduled to arrive just after 9:00. It was 8:50.  Hawkeye was never late.

“Boss, don’t you want to wait-“ “No.”

Even Dr. Marcoh hesitated as if Mustang’s authority wasn’t enough. The men could vouch that this was often true. But, the General politely encouraged the doctor to be brief and hasty with his life-altering transmutation.

It didn’t seem quite right for something of such gravity to be so anticlimactic.

But, Mustang meant business.

He could not have her in the room and have the stone fail.

The General knew his Lieutenant.  

He did not have to see how truly unconvincing she appeared when she smiled. There was no need to actually witness the effects of such massive blood loss on such a small woman. Pale skin, a sway in her step, even after weeks time.

He didn’t need to see it. He said no. And, that was the end of it.

It was weird. Yet,

No one knew what had happened that day. Not truly, anyway.

So, they proceeded, unceremoniously.

There were no grand words. No ribbons to cut. No champagne to pop.

There was just a lot of red light, a flash. Havoc held up his hand and squinted his eyes, then bent down to reach for his toes. They itched.  

Wait-

Breda and Falman stooped to help him up, Then he just stood. Then that was just it.

He could walk again.

“Huh,” Havoc exhaled a laugh, gently shaking out his legs. They were weak, of course. But, they moved. And, that would certainly do, 

“That’s pretty remarkable.”  Marcoh smiled graciously then swiftly moved to Roy, who sat in a trance, stuck in his head.

“That’s great, Havoc” he had muttered in response to the miracle on the other side of the room.

Breda had barked out a laugh, Falman had grinned, Fuery had started tearing up, but Mustang just nodded.

He was being genuine, to be sure. But, it was a simple truth Havoc deserved to walk again. For some reason, Roy felt he knew there would always be a remedy.

But, Roy Mustang had technically performed human transmutation. Perhaps not willingly at the time. But, only moments before, he knew, He would have done it. For her, he would have done it.

He deserved this. He ruined everything. His team, their goals. He had come to terms, then was presented with hope. His head now reeled with worst case scenarios, prematurely combatting any returning guilt and shame. He sat and stewed, stuck in his head, The stone would fail, surely. 

For, he would have done it.

No one knew what had happened that day.

Still, Marcoh stepped over to Mustang, and held up his stone. It was just the same, hasty and anticlimactic.

Some more bright red light, a flash. Roy felt a pulse to his head, like some sort of headache. He blinked, rubbed his temples, held his breath, and smelled coffee.

She had rushed back, no doubt, returning in record time.

Roy looked up and flinched when he realized he just watched her walk into the room, golden hair smeared, a tray of vaguely cup shaped blobs.  

He shook his head and blinked out the blur.

“I have retrieved the drinks,” Hawkeye huffed walking past everyone, making a b-line to the little nightstand at the General’s bedside;

Dr. Marcoh had to duck out of her way to avoid being flattened, but she never missed a step. She didn’t look up. She didn’t notice.

Everything had changed, Dreams were restored, Life was anew.

She didn’t notice.

And, no one said anything. All for different reasons.

Havoc, personally, was petrified of the consequences they all failed to consider when they sent the Lieutenant to get coffee then proceeded to conduct a miracle over which she had no doubt lost nights and nights of sleep.

Yup. They were in for it.

“I brought an extra for the doctor, once he arrives.”

Seven cups, Roy’s vision cleared and allowed him to take inventory. Yes, seven, an obscene amount of whipped cream topping each one . Surely just in case any of the men would be so generous to donate their coffee, and all the included sugar, to Riza’s reeling head and admittedly fragile constitution.

Oh, yes, she was held together by tape and glue, sugar and caffeine. He was right to keep her out. But, what now.

Yup. They were really really in for it.

No one said anything.

The Lieutenant jostled through the cups, picking one up that was most clearly marked Roy.

He nearly lifted his hand to take it from her. Instead, she popped off the lid and stole a sip right out of it, the whipped cream leaving her with a most endearing mustache.

“I saw that.”

Roy heard his voice, but was honestly shocked he had managed to say anything,staring up at her as she came into perfect focus, a most intoxicating rush of relief, euphoria and pure terror locking him down.

Still, she didn’t blink. She didn’t hear. She didn’t even acknowledge the whipped cream.

She just replaced the cap, set it within his reach, picked up two more cups to distribute, and said in passing, “What was that, Sir?”

Riza then finally looked up to the men, to Havoc standing, to Dr. Marcoh just behind her shoulder.

“You look good, Lieutenant,” Roy rose to his feet, smirked, then tapped his upper lip “The mustache suites you.”

The cups she held dropped to the floor, coffee spilled across her feet.

“You idiot,” she muttered, turning back to her superior officer, looking straight into his eyes for the first time since that day. Roy lost his breath, smiled.

Then.

Riza slapped his cheek, hard, without pointedly deciding to do so.

The men flinched. Marcoh stepped away.  

Oh, they were in for it. Havoc braced for impact.

But, Mustang just winced off the sting, bouncing back unreasonably quick, not even phased, nor surprised, nor offended,

or anything.

