By high noon on that first day, the battle had already seen numerous casualties. Eastern Command center was littered with bodies, officers and enlisted alike clutching at soaked spots on their uniforms, some of them still moaning on the floors. Roy had seen many a tragedy before in his time, but this had to rank up there — men turning against men and brother against brother. Knowing full well his general's stars would mark him as a greater target, Roy had forgone the jacket of his uniform, instead choosing to wear the tight black cotton uniform shirt and pants, sans the waist cape. Any other day Roy would have glanced about for Major Hawkeye, expecting her at his back, keeping them both going — but today was different.
Today was the beginning of Eastern Command's week long war.
And in that week, not even Riza would be at his side.
He'd lost Fuery first and had regretted it, but it had been an expected loss. The boy was honestly too trusting to really stand a chance and Captain Nickelson had cornered him in the office halls, taking him out rather quickly that morning. Falman had left for Briggs (also regrettably), leaving only Breda and Havoc at his side. At 0800 hours that morning, they had all considered Major Hawkeye an enemy of the highest danger, and the three boys had put their heads together to figure out a decent strategy.
Normally Roy would have been the go-to man in any fire-fight, especially one against the woman he knew better than anyone else, but Havoc had quickly pointed out the threat Roy's planning would pose. True, Roy knew Riza better than anyone else. But the same could be said for her, and she would be relying on Roy to do something predictable. His ten o'clock coffee got denied, and Breda had insisted Roy was not allowed to decide the plan, for fear of ending them all. Remaining on the move, Roy kept Breda and Havoc at his flanks, and took out stray officers whose defenses had been relaxed in the open door offices.
Winner took all, after all.
They made their way down to the records offices at half past three, having stayed alive long enough to attempt to take cover in the one place no one would have expected any of them to be in. If Roy was inclined to appear as if he avoided paperwork like the plague, then his natural camouflage had to be behind the secretary's desk, as Havoc set up his perch, and Breda assure the poor downed young officer that he had done a good job protecting his desk.
It was a great loss of course, but the stakes were high and Roy wasted little time on feeling guilty about it. Next time, he thought, the new recruits might learn to be a little more careful.
At four, Breda was shot, hit in a move from one strategic location to another, and neither Roy nor Havoc stopped in their scramble to flee from HQ, voices shouting after them as they ran for the parking lot. Forgetting his jacket in his office, Roy grabbed his car keys and waited for Jean to throw himself into the passenger seat of his car before he peeled out of the lot with a roar of his engine. The tired squealed against the paved streets, and he heard indignant shouts from behind them as Havoc kept an eye on their tail. Never mind that they'd wanted his head, people were upset their General was abandoning his post early.
They were home free. Roy idled throughout the streets of the city before finally dropping Havoc off at his apartments. He'd thanked his Captain for his excellent performance, and then waved Jean off before he flicked on his radio and tuned in to the military radio station, Fuery's squeaky voice filtering in as he read off the body count, animatedly reporting the highlights of the day, with a few blow-by-blow encounters.
Roy pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex at five, and waved a hello to the elderly landlady who had taken a fondness to 'her young General' for reminding her of her own son. She gave him a proud and wry look as he jogged up the stoop beside her front flower boxes, and Roy winked back.
"Good day?" she asked.
"I lived to tell the tale of it, anyways," Roy replied with a warm laugh.
She tutted him, and then went back to her petunias. "You young men, and your constant danger."
Roy shook his head, and pushed open the front door of the building, heading for the staircase before he jogged up to the third floor, stopping at 301A. He glanced curiously at the door to 301B, but couldn't tell if its inhabitant had already arrived at home, or whether or not she was already safely inside.
His door unlocked easily, and Roy threw his chain lock behind him after he stepped inside. Roy stretched, bypassing the newspaper in his kitchen he'd picked up that morning from his mail cubby, and his breakfast dishes in favor of heading straight for his bedroom. Eager to change out of his sweat soaked shirt and shower, Roy kicked off his boots first. The black shirt went next, and he wriggled it up and over his head, drying the sweat off his forehead and hair with the fabric. Balling his shirt up into a crumpled mess, Roy paused when he saw his bed.
His pillow had moved.
Roy hissed under his breath, an audible "Fuck," before he froze, the audible slide of a gun being prepped from behind him. Fuck, he thought again, shoulders slumping in defeat as he heard familiar footsteps.
"I hate to do this, General," Riza said, not sounding slightest bit apologetic.
Roy sighed. "I thought it would be assumed weapons were banned from the bedroom." Obviously, he had been wrong. Utterly, completely, wrong.
"You always were rather arrogant about your chances of winning," Riza said calmly, edging closer behind him as he raised his hands in the air. He was unarmed of course, it was far too late to survive now — but being cautious was part and parcel with being a sniper.
"Well," Roy said, "Get on with it Major. I surrender."
"Gladly sir," Riza said. She pumped the gun a second time, swift and smooth and then Roy braced himself as Riza Hawkeye pulled the trigger of her water gun, soaking him down to the bone. She fired again, the red water spray hitting his hair, his back, and his pants. Roy shivered, gasping as she pumped the gun again, preparing for her third and final decimating fire against his dignity as a commanding officer.
It was then that he threw his hands down and whirled around — wresting the water gun from her hands — a slippery, wet mess of laughter and red dye. The toy rifle fell to his bedroom floor with a clatter in their scuffle, and Roy pulled Riza close, dripping over her shirt and arms as Riza squirmed in protest at getting wet. Laughing, Roy shook his hair like a wet dog, soaking them both. In their playful shoving, he pulled them both down to his bed, collapsing into a tangled mess of limbs and breathless smiles. Their wrestling ended when Riza flipped Roy onto his back, straddling him a show of her final victory, and took her reward in an eager kiss that led them far away from the world of office water gun wars.
The next day, Roy was evasive about the details of how his own bodyguard had managed to take him out before he'd even arrived back at the office.
There were simply some things that were best left in the bedroom.