Chapter One

Jean Havoc had always liked the average type of girl. No, not average, that wasn't the word - maybe "traditional." The type who wore dresses or skirts, smiled behind her hand, maybe played piano or flute. The kind of girl who took sugar in her tea.

Perhaps this had been his mistake. Everyone in the military knew he had terrible luck with women. He'd been dumped, it was a popular rumor, by more girls than he'd even dated. The women of the military called him "the anti-Roy Mustang" behind his back, and laughed to eachother every time he set out on a particularly pathetic quest to woo a town girl who had caught his eye.

The theories were seemingly infinite: Havoc was almost stalkerish in his advances; maybe he always took dates to the wrong place (a story was going around that he'd taken an extremely religious young woman to a, er, gentleman's club) or two-timed them (doubtful); or maybe, as Mustang had once theorized, he was just really, really bad in bed.

Or maybe he just hadn't found the right woman yet.

***

Sarah Kelley wasn't a very traditional girl at all. She, in fact, liked to think of herself as a "girl breaking all the laws of what had come before, venturing into the fray of society with all the bravado of a soldier on the battlefield-" but that was a bit long-winded for this particular story, and was a description that would probably fit better into one of her manuscripts. All her life she'd been told by her father to just calm down for a moment, to clean the brambles out of her hair and to please, please ask before she borrowed his fountain pen, and not to break it again.

She'd spent the better part of her nineteen years being told that she, while having her own merits, wasn't as pretty/demure/insert flattering adjective here as her younger sister Clare, a year her junior and lucky enough to have inherited their debutante mother's tall-blonde-and-willowy genes, and so she'd turned to more cerebral pursuits - namely, writing. She was alright with social situations- though she had an unfortunate propensity to bring up rather taboo topics in front of rather important people - but, in the end, she was better with a pen and paper than in conversation.

She'd never dated a man; she believed them all to be dull, boring, and generally not worth her time. At the age of twelve, she'd decided this once and for all:

"I'm going to become a cat-lady writer and no one is going to stop me."

This proclamation had been mostly followed by yelps of "Are you really feeling well?" and "Don't be silly" from her female relatives, who'd been present at the time. Still, she'd never gone back on that declaration, and she didn't plan to.

Perhaps her attitude wasn't exactly proper for a girl of such high breeding. After all, her father was the governor of quite a large city, and a very influential man to the military and government.

Which certainly explained Sarah's current predicament. The daughter of such a well-known man was expected to marry young, and at nineteen, according to her parents, it would be "most prosperous" to hand her off to, well, the highest bidder before she got "too old." So far, the highest bidder happened to be a young man, John Stovell, from a family much like hers, who happened to be visiting Central, which was conveniently located about halfway between the Stovell estate and Sarah's home. In the eyes of her parents, it was a coincidence that they just couldn't pass up on: it was the perfect time for them to meet.

But the daughter of such an influential man was also quite the liability: in a kidnapping situation, especially in light of the recent terrorist attacks, so of course she'd need a particularly good escort for the week she'd spend without her family. What better escort for a military child than a member of the military?

The call went to Central HQ, then to Colonel Roy Mustang, through the ranks of his subordinates, until it finally reached the ears of one man, who could always use a little extra cash. (All the smoking burned, pun very much intended, quite a hole in his budget.)

Jean Havoc had called to say he would take the job.

***

"Er, I'm here for Room 213. Could you please tell her that Mr. Havoc's arrived?"

The desk bellboy tilted his head, curious as to why a man in full military garb had shown up in such a high-class hotel, but connected the cables on the intercom and repeated Havoc's message. The man in question moved to stand awkwardly near the French doors, his arms crossed and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"She'll be on her way," called the bellboy to Havoc, who nodded to show he'd heard, and sighed. Maybe this job wasn't going to be so easy after all. With his luck, Sarah Kelley would be some sort of more-old-money-than-thou type who'd refuse to speak to him unless it was to give order. But why should he expect anything else? He was a bodyguard, nothing more, and would remain that way for the rest of the week. As long as there were no emergencies, he would be getting that cash easily.

The door from the staircase swung open, and Havoc looked up. There she was, the girl he'd be protecting. She wasn't strikingly pretty, her wavy chestnut hair was a bit of a mess, and her cheeks were sprinkled with freckles, but she was good-looking in a very everyday way. She wore a simple white blouse, with a round collar, and long dark blue skirt. With the notebook she clutched to her chest with ink-stained hands, Havoc thought, she looked like a young and impressionable teacher, prepared to take names but too forgiving to dole out detentions.

"Miss Kelley?" he asked, smiling slightly. She seemed normal enough.

There was a pause as she looked him up and down, and then spoke:

"I want you to take me drinking."

Wait! Pause! Rewind! Havoc jerked back slightly, staring incredulously at the young woman. "Take you which?"

Sarah crossed her arms and looked up into his eyes. "I said I want you to take me drinking. I've never been to a bar and I want to go."

"What the-? Why?!"

"I can't write about it if I've never been to it. Now come on- your car's outside, isn't it- hurry up, Mr. Havoc, it's almost seven and I want to get some research done-" She grabbed him by the fabric of his jacket's sleeve and dragged him towards the door.

Only one thought was running through Havoc's mind: Oh, no- what've I gotten myself into?