All of it was strange. Every detail of this day. Just down right weird.  But, to be fair:

No one knew what had happened that day.  

So, they all just watched as Roy simply sighed back into a tired smile and again tapped his upper lip,

“You’ve still got some whipped cream.”

He could see. He could really see. He reached to her lip and swept off the fluff.  

Riza eyes glassed over.

On who’s authority did you- You all had the audacity to- How dare you make light of -

She swallowed.

The Lieutenant wanted to say great many things. She meant to scold and scream and reprimand. She wanted to slap him again, honestly, twice, three times over.

Instead, she just blinked, and she broke.

“You idiot”

Riza nearly fell right into his arms, tucking tight into his shoulder, squeezing her arms around his waist. Roy did not skip a beat in wrapping her up, his arms weaving from her waist and up to brace her shoulders, his nose buried in her hair.

He held her tight and so close, and she let him do so, willingly.

No one knew what had happened that day, the Promised Day.

No one knew what had happened to them, deep in the tunnels under Central, Not truly, anyway.

With that, the silence finally relented.  

Collectively, the men huffed out a breath held for what seemed like an eternity. Havoc thought maybe a bomb would go off once Riza came to her senses. Maybe she would have lined them up and shot them one by one.

Instead, Riza Hawkeye hugged her General tight, a reaction not quite as lethal but still equally as alarming.  

“I never imagined the Lieutenant could be so insubordinate,” Fuery snickered lightly, the room swept clean with a relief much needed. Breda scoffed, “That’s nothing. I never imagined the Lieutenant could be a hugger.”  

That got a laugh. That broke the ice. It wasn’t even a good joke, but, finally, it all became real.

And, everybody started hugging everybody. Everybody went cheesy and sentimental and gross, laughing and grinning.

Celebration ensued. Not as grand as one might expect for such an event. There were no ribbons to cut. No champagne to pop.

But, it was them together and alive.

That was enough.

So, in that moment, hug they would.

Havoc to Breda. Havoc to Fuery and Falman and Marcoh. Marcoh to Havoc. Marcoh to Breda and Fuery and Falman. But, the General and his Lieutenant stayed put, right there.

Riza to Roy. Roy to Riza.

“Would you like me to clear the room for you, Sir?”

Havoc, of course, wasn’t serious when he crossed his arms, snidely smiled, grabbed the crutches and swung over toward the most peculiar pair. 

Still, only then did the General let her go. Still, only then did the Lieutenant step away, clear her throat, and finally register the entirety of her surroundings.

“Just as an update,” Havoc grinned at his friend, once half dead, now sufficiently alive, “I can walk again.”

Havoc then was treated to an embrace of his own, not nearly quite as long, nor quiet as motivated,

this time much more characteristic of Lieutenant Hawkeye, as much as any hug could be. But, it was certainly worth the deficits given Havoc took advantage of such a very rare opportunity to smirk at Mustang from over Riza’s shoulder.

Mustang, whose eyesight was restored just soon enough to watch Hawkeye abandon him for Havoc.

Perhaps such a prank was cruel. Crossing the line just a tad. Normally, he would get scolded for such an implication.

Inappropriate, Mustang would bite, Dangerous, Hawkeye would warn, followed by denial, denial, and more most expertly designed denial.

But, here, in the aftermath it was them. They survived.

They could see and walk and feel and live.

For the first time after that night, they were okay, and that was enough.

“Have you chosen to ignore your fearless leader?”  Roy scoffed. Havoc let her go and grinned knowingly, “Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?”

Havoc and Hawkeye broke apart. She swept a strand of blonde behind her ear, just now noticing her boots were covered in coffee. In a flurry, she dashed off to grab napkins,

and Roy watched her do so, watched her very carefully, ensuring she was out of earshot and most importantly out of reach.

Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?

They could see and walk, and feel and live.

For the first time, they were okay.

But, such circumstances certainly did not mean Roy Mustang would let Jean Havoc get away with that.

Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?

Mustang turned back to him, blinked and deadpanned,

“Absolutely not.” 

a/n   If you squint at the details really close, yes yes, it’s not quite canon. But, I don’t care. I say it happened. So, it did happen. I just wish them such happy things. 

She left them stunned and silent while slipping into the hall to knock on Ed’s door, the room for the groomsmen.

Roy opened it, and thank all that is good in the universe, he was alone. “They went out on a walk. The pipsqueak is pretty freaked out.” Roy blinked then evaluated her, head to toe.

Beautiful, his first thought. Panicked, his second.

“What’s wrong, Captain?”

Only it wasn’t his Captain standing there. It was his master’s daughter, his childhood best friend so brutally burdened with ink.  Her darkest secrets so cruelly exposed to the world

by one blasted broken zipper.

He could see it. She was reliving her past right before him. She bit her lip and fought off the cloudiness in her eyes while she could feel the sear of the burns on her back for the first time in years.

She ran, she rushed, to her father’s apprentice for help, her secret keeper, the piece of her past that had not broken her.

She stepped into the room, shrugged off her robe, and wondered why she could not enjoy one of life’s simplest joys. 

Weddings: dancing and cake,  and rings and beautiful dresses.

Happily ever after.

