Why was Riza always the unelected designated driver?
Every night out, the rest of her colleagues knocked back shot after shot and became increasingly more ridiculous and shameful to their usual military image. Every night out was the same: Havoc was the enabler, Breda was the dancer, Fuery was the sleeper, and Mustang was the lightweight.
Men. Riza thinks to herself and she sits in the sticky red leather booth, watching Havoc order a round of five tequila slammers. Fuery looks tired already, alcohol having a drastically sedating effect on him after only a few pints, and Breda is dancing like a bull in a china shop.
"Hey! Hawkeye!" Havoc slurs loudly, beckoning Riza over and she refrains from rolling her eyes. She checks her watch and tries not to groan. It's only just past midnight and the boys will have no intention of leaving for another several hours. She resigns herself to a long night.
Riza stands and makes her way through the crowd to where Havoc and Mustang are slumped against the bar. The barman pours five shots of tequila and lays out five wedges of lime and a salt shaker.
"Good man, Havoc!" Mustang booms, clapping his subordinate on the back in approval. He turns. "Fuery! Breda!" Managing to rally the others, the five of them lining up against the bar.
Riza begrudgingly licks the back of her hand, taking the salt pot from Havoc and shaking out a line before passing it reluctantly on to Mustang. After a few seconds, they're all in position with slice and shot.
"Atta girl, Hawkeye," this time it's Riza who earns an enthusiastic slap on the back from Mustang, making the tequila spill a little over her fingers. She shoots him a sideways glare which goes completely unnoticed.
Havoc counts them down and then in unison, the five soldiers lick the salt, knock back the tequila and bite down on the lime. The men make disgusted noises, but Riza doesn't react at all.
"You're a hard one, Hawkeye," Havoc slings an arm over her shoulders leaning heavily on the lieutenant.
"You smell like booze," Riza comments dryly.
"And you don't seem even a little bit tipsy," Havoc gives her a suspicious, slightly uneven squint. "ANOTHER DRINK FOR HAWKEYE!" He bellows.
"I'll buy!" Mustang waves some money towards the barman and orders her a pint, sliding it towards her.
The truth is, Riza is fairly tipsy, she just seems to know how to control herself better than her colleagues who let loose at one sip of beer.
"You're drunker than you're letting on," Havoc comments. Even absolutely trashed, the 2nd lieutenant has an uncanny sense of observation.
"Perhaps," Riza replies coyly. "Just because I'm not acting like an idiot like the rest of you."
Right on cue, Mustang tries to sit on a barstool and promptly falls off.
"Oh for God's sake," Riza grumbles and hurries over, slipping her arms under his and hauling him to his feet. It's clear Roy is in no fit state to be consuming any more alcohol.
"I'm cutting you off, Mustang," the barman tells him, unable to hide the smile of amusement. "I think someone should take him home."
"I'll take him." Riza volunteers. No one else is in a fit state to be taking care of Roy.
"Sorry Hawkeye; you always end up looking after us!" Havoc sounds genuinely contrite.
"It's alright," Riza sighs. "I'll see you all next week. Take care of yourselves!"
"Bye, Hawkeye!"
"Come on, Colonel, you're coming with me," Riza coaxes Roy, allowing him to sling an arm around her neck for support, grabbing his hand to stop him from slipping.
"Where are we going, lieutenant?" Roy slurs, wobbling on his feet.
"Home, sir," Riza replies, trying to be patient.
"Your place or mine? Sorry … that was …"
"Bye, boys," Riza calls over her shoulder to Havoc, Fuery and Breda who all yell goodbyes at her.
They step outside and the cool night air makes Riza reel a little; she's drunker than she gave herself credit for, the final tequila shot creeping up on her. She scolds herself a little for allowing Havoc to rope her into the group shots.
Roy seems worse, the fresh air clearly having the same effect on him. Riza adjusts him a little around her neck to stop him pulling on her muscles quite as badly.
"Am I heavy?" Roy asks dreamily.
"You're fine," Riza says, her voice slightly strained.
"What would I do without you?"
Riza ignores his ramblings as they stagger down the road together.
"KITTY!"
"Sir –" Riza yells as Roy suddenly wrenches himself from around her neck and gallops down a small alley way after a cat, disappearing from sight.
Riza runs after him, rounding the corner, and finds Roy sat on the floor, cuddling a small tabby cat against his face, drunkenly mumbling into it's fur.
"Soft soft paws," Roy is muttering, screwing his face up in delight as the cat nuzzles against his cheek. "Soft soft face."
"Sir." Riza prompts, hands on hips. "Please don't run off like that again."
"But look at the kitty, lieutenant!" Roy states indignantly. "Pet it!" He holds the cat out to her and Riza tries to be stern, but fails. The cat is well kept and friendly: clearly someone's pet. It looks at Riza with questioning green eyes.
