Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. That's why it's called Fan fiction.

---

Lucky Number Seven

Keeping a girlfriend or cigarettes.

I never really know which is more important to me.

I lean back in my chair with my feet up and stare at the picture on my desk. It shows me with my latest ex, Rebecca. I just recently found out that good old Mustang stole another one from me. This makes Rebecca the third out of my six-odd girlfriends that have left me for Mustang. Lucky her.

I kick the picture into my trashcan with a smash. I sigh, and as I take another drag of my cigarette, I wonder, as I often do, if this is what makes my luck with women so bad. I know cigarettes are bad for you, but I'm addicted. But maybe I'm wrong. Catherine Armstrong dumped me when I hadn't had one in hours.

Then my cigarette does its usual and I cough up a load of the brown stuff. What I really find amazing is that my past experiences with my girlfriends have gotten me into that habit of at least not smoking in my own home.

Then I suck it again.

There's that familiar burning patch at the back of my throat as I exhale a smoke ring. Why did I ever start doing this? Don't ask yourself that, you know. New kid at High School, just wanting to fit in. Classic smoker setup.

What I find especially ironic is the fact that, every time I meet my new girlfriend, I happen to not have a cigarette on me. Maybe that's why they start going out with me as they haven't seen that I smoke yet.

Grace didn't mind my smoking. She ran that flower shop a few blocks over. Hell, we'd probably still be together if not for Mustang.

As I stub out the butt in my ashtray, I realize that I've had six girlfriends so far. Seven is supposed to be a lucky number. Heh, maybe I'll keep the next one.

I reach for my pocket, only to find a slightly crumpled box. Out of cigarettes. Sighing again, I stand up, rooting through my pocket for my wallet. I hate having to buy cigarettes from the HQ store, but what are you gonna do?

I scratch my head as I walk down the hallway. Hopefully, I might keep the lucky seventh girl. Maybe I should ask lieutenant Hawkeye out, she doesn't mind my cig-

Wham!

I hit a person coming out of the archives. Books fall across the floor. I scramble to help pick up the books. "I'm so sorry! Sorry!"

"I- It's alright…" a female voice apologizes.

"Very sorry about this, Miss…?"

As I reach for the last book, our hands meet. Instinctively I look up into the face of a pretty, mousy young woman with glasses.

She blushes slightly. "Sorry. My name's Sheska."

---

There you go, Folks! I always thought that Havoc and Sheska would make a good couple.