It seemed such things were not fit for Riza Hawkeye. It was something about her, the woman herself perhaps, that seemed to ruin it all – one way or another.

This time. This damned zipper. This damned tattoo. 

Perhaps it was what she deserved, she knew. But, truly, still. She could not catch a break.

Her scars pulled, tightened, shredded.  Her father’s ink sunk into her blood, ran through her veins, a toxin that she felt was bound to stop her heart.  

Roy’s hand ran mindlessly down her skin, ink and scars, pointless apologies on his lips.

What if it was broken for good? How was she to explain this to-

He plucked a bobby pin from her hair, slipped it through the zipper loop, and pulled.

“Done.”

She lifted her head and blinked, feeling a great bit foolish that she stood in front of her superior, tortured over an issue he managed to solve in, oh, less than one second.

How very Roy Mustang.

“All those sisters pay off from time to time,” he huffed, admiring his handiwork. Quite the perfectly zipped zipper.

Riza held the bridge of her nose and squeezed, steadying her heartbeat, steadying her breathing, feeling so stupid so foolish

so broken.

“Hawkeye,”

The burn was gone. He touched her skin, zipped the dress, and the burn was gone.

“Hawkeye, Look at me.” Roy grasped her shoulders and guided her around to face him.

Hawkeye he said. Riza he most certainly meant.

Riza lifted her chin to meet him watching the soldier he was melt into the boy she once knew, quick, intelligent, and painfully, obnoxiously charming.

“This is why you keep me around.”

She once had a crush on that boy, her mind most inconveniently noted while the man he became gave a deliciously warm smirk.

She said nothing to that smirk, explained nothing, denied nothing, did nothing but press her lips to his cheek feather light,  smudge the traces of lipstick off with her thumb and turned to the door.  “Thank you, Sir,” she said softly. 

Roy was very much glad she could not see his cheeks in that moment, turn a blazing red and ghostly white all at once.

It wasn’t uncommon for Roy Mustang to save the day. He, admittedly, quite arrogantly, prided himself in his quick and clever problem-solving.

It came in handy back in the day, particularly when impressing girls. Such tactics, of course, never had quite worked on the one that mattered, so he thought.

She kissed his cheek. He cleared his throat,

“Anytime.”  

It was going well enough, until the bride-to-be ‘sleeping’ to her left, turned toward her and opened her eyes.

“Have you ever loved someone, Miss Riza?”

Apparently, she couldn’t sleep either.

Of course, Winry, however, had a perfectly good excuse to be awake and pestered with pretty thoughts of white dresses and rings, and cake, and forever.

Riza raised an eyebrow at the young bride. The girl grinned sleepily in the dim orange light.  

“There are very many different types of love-“ “You know what I mean,” Winry deadpanned, and Riza was caught.

The young girl now knew her quite well, so lightly unfortunate for a woman as private as Hawkeye. But, Winry had become a dear friend, very similar to Rebecca. Though, Rebecca seemed much less problematic - which was saying something.

The brunette lay snoring at her feet, curled up with Hayate, while the blonde ruthlessly gazed up at her with pleading blue eyes requesting a conversation about Riza’s least favorite of subjects.

Winry, of course, knew this.  She had somehow subconsciously cataloged all of the specific topics Riza would rather not discuss.

Often, if they were not riddled with pain, she would pick a subject, and nearly force Riza to open up and – god help her – socialize.  

It was harmless for the most part, but Winry was clever and fearless, and to Miss Riza’s great misfortune, knew right away when she was dodging the point.  

So, she had no choice.

Riza huffed, closed her book, even still, a subtle smile on her face.

“Yes,” she said candidly. Winry suspected as such.   “Do you love anyone right now?”

That particular question proved to be a popular pastime for the evening. They had played truth or dared, or rather, practically broadcasted their love lives outright, one by one.

Riza always had a perfectly poised, carefully crafted,  completely unspecified response. 

Such questions gave her quite the headache. Such questions possessed very complicated answers. Such questions prompted the intake of lots and lots of sugar.

Riza knew what they expected, and she disappointed every time.

Winry, however, was so sweetly relentless. She asked not for gossip, a scoop, a secret.

Winry simply wished for others, happiness.

She could do gears, and bolts, and motor oil. She could do dresses, and rings, and love.

And, if there were any woman concerned with the happiness of others on her own wedding day, it would be Winry Rockbell.

Unfortunately so, Winry had become a dear friend and there was no way Riza was getting out of this.

Do you love anyone right now?

Riza skillfully tilted her head, bit her lip and squinted, “Not that I’m aware of.” “Liar,” Winry quipped instantly.

“Now, how would you know I’m lying?” Riza picked up her book, opened it again, and stuck her nose into the pages.

“I just know,” Winry scoffed. Riza smirked.  “The evidence appears to be quite unsubstantial.”

Winry huffed, big blue eyes wide and restless. She propped up on her elbow and caved. Unfortunately, they were dear friends now, 

and Winry knew there was no way she was getting anywhere  with this woman, no matter how stubborn and persistent, and admittedly annoying her own tactics.

