A/N It's been forever since i've written anything for but this idea just popped into my head and would not leave until I wrote it down. It's sort of rough, I wrote it pretty quickly, but anyway I hope you enjoy! Please leave and comments or whatever!
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was a trained soldier.
She had survived the Ishvalan conflict and countless other equally dangerous missions.
She was one of the highest-ranking female officers currently stationed in East city.
She could shoot a man from 1200 feet away with a cross wind and without a clear shot, but—for the life of her—Riza Hawkeye could not get her hair to stay in place on the top of her head.
She leaned against the hotel bathroom counter, about fifteen bobby pins sticking out of her tight lips, hands working frantically, trying, and failing to keep the complicated bun from tumbling down.
Finally, she gave up, and, with an air of defeat, let her hair fall back against her shoulders. Trying to ignore the hair for a moment, she studied her face in the mirror, eyebrows scrunched together and teeth biting her lower lip, scrutinizing her skin, eyes, lashes for any imperfection. Satisfied, she let her face smooth out again and slumped away from the mirror. Her makeup was fine, more than she was used to wearing, but an appropriate amount for the role she would be playing that night. Now, if only she could get her hair to stay.
The lieutenant sighed, but dutifully raised her hands to her head and began trying—once again—to wrangle her hair into the shape it was supposed to be. No matter how many pins or clips she pushed into it, stray pieces would inevitably start to wisp around her face the moment she stopped holding the bun.
"Damn it," she whispered as her work collapsed for the fifth time. Where was Rebecca Catalina when she needed her? Riza folded her arms and began considering whether or not calling the second Lieutenant into the hotel room would blow her and the Colonel's cover. Just when she was dangerously close to doing it, cover be damned, a short rap on the door broke her out of her thoughts.
She approached the door carefully, hand automatically reaching towards the gun she had strapped to her thigh, but a quick look through the peephole told her that it was only Colonel Mustang. She pulled the door open.
"Did you forget your key, sir?" she asked dryly after he had stepped into the room.
"Not lost just misplaced," he replied, turning to face her, an easy grin on his face. He was dressed in a tux, a bowtie hanging around his neck, untied.
She rolled her eyes. "You know that's a security risk, sir." she scolded, purposefully not thinking about the breech in security she had been seriously considering creating only a moment before.
The Colonel chose to ignore her reprimands. "You were supposed to meet me in the lobby ten minutes ago. I just wanted to make sure that you're all right."
Despite herself, she felt a small blush rise to her cheeks, but through pure force of will, she managed to shove it back down. "There's no need for you to worry. I'm just having a bit of trouble getting ready."
A look of surprise flashed across his face, but in a moment it was replaced by one of amusement. "Lieutenant, I never would've expected you to have trouble with anything. Least of all getting ready for a party."
Again she rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk, sir," she said, glancing at his untied bowtie.
Mustang looked down but didn't seem particularly concerned. "Not being able to tie a bowtie is a perfectly normal condition many men suffer from. The rate is as high as two in three, or so I'm told." The amused smirk grew a little wider.
Hawkeye sighed; more to hide the small smile threatening to spread across her lips than from real exasperation. She really shouldn't encourage him. "Let me help you," she said, reaching across and grasping the ends of the tie. Her fingers moved quickly, efficiently and in a moment, a perfectly tied bow was perched just below the Colonel's throat.
"Why thank you, Lieutenant!" He said, walking across the room to inspect her work in the mirror. "Impeccable job as usual." He turned back towards her. "Now what was it that was giving you trouble?" he asked, face serious.
The lieutenant sighed, and this time from nothing but exasperation. "My hair doesn't seem to want to cooperate today."
"Well I can fix that," Mustang replied without missing a beat.
Hawkeye stared. "Excuse me, sir?" she asked, expression incredulous.
Mustang had gone back to examining himself in the mirror. "I can fix your hair problem."
She blinked. "No offense, sir, but I think this is a little out of your area of expertise."
He chuckled. "Come now, Lieutenant, surely you don't everything about me."
Hawkeye looked at him, skeptically.
After a moment's deadlock with their eyes glued to one another, but neither moving, Mustang sighed. "Come over here, Hawkeye, and I'll show you."
She drew near him cautiously, not sure where he was going with this.
He drew a chair from a table in the corner of the room and placed it in front of the mirror. "Milady," he said, gesturing exaggeratedly for her to take a seat.
Still weary, she perched lightly on the chair, a hint of mistrust behind her eyes.
"There. Perfect," Mustang said, moving to stand behind her, either oblivious to her hesitance or completely ignoring it.
Most likely the latter, Hawkeye thought to herself, an amused smile starting to tickle the edges of her mouth.
The Colonel reached down to the counter and grabbed the hairbrush. He began pulling it through her hair softly, strokes surprisingly gentle.
Hawkeye watched in amazement as he began methodically twisting her hair into curls and expertly pinning it to the top of her head. After the hair had been folded into an elaborate-multilayered bun, he took three thin strands and with nimble fingers created a long braid, which he wrapped around the base of the bun. In a few minutes, Mustang had accomplished what Hawkeye had been attempting for the past half an hour.
She stared at herself in the mirror, mouth agape. It was rare for her to let her exterior stoic-ness be cracked by surprise but this time she couldn't help it.
"What do you think?" he asked, a low chuckle in his voice.
"I… I think you missed your calling, sir" she finally managed to answer once she had found her voice.
He laughed outright. "Well growing up with a bar full of hostesses who all need to have their hair done doesn't come without its own set of advantages. Especially when you're a little boy with nothing else to do."
That was image for the ages. A little Roy Mustang doing the hair for all of Madame Christmas's girls. Despite herself, Hawkeye let out a short laugh.
"Don't you say a word about this to Havoc and the others," Mustang said, suddenly concerned, having no doubt realized what she was thinking of.
"Don't worry, sir; your secret's safe with me," she replied still chuckling. "Now come on, Colonel, we have a party to get to."