A/N: Important notes for this story:
1) I hate "AU" putting the AU label on stories, but this one needs a "semi-AU" title, in that it is set in the original manga/Brotherhood verse, but tweaks a few tiny details. Specifically, it ignores a few of the comments made between Hawkeye/Mustang on the drive home after she is reassigned. But you'll only notice if you're being super nit-picky (or if that episode is one of your favorites, or whatevs). Just a fore-warning.
2) As noted above, this is set the night after all of the reassignments in Central.
I've been writing this for literally ever trying to get the characterization right. Any feedback you have to share would be greatly appreciated!
Thanks,
-Em
PS: This was written for a semi-challenge from my lovely roommate, Betty. Sorry it took so long
Central was quiet this time of night. The night was a misty, dreary sort of thing, and it was long past the appropriate time for busy families and love birds to be out. The bar signs were still lit, but tonight such establishments would not be places of revelry and laughter, just the last resort for the sad individuals with nowhere else to go.
A dark car pulled up to the curb across the street from an unassuming apartment building on the west side of the city. The driver sat in the front seat, mindlessly watching the first real raindrops of the night as they splattered on the windshield. Usually rain made Roy Mustang nervous—for obvious reasons. Tonight, though, he was too lost in other thoughts to even notice.
Not since Hughes' death had he found himself so off-balance. The Colonel usually prided himself on being rational, practical, patient. But every man had his weaknesses, and he was no different. And the fact that Fuhrer had identified her was the reason Mustang was here tonight.
The day had been a trying one—first learning the truth about the Fuhrer and the country, then watching his team torn apart before his eyes. But nothing had impacted him as much as the sick smile on Bradley's face when he had told him of Hawkeye's new assignment. He had not yet been able to shake the sick feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach in that moment.
Rationally, he knew this was exactly what the Fuhrer wanted—to put him off-balance so he would lose sight of his goals. And Mustang knew that the best thing would be for him to keep pushing forward, not let the day's events deter him. After all, wasn't that exactly what he had promised both Bradley and Hawkeye earlier that day? Clearly, though, it was easier said than done. Every time he tried to plan his next move, she was the only thing he could think of, as if the restless, irrational part of his mind would not rest until he was sure that she was—
She was what, exactly? Safe? There was no reason to think she had been harmed. What would be the point of making her a hostage if Bradley was just going to kill her at the first chance he got?
What, then? That she was not too upset by the news? The idea was laughable. Other than the night he and Havoc had been injured, he had never seen Hawkeye lose her cool. Of course she would be upset by her reassignment, but he had no reason to think the day's events had in anyway rattled her resolve. In fact, knowing her as he did, it had likely made her all the more determined to succeed in their goals.
None the less, for his own peace of mind, he need to be sure. Perhaps he simply needed to reassure himself that after such a day, she was still Hawkeye, and she was still able to stay strong even if he faltered. Whatever the case, he needed to see for himself.
Mustang had attempted to convince himself that simply driving by her place would be enough. That he was still sitting outside her building, unable to leave, was evidence that attempt had been futile. He could not even consider putting the car in gear until he had seen her, spoken with her, been called an idiot for bothering to check on her in the first place. Yes, knocking on her door at nearly one in the morning would mean making an ass of himself, but this was Hawkeye—she had always had the power to make him act like a complete idiot, and this would just be one more example on the long list of stupid things he had done where she was concerned.
Besides, if it meant that at least for tonight, he could sleep soundly knowing she was safe, then it would be worth it.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was restless, staring blankly at the trails left by the raindrops on her window. She had tried everything—a hot bath, her favorite book, a large cup of herbal tea—but nothing seemed to help. Sleep simply would not come; her mind was too busy.
With a sigh she wandered into the kitchen, Black Hayate following sleepily. Perhaps it was time for something stronger than tea.
She was hardly a stranger to such sleepless nights. The fact of the matter was that the Lieutenant could hardly remember a time when she had not been losing sleep because of that man.
In the early days, her thoughts for the young man who would become the Flame Colonel had been innocent ones. Lying awake in her bed at home, she had wondered endlessly about what was on the mind of her father's favorite student—the boy with the dark eyes and a quick smile. Riza had still been a girl then, nursing a childish infatuation. There was no way she could have known then what an important figure he would become in her life.
