Good Intentions: A Fullmetal Alchemist Vignette by Era Daven
A/N: I do not claim to own the characters within this work.
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A mug of steaming coffee in her hand, Hawkeye unobtrusively reentered the office, a shy smile on her lips.
"Here, sir, I brought you—"
As she approached his desk, Mustang sighed loudly, loath to say what was on his mind. "Hawkeye," he stated stiffly, looking down at a notepad full of scribbles. "Hawkeye, I know you're probably not going to like this, but I want you to return to Central tomorrow with the convoy."
Hawkeye's eyes widened, alarmed and shocked. "But, sir—! No!"
He didn't look up as he spoke. "With the number of daily attacks here, I can't afford your staying," he explained quietly. "Besides, I need someone capable back at HQ to watch the security and keep things in order," he added, picking up a file and dropping it in disgust, "and to report back to me with something actually important."
"But, sir, that's not my job." She looked at him hard, the defiance in her eyes as obvious as if it were their color. "No," she repeated, simply but determinedly. "I won't go."
Mustang began to elaborate on an tired, ill-tempered mood but stopped himself. Despite being used to his aide's usually understandable objections, this time her stubborness was irritating, since this time he needed her to cooperate. He asked her why, while knowing fully well what her explaination was going to be. It was a delicate one that with which it would be difficult to argue.
"Sir, with all due respect, the last time we separated you were almost killed…and I won't stand that risk. Please, I think it better that I remain."
He decided to be professional. After all, this was a millitary matter.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye, as your friend, I am honored always by your courage and ever devout loyalty. You know I would never want to make you do anything but what you wished. But I am not simply your friend. I am also your superior, and as such it is my duty to make the best judgments for my subordinates. Therefore I must order you to depart tomorrow with the convoy for Central at 8 a.m. I can assure you that I know very well what I'm doing, am quite capable of survival on my own, and that I certainly don't need my judgments undermined. You are to go back to Central. Tomorrow."
Hawkeye glared hotly at him. She knew she had to stand her ground. After all, this was a personal matter.
"No. I won't go. Send someone else, like Havoc or Armstrong. Send Anybody."
Mustang glared back. "But I want you to go. You will go—"
Trembling in spite of herself with anger and fear, she mumbled, "Or what?"
"First Lieutenant Hawkeye, this is flagrant insubordination! You are fully aware it cannot be toleranted!"
"Then go ahead, sir," she smirked. "Court-martial me. But I am not going to leave you again without putting up a fight, Roy Mustang. This is my duty, to protect you, just as yours is to make good…decisions. No matter what."
They stood opposite each other for a few moments without speaking, uncertain of what to say, until Mustang rose from his chair and braced his desk, his head bowed on an angle away from her. He broke the stony silence in a low murmur, blazing with a wounded fury:
"Could you even think for a moment about someone other than yourself?"
Riza Hawkeye gasped softly. This was the last thing she would have ever expected anyone to say to her, let alone the man she had stood by in so many dangerous times, ready to sacrifice her life at any moment to save his. The shock, the accusatory nature of the question pierced her to the very core.
Breathless for words, she just stared at the black-haired man incredulously, her brow knitted together in a hurt, confused expression.
"Did it occur to you, even for a second that I might—just might—be concerned about your safety? Yes! I hear you go on and on about how your trying to protect me and preserve my lousy life--but what about yours? Do you think you're the only one in this room with a heart? How do you think I'd be able to bear your getting killed because of me? That you would actually have to die for me? That's an impossible thought, but you don't know how likely it could be if you stay in this city. No, Hawkeye, I DO NOT want that guilt dumped on my shoulders!"
Mustang abruptly looked away and veered towards the door. He turned just before reaching for the knob.
"And I'll believe you sincerely care about me when you start caring about my decisions and respecting me as both your colonel and a man. In the meantime, do what you want, but don't you dare do it in my name!"
The door slammed itself open again under the force of Mustang's closing it. As those outside the office began to peer inside curiously, Hawkeye remained rooted where she was, more saddened and ashamed than she ever had felt before, her fingers—now trembling—still threaded through the handle on the mug of coffee she had brought in for the colonel.
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A/N: It's been brought to my attention that Roy seems a little OOC, but in this fic he's supposed to be very tense, kind of pushed to a breaking point by unsaid external and internal stimuli: some regarding his career, some regarding his feelings for Riza. Therefore, he's not gonna act like his usually moody, cocky self. In fact, he's gonna be downright insensitive.
This was my very first FMA fic, and I would very much appreciate your review, be it critique or compliment! Thanks for reading!