A/N: Heyo! What is up, little butterflies? :) I was on the road when this idea hit me. It hit me just like something hit that-
Uh, never mind. Erm, weirdest idea prompter… ever.
Well, anyway, it may not seem as cracky as some of the stuff I write, but there will definitely be some cracky elements!
Warnings: It's a case of the Mondays. A really severe case. One I probably would never wish on anyone. Yet I'm giving it to Roy Mustang. Hm. OOCness? Possibly. Randomness, swearing, all that fun stuff. Cameos may be sprinkled in :D
Disclaimer: If I owned Mondays, they would be awesome days, not affiliated with bad luck in any way. But alas, this is not the case D: (Also, I don't own FMA.)
Roy Mustang awakens to birds singing pleasant songs in his windowsill. He winces at the extremely bright burst of sunlight and buries his head under his pillow. Five minutes later, he chances a look at the clock. He jerks in surprise and bangs his head as he comes in contact with the wood floor.
He is precisely forty-six minutes late for work. Mustang feels that perhaps this wouldn't be such a horrible thing for most commanding officers, but most commanding officers don't have Lieutenant Hawkeye to worry about. With that thought in mind-Hawkeye is going to shoot him-he scrambles towards his closet, grasps desperately at his uniform, and throws it at his bed. He has the smart idea of trying to strip out of his pajamas at the same time, and inevitably meets the floor a second time.
"Damn it," he grumbles, voice thick with sleep. He tries not to think about how huge his headache already is.
He fails. Roy does, however, manage to wrestle his way into his uniform without further incident. Taking that as a good sign, he hurries to brush his teeth and his hair-have to look as great as always-and somehow manages to break his brush on a stubborn knot on his head. He frowns at this; limits his swearing to just a couple words. How in the hell did that happen? Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair to make sure it's up to par.
On the way downstairs, he braves a glance at the clock again.
Fifty-four minutes late.
He dashes for the kitchen and makes a beeline for the loaf of bread. He whips one of his gloves on, and uses the other hand to toss a slice of bread into the air. Mustang narrows his eyes and snaps. By the time the piece of bread lands on the counter, it's charred past the point of looking desirable. Mustang repeats the process with the second slice. He yanks the fridge door open to grab the milk bottle-if only Fullmetal could join him-and chugs it between bites.
That done, Roy hunts down his boots and car keys much like the lieutenant will be hunting him later. That analogy only makes him move faster, more desperately, for the door.
An hour and three minutes late.
He tries to jam his key into the ignition seven times before realizing it's the apartment key. He goes back to his front door and makes sure it's locked. It isn't. Mustang swears once and fixes this. He then sprints back and jams the right key into the ignition. This better be the last blunder today, I don't need any more crap getting in my way right now…
And up until about halfway to headquarters, there isn't any crap. Not unless you count the mailbox he hit, and the jogger he almost does. He apologizes profusely to her, which doesn't prevent her from smacking him with her purse. Nor does it keep her from making a terribly gruesome death threat at him.
One that, for some reason, reminds him of Envy. The style, or the extreme details of his supposed murder, or the wicked grin on her face when she describes it. He's not sure.
The street's deserted except for them. However, when he reaches for his car door and looks back towards her, she's gone. Now it's just him with no idea where she went. That can't have been a coincidence, right? Well, doesn't matter. Just need to get those horrid images out of my head.
Roy finds that he's more than halfway there, only five minutes from HQ. He is also behind a stopped car. The longer he waits, fuming, the more he wishes for there to be room to pass this guy.
With a huff, he leaves the comfort of his car-still obediently behind the stalled car-ready to give the driver a piece of his mind. The driver is simply stopped, as if waiting for something. Mustang catches a glimpse of five turtles lumbering across the pavement.
Wait.
What?
Roy snapped his gaze back to the bale of turtles. Crossing the road. In front of that damned car. Right now?
After a brief word with the driver, Roy gathers that he will not be moving until every last turtle is safely off the road. The colonel pinches the bridge of his nose in a hasty and desperate attempt to stay civil towards the driver.
Especially since this driver happens to be a certain Maes Hughes.
"But Roy! How could I possibly run these poor turtles over? Elysia LOVES turtles! Hey, you think I should keep them? My darling Elysia would LOVE them!"
Roy can't help but twitch violently as Hughes goes on yet another one of his daughter-obsessed rants. Another day where he fails to understand just what goes through Maes' mind.