Now, after so much time together, she no longer had to wonder what went on inside the mind of Roy Mustang. In fact, most days she was sure that she knew him better than he knew himself. The man was undeniably brilliant; quick thinking and political savvy had gotten him out of more tricky situations than she could count. But the Colonel was not just a cold-hearted political schemer. He was driven and passionate—about his goals and about his people. It was what made him such a damn good leader.
It was also what could keep her up half the night worrying.
He was the most cunning, rational man she knew—always five steps ahead of everyone else. But in situations like these, when someone he cared about was threatened, all of that canniness disappeared. Suddenly he was like the flames that gave him his name—powerful and unpredictable. He would rush into situations he had no rational chance of surviving, looking to rescue or gain retribution with no thought for his own safety. No thought for how much the country needed him.
No thought for how much she needed him.
It was only thanks to a miracle such rash actions had not gotten him killed already. A miracle, and the fact that she took her promise to watch his back seriously.
Now Fuhrer Bradley had broken up their team and worse yet, he had taken away her ability to watch out the most important person in her life. Her concerns for her own safety were secondary to her worries of how the Colonel would react. She was, after all, a veritable hostage, and despite their professionalism at work, even the Fuhrer had noticed how much Mustang cared for her. Any rash action from the Colonel, though, would be akin to suicide. Bradley had given them a warning today, and he was not known to be a lenient man. Next time he would hardly be so merciful.
Knowing all of this, all Hawkeye could do was sit and wait, hoping her Colonel would not get himself killed on her behalf. It was no wonder she was having trouble sleeping.
A knock on the door drew Hawkeye from her reverie, putting her on edge. Glancing at the clock only confirmed what she already knew—it was far too late for this to be a social visit. Anyone meaning her harm would likely not be so polite as to announce himself, but one could never be too careful. The gun she retrieved from her kitchen table was not loaded, but her visitor would not need to know that. She hoped it would serve as a deterrent if her visitor did, in fact, have less than friendly intentions.
Hawkeye opened the door only a few inches, ready to use the harmless weapon to her advantage. But with one look at her late-night visitor, she dropped the weapon to her side, empty threats dying on her lips.
"After what happened today, I wouldn't blame you for shooting me," Colonel Mustang said dryly, noting the gun in her hand, "but I hope you haven't given up on me just yet."
She had not consciously wished to see him tonight, but the relief she felt at seeing him now made it clear that was exactly what her restless subconscious had needed. "Not quite yet," Hawkeye replied, giving him a tired smile as she pushed the door open, "Now come inside, quickly, before someone sees you."
"I didn't have any trouble slipping past the two men outside, and I haven't seen anyone inside the building," he replied, following her into her apartment.
"It wouldn't be good for someone to see you here, Colonel," Hawkeye warned. Her initial relief at seeing him in one piece was being overtaken by worry of possible repercussions.
"I know, Lieutenant," Mustang assured her evenly, "Don't worry. I was careful."
Their conversation had carried them into the apartment, but now they stood somewhat awkwardly in her living room. He stood stiffly at the edge of the room, as if wary of intruding on her space. Even at this time of night, he looked so official, still wearing his uniform under his dark coat and hat. She on the other hand, wore only her pajamas and a bathrobe, instinctively standing at attention in the presence of a superior officer. With a barely-contained grimace she realized just how ridiculous she must look from his perspective. She was not sure how exactly she was supposed to react to his sudden appearance. This was the Colonel after all, the man did not believe in dropping by for social visits, but he did not seem to be in any hurry to explain why exactly he was here.
"Colonel, what is it," Hawkeye asked finally, "Has something happened?"
"Fuhrer Bradley, that's what happened," he answered bitterly.
"Yes, sir," she answered quietly. What else was she to say?
He was quiet again, but this time she let the silence stretch between them. If there was no emergency motivating his actions, then he simply needed time to put into words what was weighing on his mind. She waited patiently for him to find the right words to explain.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, shoulders slumped, "I shouldn't have bothered you."
