The Attack
Riza Hawkeye gripped Major Armstrong's coat as she saw the aircraft overhead break in two.
"No! Colonel!" She screamed.
She rushed from Armstrong's grip and ran through the demolished streets, Armstrong's cry to stop lost and melted into the air behind her.
"Colonel!"
And she remembered as she leaped over rubble and flew by the wailing wounded when she'd found him on the steps of the fuehrer's home two years before, bloodied and almost dead. "Not again," she breathed.
She watched as smoke billowed up and it descended toward the ground at a frightening speed, the part with the engine sailing away to God knows where.
The gray sky was loud with sirens.
Suddenly, blue light flashed overhead on the falling craft and giant wings spread out, slowing the descent. Riza stopped and breathed hard, sweat dripping down her face as she watched it slowly plummet down into the earth, physically shaking the ground.
"Lieutenant, wait!" Major Armstrong's arm was suddenly around her, and she squirmed and shrieked in his grip.
"Let me go, you bastard!"
"Lieutenant, please—"
She reached for her gun, gripped it tight, and shot Armstrong's muscular forearm.
His grip slackened as he made a startled noise and she shoved herself away and leaped across the demolished ground, toward the crash site five blocks away.
"Lieutenant!"
Gone.
1: Promotion
Two Days Later
Grumman glanced at his watch. Sighed.
"Sir, would you like me to go see-?"
"No, that's not necessary, lieutenant," Grumman interrupted. He picked up his cup of tea where the lieutenant had let it rest and blew the steam from the top into the humid air. "No doubt he's eager to make a theatrical entrance."
"I see, sir."
Grumman looked up at the person staring stoically—though he knew eagerly—at the door.
Sipped his tea.
"You knew Private Mustang, didn't you?"
The lieutenant nodded. "With all due respect, sir, there's not a citizen out there who is not aware of his heroics during the Attack."
"The Attack, right," Grumman murmured into his cup, "but we both know that's not what I meant."
Before the lieutenant could reply, there was a rather loud announcement beyond the Fuehrer's doors.
"Roy Mustang, to see the Fuehrer!"
Grumman chuckled at the familiar voice as the guards threw open the door.
"So…you're one of the fuehrers instead of me. Can't say I like that."
Mustang walked forward, a smirk on his lips and the light from the back windows glinting in his lone eye as he looked to Grumman. "I heard you wanted to speak to me—" he glanced at the lieutenant, cutting himself off.
"Hawkeye?"
"It's been a while, sir." She nodded, unable to hide a small smile before it vanished.
He snorted disdainfully. "Yeah, right, it's been two whole days. And there's no need for 'sir', remember? I'm just a private now."
It was true. It was odd for Grumman to not see the stars that used to decorate Mustang's shoulder. Well, that has to change.
"Don't be too over confident, sir."
Mustang frowned.
Grumman set down his tea and slid an official document across his desk. Mustang stepped forward and lifted the document, reading it out loud.
"'Looks pretty official, doesn't it? Given the circumstances, there's no time for any excitement about this. You've been promoted to general. Go away'."
He stared at Grumman.
"Is this some sick joke of yours?"
Grumman waved his hand nonchalantly. "Why are you still dirtying the floor, general? I'll get you your stars later. Get out—Lieutenant Hawkeye can show you to your new office."
"If you would follow me, sir," Hawkeye said, already past Mustang and out the door.
"Hey, Hawkeye, wait!"
Mustang rushed away from Grumman and into the hallway, away from the Fuehrer giggling to himself.
"Oh, how fun."
Sipped his tea.
…
Mustang didn't understand the whole damn situation. You know, I should at least get some ENTHUSIASM for this. He looked pointedly at Hawkeye.
The lieutenant maintained a steady walking pace, careful to stay ahead of him and not glance back.
"So, Grumman promoted me?"
"Apparently, sir. The Fuehrer promoted you."
He noted the emphasis. "That's way too formal for an old crackpot like him." But he smiled and said it with affection. They had a long history in the East, after all.
"Come on, Hawkeye, aren't you even a little excited to see me up the ranks?" He sped up.
"Elated, sir." She quickened her pace.
"Women are usually more excited around me," he said, sighing and slowing down.
"How interesting."
He grinned and watched her walk ahead of him through the lit hallways, the new military uniform just commissioned a day ago hugging her figure quite nicely.
And he remembered.
And swallowed.
And looked away.
"I'm sorry it is taking so long, sir," Hawkeye cut through Mustang's thoughts.
"Uh, what?"
"Getting to your office. The Fuehrer gave me directions to one of the older ones not destroyed by the Attack."
Suddenly, she turned a corner, approached a door, and opened it into darkness. Mustang followed her in as she found a light switch and flicked the lights on.
The door clicked shut and locked behind them automatically.
"What, the-?" Mustang said in confusion.
It was an old closet, barely five feet by five feet and practically overflowing with cleaning supplies.
Mustang saw Hawkeye tear a note from where it was taped to a shelf.
"'Mustang'," she read, "'I'm not letting either of you out for an hour. You must have lots to talk about'."
It probably sounded really enthusiastic when Grumman said it, but with Hawkeye it was only dry and irritated. And oddly appealing.
"I'm going to have to get used to his sense of humor." She dropped the note to the floor and brushed by Mustang.
Mustang leaned against a shelf filled with cleaners to watch her rattle the door handle. "If he doesn't want it to open, it won't open, lieutenant."
She slipped her gun from its holster. "Then I'll just—"
"Dammit, lieutenant!" He leaned forward and snatched the gun before she could aim it at the lock and threw it up to the top shelf.
"Sir!" She said incredulously. "You can't really—"
"I do need to talk to you," Mustang said. Maybe the old bat is smarter than I thought.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Of course not."
…..
Grumman downed the last dregs of the tea. Put headphones on. Turned up the radio until he could hear Mustang's deep intonations.
Oh, yes. Very fun!