“Fine.” Winry bit and settled, “Have you ever had a crush on someone?” That wasn’t such a tricky question, now was it? It focused on the past, and on a much lighter, sillier, common kind of love. Riza blinked, “Crush?”

Winry nodded, “Mhm. Blushing and butterflies and all that.” Riza sighed, surrendered her book once more and, of course, knew the answer. But, ever Riza Hawkeye, she hesitated.

“I’m getting married the day after tomorrow.” “Yes?” “You’re the maid of honor.” “Yes?”

“So, it’s your duty to appease me,” Winry literally begged, “I’m the bride. I order you to answer.”

Riza chuckled. “Understood,” She sighed, “Yes, I have had a crush I suppose”

Winry lit up like a Christmas tree, “Who?” Riza bit her lip. There was no turning back now. She had orders, after all.

“My father’s apprentice.” “Oh,” she grinned, “Was it a forbidden love?”

Hardly, Riza nearly snorted. It was barely love at all.

It was a blush or two, butterflies maybe, a honorable, intelligent, painfully charming boy that was hell bent on befriending a very lonely girl.  

And, forbidden?

She wasn’t even sure, in those days, if Berthold Hawkeye still knew he had a daughter.   So, Riza decided on a, “I wouldn’t know. My father was never wise to it.”

“Did he have a crush on you too?” Winry hoped so ardently.

Riza brought a finger to her lip and tapped, genuinely answering, “I was never certain.”

“I bet he did.”

“And, how would you know, Winry?” “I just know,” Winry grinned. Riza smirked. “The evidence appears to be quite unsubstantial.”

Winry rolled her eyes and collapsed back onto her pillow. Riza took the opportunity to do the same.

Perhaps the conversation was over.

Perhaps Riza had dodged enough for long enough to exhaust even ever pure-hearted, ever ruthlessly vigilant Winry Rockbell.

Riza was very wrong.

“Tell me something about him.”

She had already turned away from the her, pointedly choosing to face the windows, escape the hot seat.

She had already tucked away her book.  She had already pat Hayate on the head. 

She had already convinced herself she had passed the test, survived. Maybe she could finally get some sleep. Probably not, honestly.

Still, Winry insisted for at least one more word. Riza huffed and turned back to her.

She thought and scrunched her nose. “He was kind of a know-it all.”

“Like Ed,” Winry snorted. “Like Edward, yes” Riza smiled.

It was possible then, Winry grinned. It was possible for even Riza Hawkeye, her maid of honor, so often carrying around the weight of the world,   to have her own Ed, her own love of her life.

Perhaps her own white dress, and ring, and cake, and forever.  

Perhaps it was possible.

“One more thing,” she lifted a finger. “Winry…” Riza warned.

It was time to sleep. It was time to stop torturing her dear friend, her maid of honor. Winry understood.   Still.

“What did he look like?”

Riza knew what she was asking.

Winry was aware of at least the bare bones of Roy and Riza’s past. Ed had mentioned it once briefly. She knew they had known each other for a long time, since childhood. Her father might have been an alchemist,

and Winry wasn’t one-hundred percent sure Roy Mustang was Riza Hawkeye’s father’s apprentice. But, she had a feeling. 

Riza knew what she was asking.

Ever still she did giver her a perfectly poised, carefully crafted, completely unspecified response,  while still following orders, of course.

Riza rolled her eyes, turned back to the windows, pulled the duvet up to her shoulders, and sighed into a smile.

“He had dark hair and dark eyes, Xingese decent.”

It was vague. It was specific.

It gave Riza just enough time to pretend she fell asleep before Winry hummed, “Wait a minute.”  Xingese decent, huh. then finally gasped, baffled she hadn’t realized instantly.

She knew it. She just knew.

“That sounds like General Mustang.”

“Does it?” Riza feigned exhaustion, muttering into the fluff of her pillow.

“Yes,” Winry saw through her and smirked, finally satisfied, “Yes, it does.”

“I did always like the short hair, Captain,” Fuery nodded. “Looks good,” Breda confirmed, sneaking another  bit of a brownie, rather overtly 

Lunch is over. No food in the office.

She was supposed to say something. She didn’t say anything. The General lifted an eyebrow, looking to her.

They would be leaving in a week.  The office was in boxes, actually.

“Very sensible for the desert,” Falman commented. Riza’s fingers grazed the blonde cut short at her ear. She said nothing. She studied the carpet.

Roy’s face dropped.

The Captain took a breath, looked to the men nodded in thanks then finally moved from the doorway.

The sun through the massive wall of windows was scorching. Riza, once frozen, now burned like fire.

She removed her military jacket, draped it over her chair, then turned on her heel toward the coffee.  

Then they all just decided something was wrong. She didn’t even drink coffee.

Yup, something was definitely wrong.  

No, she shut it down silently. She was fine. They didn’t think so.

So, they then collectively, wordlessly, started plotting.  Havoc elbowed Breda in the ribs. “It’s cute too,” Breda coughed out. “Very cute!” Fuery agreed. “Becoming, yes.” Falman added quickly “Hot.” Havoc finished it off.

That should have shocked her out of it.

Inappropriate insubordination always got her attention.

All of those things were true, of course. The pixie cut was highly underrated.