In spite of this, Roy strides purposefully over to the turtles, and scoops them up. He makes a U-turn and unceremoniously dumps the bale of turtles onto Maes Hughes' lap. "There you go. Go ahead. Happy?" Roy grits his teeth and tries to stay composed. At least until he gets to work.
After jovially describing how the cute little turtles will only make Elysia even more adorable, Maes throws in a: "You do realize you're an hour and a half late to work, don't you? What's keeping you?"
Roy curls his hands into fists. Uncurls. "Right now? Some family-obsessed man who happens to have trapped me on the street."
Maes grins. "At least you have a good reason to be late."
Roy's lips twitch into a smile, but it disappears as quickly as it shows up. "Please, move. The faster you get out of the way, the less Hawkeye will shoot me to pieces."
"Oh please. She's not going to shoot you into pie-"
Hughes is interrupted by a very loud, extremely close crash. Mustang is absolutely horrified to discover some idiot has collided with his car. He vows to make whomever this driver is pay.
A smoky silhouette climbs out of the truck and inspects the damage the truck caused to the rear end. The silhouette scratches his head in thought. "Oops. At least we took the truck away from those hijackers, eh Al?"
Roy snapped to attention at the name. Al? It couldn't be…
"Yeah, but Brother, did you see whose car this is?"
"Oh, it's no big deal. We can just fix the bumper and-damn it, it's the Colonel!" The loud and clear voice of Fullmetal suddenly sounds panicky. "Scratch that, let's just get out of here!"
Roy has other plans. "You ruined my car. Fix it. Now." And who can blame him for sounding annoyed?
A sigh. "Fine, fine." Fullmetal quickly claps his hands and places them on the rear of the car, emits some blue sparks, and voila, undamaged car. Roy thinks-no, hopes-that the Elrics don't notice how late it is.
"Hey, Mustang, aren't you like, an hour and forty-five minutes late?" A pause. "You know, the lieutenant is going to shoot you dead."
"I'm aware." Roy clears his throat. "Now, would you all do me the favor of going away?"
.
Two hours. He finally makes it within sight of his office two hours late. Mustang has never been this late before with Hawkeye on the team.
"Glad you could make it, boss." Roy finds it hard to ignore the grin in Havoc's voice as he says this. The others-Breda, Falman, Fuery-are there as well, seeming nervous about their boss's tardiness. Hawkeye is nowhere to be seen.
"Thank you, lieutenant. Now if you don't mind," Roy falters a second, "I have some work to do."
"Of course you do. Good luck!" And don't get shot too badly.
Mustang enters his office, and discovers where missing Hawkeye has been.
The lieutenant he trusts his life to is standing right next to his desk-which happens to be overpowered by mountains of paperwork-aiming two guns at him.
"N-now, Hawkeye-" Roy falters as she clicks the safety off both weapons. "Don't be hasty, I'm sorry I was late!"
She does not falter. "Two hours and eight minutes. You are extremely late, sir." It's amazing how dangerous her 'sir' sounds. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork has piled up in your absence?"
He nervously watches her thumbs glide along the guns. "I apologize, lieutenant, it shall not happen again! I'll get to work right now!"
She sighs irritably. Hawkeye heads for the exit-something that relieves him-and pauses at the doorframe.
Roy is unable to turn around for some reason. Perhaps it's the fear eating him up inside. "What is it?"
BANG! BANG! He feels both bullets whiz by his ears, one on each side. He has to wonder how long she's been planning to shoot like that at him.
"That will be all, sir," is all she says as she goes to shut the doors.
"Wait."
"Yes, sir? What is it?"
"I feel as though we should get bulletproof windows. Doesn't that sound like a practical idea?"
"Yes sir. I'll go fetch the paperwork for that." He wonders if she's looked for this specific paperwork before. Has she just been waiting for him to suggest it? Or does she just know everything?
He settles himself into his chair, and grabs a pen. No use worrying about it now.
After all, he can always ask her tomorrow.
A/N: Ok, that was strange. No idea where the present verb tense came from either XD I had to google what a group of turtles was called. Never heard of a bale of turtles before XD
… No turtles were harmed in the making of this fic. Nobody else was either. Except for that poor mailbox. Ay, didn't know what hit 'em.
Well, anyway, hope it was amusing, let me know what you think :)
Peace and love!
chocolatexloverx16