Title: Relevant Happiness

Rating: PG for standard RoyRiza fare (suggestive themes and content, as well as some light kissing)

Summary: Drabbly RoyRiza. Standard fare.

SPOILER WARNING: Some slight spoilers for the last few episodes of the series so read at your own risk.

Author's Discloser: Yeah, yeah, I know that after the series, Roy transfers to the edge of Amestris and gets demoted to a private, and Riza gets her own department or something, but this could have happened, too! So, I made it happen. : P

Many things had recently caused people in the military to be happy. For those who worked under Roy Mustang, seeing him become Fuhrer had meant a night of partying. For those who had a fling with one of their coworkers, seeing the new Fuhrer get rid of the anti-fraternization laws had meant a night of flirting.

For the one for whom the Fuhrer had destroyed the anti-fraternization laws, the only thing that made her happy was when the Fuhrer had enough time for her. Riza had changed departments to continue working under him, this time taking a job as his secretary. As well as his undercover bodyguard.

It was a boring, standard life for someone who had battled homunculi and rogue alchemists. Riza often found herself sighing and staring out of the long, draped windows when a particularly large piece of work came up. However used she had become to late nights doing paperwork, they just seemed monotonous without her Colonel.

That was another thing. Riza just could not become accustomed to calling him "Fuhrer Mustang", or "Fuhrer King Mustang". He would always be her Colonel, just as she would always be his Lieutenant. Nothing could ever change that, although many things had tried over the year Roy had been Fuhrer.

There was the other Lieutenant who had tried to get her to go to bed with him. Riza would be surprised if he could sing anything but soprano after what she and Roy had done to him. Then there was the long matter of getting rid of the anti-fraternization laws, which had taken many long months to get through the board of advisors. Not to mention the secretary stereotype that so many men had tried to corner her with. They hadn't known that she still carried her trusty .44 over her shoulder underneath her suit.

Riza could say it had all been worth it in the end, admiring her wedding ring. But Roy never had time for her anymore, so what really was the point in them getting married? Yes, yes, they loved each other. But what was the point in love if you had no time for it?

She sighed again, pulling a stack of papers toward her. Really, she thought dimly. Without Roy griping the whole time, paperwork is just normal. In the rapidly fading light, she reached for the gas light she kept when she stayed late. Which, looking back on it, was all the time anymore. A hand met hers, and she looked up into the onyx eye of the Fuhrer.

Riza remembered very clearly the occasion when he had gotten his eye patch, and didn't care to remember it often, but tonight her mind was wandering. She remembered his careful plans to infiltrate the previous Fuhrer's lodgings and how she wasn't there to help him. The one time she couldn't protect him—

"Riza?" Roy's voice shook her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him, sitting on the edge of her desk, startled.

"What is it?" she asked, an edge to her voice that made Roy look at her interestingly.

"I was just wondering if you're ready to go home." He looked at her curiously.

She motioned wearily at the papers on her desk. "If you can call this ready, then yes."

Roy laughed.

"What is it this time?" she demanded irritably.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Nothing. I'm still surprised every time I see you in a skirt."

"You're the one that told me to wear it, sir." Riza was completely not in the mood to deal with this.

Roy sighed. "Riza, dear, is something the matter?"

Riza stared blankly at him, her mind uncomprehending his last question. "Is…something…wrong?" she repeated slowly.

He nodded, his expression concerned.

There was a moment of silence as she gathered her thoughts.

"There's nothing wrong at all, sir," Riza replied, biting back what she was thinking. "Why would you think such?"

"You just didn't seem happy." She looked up at him, startled.

"Why wouldn't I be happy?"

He smiled gently at her. "You don't like working as a secretary. It's too boring for you," he told her, watching her expression. "I never have enough time for you, so that makes you sad. You don't like doing paperwork because I'm not here griping about it, and, quite frankly, there's a lot of paperwork."

She gaped at him before spluttering incoherently. Roy reached over and took her hand. "Relax, will you?"

Riza jerked her hand away from him and stood, putting her hands on the table, trying to look furious, but clearly failing miserably. "Now you listen here, Roy Mustang, if you think any of that is true—"

He cut her off with a quick kiss, and she settled back into her seat. "Well, it is true. So, if you're not going to help, please go away," she said unenthusiastically, fluttering her hand at him.

Roy looked hurt as she looked back down at her papers. She sighed and looked back up at him. "What is it now?" she asked tiredly.

"I'm hurt, Riza."

"Why?"

"Really, you should be more respectful to your Fuhrer," he sniffed reproachfully. He had obviously picked up the subtle touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"You're my husband. I have to keep you in line. Why are you hurt?"

"I come to the office earlier than usual, totally expecting to help you with the work, but you blow me off." Looking up at his face in shadows, her expression softened.

"Well, then take a stack." She motioned at the pile in front of her, and Roy looked stricken.

"You're really going to make me work?"

That night as she settled into bed next to Roy, she reflected on her earlier thoughts.

Yes, I suppose I'm easy to please, she thought wistfully, as Roy kissed her and draped his arm over her waist. Just give me my Fuhrer, and—

"Love you, Riza," Roy said sleepily, his voice already throaty with drowsiness.

"Love you too, Roy," she replied gently.

No, not my Fuhrer. Give me my Colonel and I'll be satisfied.

Yep. Standard fare. . Stupid drabbles take up all of my flirk-McGlirkin' time. . And they suck. Sucksucksucksuck.

You: No, they don't!

Me: I was trying to be modest.

You: Oh.

Me: But they do suck. The computer said that this story only rated at a 5.1 grade level. AND I'M IN 9TH GRADE! sobs All my stories are like that. Sorrow and Comfort is 3.1 or so, and same with Visitation.

You: It's okay, Amber—

Me: cries in a corner

God, I need a life.