But, still. Roy just watched her shuffle through the cabinet,  pull out the coffee beans, and ready the grinder.

“Out.” Roy then said softly, only just loud enough to hear.

Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery, snapped from Riza to Roy. They stared, wide-eyed, waiting for his solution.

For, the only person, truly, that even might be able to ‘fix’ Riza Hawkeye was Roy Mustang.

So, they sat in waiting, ready to help. Roy screwed the cap back on his pen, and said, “Go take lunch,”

Riza stiffened, coffee mug in hand, back facing the office.

No, he wasn’t going to do this. Kick the team out. Satisfy his hero complex. Try to save her.

She was fine.

Still, he said, “Go take lunch.”

“Boss, we already had-“

“Go take another.” Roy bit through his teeth. Fuery, Breda, Falman all rushed, snatched up their hidden snacks and flew through the doors. Havoc lingered.

He stood, fished his lighter out from his desk, glanced from Roy to Riza to Roy again, essentially ensuring the General didn’t need backup.

Roy got up, shook his head, and waved him away. Havoc left. and Riza stood her ground hoping Roy would be lazy enough to skip the trip to the coffee cart.

Her hopes were dashed. He appeared beside her.  

“Sir, do not start-“

The General swept fingers across the top layers for her hair and let out a “huh.”

Riza swatted his hand away. 

“It does look good, Captain.” “I’m fine, General,” she said sternly. 

“You did not need to evacuate the room simply  because you believe otherwise, Sir.” she grumbled,

Roy tilted his head, “It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” He ran fingers through it again, deeper this time.

It was highly inappropriate, but Roy did not stop and Riza did not stop him.

“It hasn’t been this short since-“ Roy started softly. Riza finished strong. “Since I murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Yes, I know.” her words were venomous, not out of malice, out of grief.

“And, yet, you are fine, Captain?” Roy made his point.

He knew when she was crumbling,  even worse, he almost always knew why. despite her unmatched talent of resolving, or rather hiding, any such circumstance.

He always knew.

So, he got her alone and he tried to fix her, like always. The joke was on him. Not even Roy Mustang could fix a heinous criminal. The hailed sharp shooter, the famed killer, the single woman who recklessly, obliviously unleashed flame alchemy,

She slaughtered a race. There was no fixing that.

Riza grit her teeth, gripped her mug, then Riza threw it.

The cup flew, shattered on hit clear across the room, all because of a haircut.

Roy hadn’t flinched. He just seemed lightly surprised, impressed even. Riza turned away from the pieces and found herself huffing for air.

She caught her breath, bit her lip, shook her head. She was so stupid. She was so weak. So weak she had lost her head, her professionalism, her vice.

“Forgive me, Sir. My behavior is inappro-“ It was then that her General grabbed the decorative bouquet off the coffee cart, dumped the flowers, the water and all into the garbage and handed her the vase. “This would be more satisfying.”

The Captain stared at the glass, incredulous, then glanced up at Roy. He cinched a smile.

Riza actually did think about it, but, in the end, waved the glass away.

“No thank you, Sir” she mumbled and sighed away the suffocation. Her fingers mindlessly lifted again, this time to sweep the loose pieces of blonde back behind her ear. The lack hit her hard.  “I apologize again, General. I’m-” 

Riza could not find the will to finish, not while she then would have to confess the fact that she maybe could not handle this,  not alone.  the full week of nightmares, post-traumatic stress. six years of recovery, gone. 

Riza still gnawed at her lip and shut her eyes. It was quite simple, really.

Psychological changes often produce the desire for a physical change. Significant events often cause said psychological changes, in preparation for the future, the next step, the new version of yourself.  

After Ishval, Mustang and Hawkeye found Edward, Alphonse and Winry.

At that time, their journey to the top had begun full throttle, and Riza had admired Resembool, the air, the peace, and Winry’s long, blonde hair.

Something needed to change, she remembered thinking. She wouldn’t mind letting her hair grow, a new version, void of blood, sun, and endless sand.

It was really quite simple. She just thought she was stronger.  

For, today she had lunch.

Today she had lunch and cut off six years of progress, of coping, and working, and fighting

and for what? practicality? much easier to manage, very sensible for the desert.

She thought she might be stronger.

In a week, they would be leaving, back to the sun, the endless sand.

She would be there again, the very same Private Hawkeye. She sure looked the part. One physical change reversing, nullifying a psychological remake, six years, 

gone.  

Roy watched Riza’s eyes glass over. She braced herself on the counter, then hid her head in her hands. 

That hair cut, the pixie cut, was present for every horrifying event in Riza Hawkeye’s life, death and ink and sun, and sand and blood, and fire.

She had always kept it short. It was much easier to maintain.  

But, with its return came grief, and guilt,  and perhaps it's very own curse.

She looked like a murderer, like blood and sand and fire, and she-

“You know,” Roy crossed his arms, and thought to the ceiling.    ”when we were young, I teased you about that haircut.”

He then leaned back against the counter back and back until he was in her sight, practically forcing her to look at him.

She compromised and glared instead.  

