Authors Notes: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I do not own the characters. I do not even own any merchandise apart from one of the mangas. All I own is an Internet with an excellent broadband connection and downloading capabilities.
That said, I do not believe that it matters what canon you follow for this story whether it be anime or manga. There are no spoilers except for, perhaps, the existence of Riza's dog, Black Hayate.
Also note that this simply a One-Shot.
Roy Mustang (General) bolted up straight in his chair as if struck by lightening.
He was not one for ecumenical matters, but he liked to believe himself open-minded, accessible for suggestions or evidence. Just like his position required and he was nothing if not a professional. If someone had a query or any doubts he was available. After all, wasn't it this very open disposition that had led him to Lt. Hawkeye's flat? Unfortunately it was his availability to discuss training plans, new recruits and the growing need for a more extensive artillery range that had led him to the spartan but warm apartment of his subordinate. He had been hoping there was something far more sordid in this invitation, but it appeared that Riza's sole motive was to discuss the issues seriously, away from the prying gossiping and distracting ears of the military men.
And he was open to her suggestions – in facts to any suggestions backed up with logic and evidence.
And here is evidence.
And here is the epiphany.
And there is a god.
And Roy has been sent to heaven.
He has been visited by an angel bearing tidings of great joy; which was strange, because, from Riza's face, it appears to be a devil bearing her apocalypse. How such a dichotomy could occur would have puzzled the casual observer. However, it becomes increasingly clear as one takes in the scene.
There is a coffee table. On the right side there is Riza Hawkeye, mouth gulping an 'O' like a particularly puzzled fish – perhaps a red herring due to the colouring. She had dropped a report onto the table where it is lost between all the other haphazard files.
The islet separates her from a certain General ruminating on the nature of his spirituality. He is in shock at his conclusion, cup of tea frozen on its way to his lips. His eyes are glued to the same place Riza is looking at in mortification.
The messenger of fate, the subject of their attention perks his ears and paws the floor.
It is the dog – Black Hayate.
More precisely it is the black panties in Hayate's mouth.
Riza's panties
Roy Mustang, State Alchemist and General, decides that when he is Fuhrer, dogs shall be the National Mascot and have special privileges.
Riza Hawkeye is thinking of transferring far, far away from Central or perhaps becoming a hermit – after she has shot and eaten the dog.
No one moves… except for Black Hayate who scratches her ear.
She then trots over to Mustang to say hello in the time-honoured tradition of all canines, and sticks her wet muzzle (and the black panties – especially the black panties) into Roy Mustang's crotch. Roy Mustang blinks. He notices that they have lace lining and little embroidered roses. He blinks again and, since Hayate insists, he puts down the tea and, like a dream clearer than reality, he takes them into his hand.
Riza woke from her stupor and lunged for the embroidered roses, laced, black panties. The coffee table is upset. Hayate yelps. Riza topples forward and misses… Of course, that depends on your point of view…
Roy, himself, is quite content with Riza, frozen, eye-level at this waist and hand grasping his thigh, leaving burning marks. He is still holding her underwear.
The silence stretches for an eon.
'I believe these are, erm, yours?'
Riza relieves Roy of the panties, snatching them, rather rudely in Roy's opinion, away. She grabs her gun.
Roy feels oddly at peace, such as a martyr dying for his oh so righteous (and lacy) cause.
Instead of the coup de grace he is expecting, Roy vaguely hears his subordinate say something about 'damned dog' and run out of the room with as much dignity as possible. Damned? No – blessed above all beings! Wonderful, wonderful creatures, Roy muses.
A gunshot and a yelp ring out.
Mustang decided, in his full capacity as General and future Fuhrer, that it is his duty to rescue the poor, persecuted innocent from the none too genteel punitive ministrations of the irrational creature that is the armed woman, even if it was at the expense of his own safety and well-being.
Calmly walking to the woman's den, Roy Mustang froze at the scene in front of him – he feels like a man entering a most holy cathedral and takes in the wondrous sight.
Drawers overturned, outfits, shoes, uniform strewn all around the room in a fit of canine exploration, paw prints on dresses, spoilt cosmetics (Did Hawkeye even have cosmetics?) amassed and mounded all over the bed, floor – any surface the dog could reach…
Hawkeye is stuttering and half-forming unintelligible words beneath, along and over all breath.
This is taking the cake.
Right – Roy thinks, basking in the satisfaction of knowing his newfound god is particularly pleased with him, showering blessings on him – a professional attitude has always served him well before.
He struggles to maintain impassive. It is not often such wonderful opportunities occur and he isn't going to let this pass him by. He strolls in casually.
'Lieutenant', he addresses his flummoxed frustrated female. 'I do believe this is a crime scene of the most pertinent kind.'
General Mustang takes out a notebook. Hawkeye stares at him, mouthing an embarrassed 'Sir?'
'My orders are that we catalogue all evidence and examine it thoroughly starting with…' Roy lifts an item of the bed. '… this miniskirt'
Oh, this is the icing on the cake.
Unable to stop himself, Roy glances at the gun in her hand.
'Sir, I think it would be best to postpone our meeting.'
She is still trying to keep her dignity, bless her. Roy isn't foolish enough to miss the gunpowder beneath the words though, and takes a step away from the gun-totting woman (Why hasn't she shot him yet? Divine protection perhaps). His foot came into contact with something. The world slows. Roy bent down, keeping his eyes on Riza who is palling like icing sugar, though her face is still sprinkled with a dusting of red.
She cocks the gun and Roy desperately tries to avoid double meanings.
Roy finally looks at the item.
It is, matching the panties, a brassiere.
Roy Mustang's eyes glaze over like a pair of maraschino cherries.
Riza levels the gun.
'Out. Now.'
The next day, at the headquarters, the troops are having a conference in the canteen. Falman squints his eyes in worry, Havoc smokes extra to show his disquiet and Breda shakes his head. They are concerned for their General. He has been spotted whistling and was that skipping? None were sure they really believed that, but they had seen it…
More surprising is the tenderloin wrapped in floral paper with a black lace bow that he presents to Black Hayate with a flourish.
They all know he has a maniacal fondness for dogs but nothing explains the congratulation card he gives Lt. Hawkeye with nothing in it but a handwritten note reading '34C!'
Author's Note: All constructive criticism is much appreciated. Hope you enjoyed this.