She holds out a hand and tickles the animal under it's chin, secretly pleased when it starts to purr. Roy looks thrilled.
Future Fuhrer of Amestris, Riza thinks with mild amusement looking at Roy cuddling the cat.
"Come on, Colonel, time to go," Riza says firmly.
Roy pouts like a child. "Can we take the cat with us?"
"No. Put it down."
"But Hawkeye –"
"No buts, Colonel. Put the cat down, and come with me."
Roy sulks and sets the cat down, uneasily getting to his feet. "Bye bye, kitty. Sorry the mean lady won't let me take you home."
"Stop pitting the cat against me," Riza mutters.
"You are mean," Roy insists, taking his former stance of one arm around her neck.
"Alright," Riza concedes, hauling him down the alley and back out onto the main street.
Roy sighs. "I wish I had a tail, lieutenant."
They begin to make slow progress to Roy's house, him chattering on about rubbish and Riza ignoring him, concentrating on not letting the Colonel trip over his own feet.
Eventually, Riza sees Roy's front door and breathes a sigh of relief. All she has to do is make sure Roy is set up with a bucket and a pint of water and then she can be at home in her own bed. And at least this way she doesn't have to babysit the others.
"Here we go, sir," Riza announces. "Home sweet home."
"Thank you, lieutenant," Roy slurs, dropping his arm from her neck again. He sticks his hands into his coat pockets. And then his jeans pockets. And then his coat pockets again. He looks at Riza.
Oh please no, she thinks desperately.
"Sir …" Riza begins, almost fearing the answer to her question. "Where are your keys?"
"Uhm," Roy pats himself down. "Uh … I … Gave them to Havoc."
Riza fights the temptation to strangle him.
"Right," she forces herself to remain calm and take a deep breath. "Do you have a spare key?"
"Yes!"
She sighs in relief. "Great, where is it?"
"The office."
"Colonel, I'm going to kill you," Riza tells him, very matter-of-factly. She looks into his dark, wide, innocent eyes. With resignation she grits her teeth. "Looks like you're coming home with me then."
Luckily for her, Riza's house isn't far, and eventually they're on her doorstep.
Riza unlocks the door, flicking on the light and Roy stumbles in after her. The crossing of boundary into her house means the shedding of rigid military formality. That had always been their agreement: save everything until they were behind closed doors.
Black Hayate barks for attention and Roy sits on the floor, playing with Hayate's velvety ears. Clearly, drunken Roy had a childlike fascination with fluffy things. Riza collects two pint glasses of water and stands beside Roy on the kitchen floor.
"Drink," she orders him, forcing the glass into his hand. Riza turns her back to ensure the front door is fully locked and upon entering the kitchen again sees Roy allowing Hayate to drink out of his glass as he giggles to himself, knowing full well that he's misbehaving.
"I swear to God, Roy, you are testing my patience tonight," Riza complains, finally able to use his name.
"Mean mean lady," Roy tells the dog, ignoring her completely.
"Roy."
"Fiiiiiine." Roy pulls the glass away from Black Hayate and is about to drink it when Riza snatches it from him, replacing it with her clean glass.
"I want all of that gone in the next thirty seconds." Riza tells him firmly and knowing he's wound her up, begins to down the water, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.
Hawkeye watches him closely until he sets the empty glass down, and grins up at her piously. She gets her own pint glass and downs water herself before helping Roy up.
"Now," Riza begins. "Are you going to behave yourself, or am I going to have to set you up on my sofa?"
"Noooo, I can behave!" Roy whines.
"Alright, but two strikes and you're out of my bed."
Roy tries to salute her, but fails.
They enter her bedroom and Roy falls face first onto his side of the bed. Riza dares leave him alone for a few minutes to brush her teeth. When she studies herself in the mirror she sees bleary amber eyes and untidy flaxen hair.
"Come here," Riza calls and she hears a thud as Roy rolls off the bed. In a few seconds he's appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She points to the toilet with the lid down. "Sit." He obeys. Getting his toothbrush and paste, she stands between his open thighs, grasping his chin between her hand. "Open." Roy opens his mouth wide and Riza unceremoniously shoves the toothbrush in his mouth, roughly moving it over his teeth. He bares his teeth for her to finish his front teeth and then just about manages to spit successfully in the sink.
"You're done." Riza announces tiredly, stifling a yawn. Roy slinks back to bed, Riza close after him, turning off the light in the bedroom. "And stop clicking your fingers," she snaps at the Flame Alchemist who is trying to light a candle. "You've got so much alcohol in your system you'll spontaneously combust."
"I was trying to be romantic!" They both climb beneath the covers.
"You're being a diva, now shut up and go to sleep."
Silence for a few seconds.
"Riza?"
How she loves it when he says her name.
"Yes, Roy?"
"Thank you."