“Yes, I remember,” she huffed, “That does not help, Sir,” Roy shrugged, “It was only to hide the fact that I liked it.”

Riza lifted off the counter and looked at him squarely. Roy smiled sheepishly, particularly remembering the year before he left, “Havoc’s right. It’s hot.”

Riza scrunched her nose and twisted her lips, wondering if she should be flattered or disturbed. 

Regardless, the fact remained;

Roy Mustang had reminded her of the one time her pixie cut existed in happiness.

Riza decided to roll her eyes and bite the inside of her cheek, willing it not to flush pink.

“We’re going back,” Roy sighed after a moment. He looked away, to the shattered porcelain scattered across the floor.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to throw and smash and pulverize anything, everything, every day. In a week, they would be leaving. 

Riza returned to the coffee pot, and nodded lightly.

She gripped the bridge of her nose and actually had to hold off the sting of tears.

But, Roy turned back to her, wove his fingers into her soft blonde hair and guided her back to him. He was close. She could breathe, and let go. 

“It’s a good thing we’re going together,” He said surely, smiling as much as he could.

Riza lifted her chin, recovered,   and sighed into the truth,

“Yes. It is.”

For, it was true. Every time in her past when she felt comfort, happiness, peace, courage, every time she felt new:.  She was with Roy Mustang, Even when she had her pixie cut.

                                           a teeny tiny bonus 

“Shall I retrieve the men, Sir?” “No.” “You know they will take the full hour, General.”

“I don’t mind,” he huffed then plucked a flower out from the trash can, dusted off the coffee grinds and offered it to her. He smiled, “Wanna grab dessert?”  “No.” 

and she delivered paperwork straight to the office, which was completely unnecessary.

Riza figured maybe she was hired specifically to deal with their team. Yet, however incorrectly appearances may portray the inner workings of a woman,

She was green, fresh out of the academy.

She was new and doe-eyed and did not appear quite so equipped to manage the paperwork onslaught and chaos consistently courtesy of the Mustang Unit.

Regardless, personally assigned or no, she didn't knock, and she wore her hair down, and the skirt and the red lipstick, and all five men in her office

gawked.

Riza always shifted in her seat, rolled her eyes, and hid behind a most suddenly interesting expense report, while Missy

brought the new day's stack right to the Colonel's desk., and, Roy Mustang, even with all his pomp and formality, gushed and smiled and called her

Missy.

Yes, Missy. Because, god forbid the men at Eastern actually refer to her as Sergeant Melissa Robbins.

Given, most every man at work did have enough respect to use her proper title when speaking with her directly.

Most every man that is.

She gushed and called the Colonel, "Roy." He dropped his pen, leaned back, stretched his arms behind his head, smirked and called her

"Missy. Good Morning."

All four men, in all four desks all pushed together in the middle of the room so overtly checked her out from head to toe,

just like every day a half hour before lunch for the longest week of Riza Hawkeye's life.

Daily, Fuery would turn away tomato red, Falman would clear his throat, Breda would grunt approvingly, then elbow Havoc who, at that point would be reliably blinded by hearts, and completely drowning in drool.

It was disgusting and conjured an awful headache for reasons Riza could never quite put her finger on.

Maybe it was just the week. For, every day that week, she waltzed in and gushed, "Roy" and he smirked, "Missy." every day,

Riza gritted through her teeth, and under her breath corrected him,

"Sergeant Robbins"

"Behind on mission coverage again, are we?" She waved her papers, and most overtly pushed the stack into her breasts. Riza hovered her pen above the same dotted line for what seemed like a good ten minutes.

Avoiding the train wreck, the abhorrent disastrous effect this woman had on Colonel Mustang's office its already appalling productivity.

"Awe, Missy," the Colonel spun his chair, "You're too cruel."

Riza glanced over and watched Jean Havoc grimace back into his deskwork. She watched him do this every day, for the whole week.

The battle was always over before it begun when it came to matters such as these.

In the fight for life long love, the Flame Alchemist always had his pick. He always won.

He always got the girl.

Riza always cinched her mouth into a frown. Poor Havoc. She could say she did what she did for him, said it all for her friend.

But, in all honestly, Riza Hawkeye was so still shamefully selfish. It was mortifying, but she was good.

She could keep her cover, like she had every day, all that week.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you can do?" "Well, Roy, maybe-" she gushed. Riza steeled and looked to her, beautiful brunette in all her tight skirt glory,

and for the first time that week, she didn't let Sergeant Robbins continue.

She cut her off like she disserved, for interrupting their work, for every other time that week Missy entertained the possibility of trading extended deadlines for candle light dinners.

"No," Riza said, ice, then looked to Mustang, "The Colonel must complete all his paperwork."

There was silence. Havoc snorted a laugh for whatever reason. "No exceptions, Sergeant Robbins."

Raised eyebrows, all across the room, a sigh from the Colonel, a quiet whistle from Breda,

and a top to bottom flick of the eyes, a signature hostile evaluation from a fellow female competitor.

Riza lifted her chin, and outstretched her arm for the forms. She wasn't simple. She would not be any woman's competitor.