Mustang moved toward the door, ready to let himself out. Hawkeye, however, was not ready to let him leave. Something was had troubled him enough to bring him to her doorstep in the middle of the night, and she was not about to let him off so easily. After all, there was no telling when they would have another chance to talk so openly.
She caught his wrist before he could move out of her reach, and he turned dutifully back towards her.
"Please don't leave," she said, "I'm glad you're here. I was worried about you."
Carefully Hawkeye reached up and took the hat from his head, as if it somehow guaranteed he would not be able to leave until she allowed it. Setting the hat aside, she resisted the urge to smooth his hair where it had been mussed. She settled for brushing a bit of lint off his shoulder. He was watching her intently, a bemused expression on his face.
Suddenly she felt self-conscious under his gaze. "What?" she demanded lightly.
"You're more than I deserve, you know that?" he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.
Mustang's words unsettled the Lieutenant. First because such words were so uncharacteristic between them; they were usually so careful to maintain a proper professional distance, for safety and for sanity. Second because the tone he used was one she had never heard him use—a strange mix of tenderness and bittersweet sadness.
"Lieutenant, maybe it's time we went our separate ways. Now working for the Fuhrer, no one would question a change of loyalty," Mustang said before she could formulate a response. His voice was suddenly devoid of all emotions, "Remove the target from your back, as it were."
Had she not been watching him closely, had she not seen the way his face contorted slightly as he spoke, his words would have all but broken her, heart and soul. But she knew him, and she saw the pain behind the mask he was trying to put up. So this was to be the rescue attempt, Hawkeye comprehended slowly, not an attack on her captor, but a self-sacrificing offer of freedom. An unbidden surge of anger coursed through her at the realization—did all their time together mean nothing to him?
The change in her demeanor happened so quickly that even trained in multiple forms of hand-to-hand combat, Colonel Mustang never saw it coming. With more force than he would have thought possible to muster so quickly, she landed a heavy-handed slap across his right cheek. The cheek burned red hot, a painful reminder that Hawkeye was not just any angry woman, but an angry soldier who had also had her share of combat training. He stared at her in stunned silence. The Lieutenant, a soldier who lived by the rules and hierarchy of the military, had just assaulted her superior officer, and she looked as if she would happily do so again.
The offer to loose her from the team was not something he had considered in the long moments he had sat outside on the street. As he had climbed the stairs to her apartment, however, he had realized the only way he could ever live with himself, knowing the risk she was undertaking on his behalf, was if he offered her the chance to leave it all behind. Selfishly, he had hoped she would laugh at the suggestion. And foolishly, he had not expected her to be angry. The look of pure disgust on her face was evidence enough of that idiocy.
"After all we've been through together, after all we've learned about this country and the Fuhrer, you really expect me to turn tail and run? You think after all our years fighting side by side, one setback would be enough to make me want out?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. She made a sound of frustration, "You know me better than that."
Mustang had realized, even before she spoke, what a mistake he had made. Beneath all of that surface anger, she was hurt by his suggestion, and with good reason. She had been with him longer than anyone—how could he have even considered turning his back on that?
"I was just offering a way out," he explained lamely, unable to put into words why such an offer had seemed necessary.
"And I'm telling you I don't want it," she answered hotly," Do you really think after all I've done, the Fuhrer will just let me off the hook? Face it—if you succeed, I succeed, and if you fall, I fall, I lost my opportunity for a way out a long time ago. We're in this together—to the very end.
"I don't want your protection, and I don't need you worrying about me," Hawkeye continued, "I just need you to fix this country, no matter what the cost."
The look in her eyes was one of fierce determination, and Mustang realized that he had been ridiculous to think he could succeed without her. But she couldn't actually expect him not to try to protect her—didn't she realize getting to the top without her would be pointless?
"Listen to me, Lieutentant," Mustang said firmly, interrupting any further continuation of her reprimands, "You are my most valuable asset—my most trusted advisor and my most loyal ally—and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you. So don't ask me not to try to protect you, Riza. I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, even if you don't like it, because I couldn't do any of this without you."
His words were followed by a heavy silence. He had said more than he meant to, and he waited for a sarcastic quip, or at least another angry retort to diffuse the situation. But it never came. Hawkeye stared at him with an unreadable expression, and then suddenly she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.