"I suppose that's my cue,"

Sergeant Robbins muttered with a completely unsubtle touch of insubordination, reluctantly surrendering her free ticket to flirt shamelessly with Colonel Roy Mustang.

There was no way out. She was under orders. Riza had to admit pulling rank had never felt so satisfying.

She smiled politely, "Have a good day, Robbins."

Missy nodded as professionally as she could, "First Lieutenant." Of course, she proceeded to turn over her shoulder to Roy, and to the shamelessly love-struck men, wiggling her fingers goodbye.

It was done. It was over.

And, then it wasn't. Like always.

"She is So. Smoking. Hot." Havoc sighed every time she left, every day that week. Yet, it was this day, this Friday, that the five days of tension, the constant competition, became too much to ignore.

"She's out of your league, Havoc." Roy finally scoffed

Just like he had wanted to every day, for the entire week.

Once Roy finally caved, finally snapped, Fuery, Falman: They made a break for it.

Breda tilted his head, gathering his lunch, and shrugged, to his friend. He agreed.

Havoc gritted his teeth, leaned back into his chair, puffed his chest,

"Don't think I stand a chance, Boss?"

"In fact, I do not," Roy confirmed solidly and did the same, leaned back into his chair, puffed his chest, smirked.

Havoc crossed his arms and finished his thought, "Don't think I stand a chance against you."

Riza sighed, clenched her eyes closed, bracing for impact,

from what source she couldn't say.

Havoc waited for Roy to challenge him.

This day he came prepared, This day: Riza finally cut Missy off, Roy finally spoke his mind, and Jean had some semblance of a plan to fight.

So, he challenged the Colonel to deny that he didn't drool over Missy Robbins, fantasize about that skirt while he purposefully procrastinated

He challenged Roy to confirm something like that, in front of Riza Hawkeye.

It would be quite a destructive choice, that is, if any of Rebecca Catalina's theories were relatively correct.

But, Roy did not deny it. This day, he said it.

"Better yet, I know you don't."

Havoc looked to Riza, to Roy. Neither flinched.

Roy stared him down. Riza shuffled through the new stack.

Rebecca Catalina might have been relatively wrong. Havoc groaned. He truly was out of the running then.

Another potential love, lost to Roy Mustang.

"I'm a Colonel, Havoc." He laughed smugly, "Colonel trumps Second Lieutenant."

Havoc grumbled, but still did not intend to give up that long, lush, tuggable brunette hair, without a fight to the death metaphorically speaking.

He was desperate. He looked to Riza.

How unfortunate.

"Hawkeye."

She could say she did the following for Havoc. That, however, as mentioned before, was not entirely true.

But, she told herself this. She said the right thing, at the right time. She did it for Jean Havoc, right?

Right.

"Traditionally, power, position, success do greatly factor into a man's appeal."

"You mean how hot he is?"

Riza sighed, looked up only now, raising an eyebrow at the Second Lieutenant,

"Yes, if you must phrase it that way."

Roy, consequentially, smirked snidely in his big, dominate, intimidating, Colonel sized chair. Havoc whined,

"I thought you were my ally, Hawkeye!"

Riza signed a page, flipped it over. "I am simply telling the truth. Higher ranking officers usually have better results."

Roy then said so sure, "This is what I'm saying, Havoc. You have absolutely-" but Riza stuck held up a finger, "That is unless the officer of superior rank behaves like a complete ass."

Breda stopped at the doorway, salami stuffed in his mouth. Havoc barked out a victory laugh. Roy dropped his jaw, shot out of his seat. First shock,

then anger,

"Excuse me?"

Riza marked the date, flipped the page. "Personality, depth, kindness. Also significant factors."

"Meaning, Lieutenant?" Roy gritted his teeth. Riza signed on the final dotted line, flipped the page and sat up, lifting her chin, "Havoc stands quite the fighting chance, Sir."

She took a breath, sipped her cold tea, "Therefore, I would not be so arrogant, Colonel."

"But, I-I'm a selfless civil servant. I – I have a great personality!" Roy struggled. Havoc spoke over him, and Roy over him, and Havoc over Roy, and on and on.

"You know, Hawkeye, rebellion in a woman. Smoking. Hot. " "Hey," Roy accidently kind of growled, "You do not hit on Hawkeye."

"Why not? " Havoc flashed some rebellion of his own.

"Seems she's the only woman who isn't fooled by your whole thing. I might have a chance here!"

Riza just shook her head, stayed disengaged, straightened piles, files, placed them in order of urgency, stuck stickers for the Colonel, where to sign, where to initial.

She made it easy, She made herself busy.

She and Havoc: Seemed they were on the same page. She needed a plan. She convinced herself it was for Havoc. She lost her head.

She did it for Havoc.

"Let's get one thing straight." Roy resisted the urge to yell and scold, "If Robbins is out of your league, Hawkeye is out of your universe."

Havoc blanched. He shook his head, disbelief. Rebecca Catalina may have been relatively correct.

Perhaps he could succeed, perhaps he had a chance at love with Smokin' Hot Missy Robbins.

Riza picked up the stack, walked it to the Colonel's desk, calm, collected, ignoring the bickering, the testosterone.

"Actually, Chief-" "I'm a State Alchemist," the Colonel cut him off, like a child, desperate for approval. Struggling for the upper hand, "Skill factors in. Genius factors in,

Right, Lieutenant?"

Riza sighed, worn out for no more than a hot second, as she was shocked back awake, alert

when she placed the new packets so perfectly pristine in the middle of Roy's desk

she looked up and witnessed her Colonel actually pleading.

Riza huffed, glanced over her shoulder at Havoc. They waited. For validation and confidence, and self-worth.

She had just a sliver of pity for them both, and a delightful pretty piece of proof that she did, in fact, do this all for Havoc

and Missy Robbins and their beautiful

brunette, tight skirt future together.

The Lieutenant turned back to her desk, and spoke objectively, clinically,

for the most part,

"It is, Sir" she sighed, "but- seeing as you are both sufficiently intelligent,"

"It's an even race," Roy finished, sat back into his chair, not even challenging the fact that he was only just 'sufficiently intelligent.'

He gave up.

Riza nodded, fetching her coat, "Race is not the word I would use. But, the opportunity is equal, yes."

Riza slipped her arm through, and turned just in time to see Havoc, blue eyes wide, bolting out the door,

out to take his shot at Sergeant Missy Robbins, with the beautiful brunette hair and the tight skirt and the red lips

He wasted not a millisecond

Havoc ran before the Flame Alchemist could reach her, charm her, and convince her otherwise.

Riza did it for Havoc, she told herself. Gave him hope in love, even if it was in Missy, a woman who very possibly did not deserve a man like Jean.

She did it for Havoc.

Roy most surprisingly just stared up at the ceiling and muttered, "The fire from thin air thing. That doesn't help me?"

He snapped his head up. Riza stood in front of his desk, not too close, not too far, "That doesn't help me at all?"

Riza sighed, weary, worn down. He read it as disappointed.

Roy buried his face in his hands, elbows pinned onto his desk. holding what felt like his entire weight

"She's a brunette, Sir." "I know," he groaned.

He let out the deepest sigh, rigid and pained. Stress she hadn't seen in him for quite some time.

Riza bit her lip, tugged on her coat.

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant." the Colonel waved her away,

"Have a pleasant lunch."

Riza was so close, so almost out that door.

But, she had to do it for Havoc.

She threw Roy off Missy Robbins' scent for Havoc's sake, right? Right.

It wouldn't hurt to provide the situation just the slightest touch of insurance, Right?

Riza took a breath. Right.

She was doing it for Havoc, of course. Right?

Right.

"When we were young, Sir." Riza turned. She stepped forward, spoke up softly, candidly, "The fire from thin air – "

Roy looked up, lifted an eyebrow, "Yes?" Riza cleared her throat, gave the smallest, softest, reassuring smile.

"Appealing."

She was much closer to his desk than she previously thought.

and, Roy did try not to shoot to his feet, but even still he did, dashing his hopes of appearing nonchalant.

Instead, he leaned forward as far as he could on his desk,

toward her, to her, jaw dropped, appearing very 'chalant.'

"You mean you found me Smoking Hot."

Roy had to take a moment. He couldn't stop gaping, he couldn't stop grinning, all at once.

Riza Hawkeye just used the word appealing, admitted to a possibly more than former attraction to him, Roy Mustang.

And, now, she stood there. She stood there and did not correct him.

"Close your jaw, Sir" the Lieutenant deadpanned, "It was long ago. I was young and silly. I grew up."

Of course, the fire from thin air would turn a nation to ash, end a war in red hot hell, sun and sand.

But, for just a moment, Riza remembered a place resurrected a time when her father's apprentice, and his intelligence, his kindness, his dreams,

a time when Roy Mustang, the prodigy alchemist, hypnotized her.

She only saw, only remembered the good, when Roy grinned warmly, goofily, so damn charmingly,

I grew up.

"You did, did you?" "I did."

The Colonel smirked. The Lieutenant straightened.

"So, the fire from thin air thing," Roy challenged, "No longer appealing?"

Riza blinked, "I grew up." Roy nodded, unconvinced, "So it seems."

The Lieutenant just shook her head and rolled her eyes, not so successfully keeping her cover.

She walked briskly to the door, to her escape, and to her certain doom of regretting her decisions, her words,

perfectly chosen, perfectly time.

She would surely regret them every day for at least the next week.

even if it was all for Havoc, and only for Havov.

Even so, she was successful. She could take comfort in that, she supposed.

as she turned the knob, opened the door

The Colonel leaned back in his chair once more, stretched his arms behind his head,

and though he smirked, his voice held sincerity

"Don't you worry, Lieutenant."

Riza raised an eyebrow, prepared to fight off the blush she knew plotted to violently ambush her cheeks.

"Sergeant Robbins is brunette."

Roy shrugged, mindlessly picking up a form, flipping it without any intent on filling it out, now or later.

Not after she said something like that, one word doomed to distract him everyday, at least for the next week.

"Even when we were young," Roy smirked, sly, smug, even though his face too wore the faintest shade of red.

Riza gripped the doorknob until her fingers were white.

"Even then, I preferred a blonde."