A/N: Because anyone who has read The Dance Lesson knows I am incapable of not writing A/Ns. Just a few things to say: School is almost over!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, yes, yes, Thank GOD! All I have left is the last part of my Calculus final tomorrow, and then I will be free! Well, my Calc final and I have to final all my college apps (finish meaning threaten all my teachers until they give me letters, edit my Stanford essay, and actually get them all in the mail.) And then I will have two whole weeks in which I am required to do nothing but write fics. I have a list currently of at least 10 stories I need to work on over break. Especially my multi-chapter EdRoy fic, The Dance Lesson (and to everyone, I apologize that I haven't updated in a few weeks. School is evil). Anyway, I get ideas from the weirdest places - this story just popped into my head on Mon. morning when I was making my breakfast (which is amazing, since I'm not normally capable of not walking into the walls that early in the morning - why must I be at school at 7?). So enjoy this silly little bit of yaoi fluff!
Disclaimer: You know, it's almost Christmas, Arakawa, and I certainly wouldn't object to finding the rights to FMA in my stocking!
"Ask A Silly Question"
Roy Mustang stared intently at the grain of the wood on his desk, tracing the swirls with his eyes. He had learned a long time ago that it was virtually impossible for anyone, even a certain sharp-eyed lieutenant, to distinguish this from intense concentration on the stack of paperwork before him. That was most definitely a good thing. Roy was having one of those sorts of days – the kind where he could scarcely sit still, and found himself distracted by every little thing, the kind where actually focusing long enough to accomplish anything was as distant a dream as the Philosopher's Stone. The wall behind his desk was riddled with bullet holes; Riza had already told him off for spinning in his chair, doodling on his arms, testing his accuracy at lighting cigarettes Havoc already held in his mouth from across the room, and throwing his pencil at the ceiling. She had informed him sharply that if he stopped working one more time, he was a dead man. He concluded that the safe thing would be to at least pretend to work for a while, if work itself was out of the question. So now he sat and stared at the desk, and let his mind wander. His thoughts had started off innocently enough. He attempted to remember all the lyrics to an extremely complicated song Hughes had tried to teach him at the bar one night. He made some mental revisions to his most recent plot for finding out who Havoc and Fuery were respectively dating. He stared at some birds out the window for a few seconds, until Riza noticed him. Then he made of the mistake of trying to devise some new "short" puns to use on Ed the next time he walked into the office. A mistake because, of course, it didn't just stop with thoughts of how to torment the tiny alchemist. It never stopped with ways to torment the tiny alchemist. Roy cursed his evil, sadistic mind under his breath; before he could manage to distract himself it had already started running through the same old litany, drawing him along into the familiar pattern of obsessing that always led to the same place – exactly nowhere. He tried desperately to think of something else – anything else – even Armstrong in a dress – but his mind just kept going around, and around, and finally he couldn't take it anymore; he threw down his pencil and shouted out the Question.
"How in hell did this happen to me?!"
Riza sighed and put down her coffee cup. She had really hoped he might last more than twenty minutes this time, but clearly that was not to be.
"Sir, what's the problem?"
"I'll tell you what the problem is! I'm Colonel Roy Mustang! I'm the damn Flame Alchemist! I'm young, handsome and famous. I have a reputation – I'm a legendary skirt-chaser; I'm Central's most infamous ladies' man; I'm the Master of One-Night Stands! The most beautiful women in Amestris throw themselves at my feet on a daily basis. I could have any woman I wanted, so how in hell did this happen?!"
Riza raised her eyebrows slightly.
"How did what happen, sir?"
"How in hell, out of every other person I could have chosen to involve myself with, did I end up with a violent, stubborn, hot-tempered, rash, arrogant, thoughtless, unromantic, loud-mouthed, obnoxious, idiot shrimp of an alchemist?!"
"Oh."
Having duly listened to the Colonel's rant, Riza turned back to her paperwork and picked up her coffee cup once more.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Lieutenant." Mustang growled. "I really want to know. Why on earth do you think I'm doing this to myself?"
She pondered the question for a few moments, tapping her pencil slowly against the side of her cup.
"Lieutenant?"
"I'm thinking, sir," she replied with a glare sufficient to silence him.
"Maybe God hates you, sir."
He just looked at her flatly, refusing to respond.
"Maybe you enjoy inflicting suffering on yourself, sir?"
That one got a twitch, but nothing more.
"Did Hughes pay you to do it, sir?" That came, unexpectedly, from Havoc; Roy's shouts had apparently attracted the attention of the rest of the office, who were not uneager to contribute to the conversation.
"Ed figured out how to put a voodoo curse on him, definitely," said Breda, nodding his head.
"Maybe Ed found something to use as blackmail!" clamored Fuery, eyes wide.
"Nah," drawled Havoc, "We're the only ones who have those pictures. What do you think, Falman?"
"Perhaps there was a bet we haven't been told about?" he replied, without bothering to sit up or open his eyes.
"You didn't sell your soul to Ed to become Fuhrer, did you, sir?" asked Fuery with a squeak.
Roy felt that the only mature response to that was to stick out his tongue, and did so.
Breda snickered. "Maybe the Colonel has a thing for little shrimps."
If it hadn't been Roy, the flames at that remark would have been merely metaphorical; as it was, Breda gave a girlish shriek and frantically tried to put his desk out.
"Hey, boss," said Havoc with a grin, "Is it because he's just so irresistibly sexy?"
Roy smirked at him, but shook his head. It was certainly closer than the ridiculous answers they'd been offering, but he knew that wasn't it. And he still wanted to know the answer.
Riza decided that enough time had been wasted on this pointless conversation, and that it was time to rein the men in.
"Sir," she stated firmly, "Can we just end this now? We both know why you let this happen to you."
"Please, Lieutenant," Roy said loftily, "I beg you to enlighten me."
"Because you love him, sir."
…
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said softly. "Question answered. I guess we can all go back to work."
He turned his eyes back to his desk and once again feigned interest in his paperwork. He was self-consciously aware of the others' eyes on him, but he couldn't help himself; he was smiling – not a sneer, not the thin "yes sir" smile reserved for his commanding officers, not even his trademark smirk, but a real smile. She was right. Despite his complaints, his questions, his complete and utter bafflement, Roy Mustang knew exactly how this had happened to him.
He had fallen in love with Edward Elric.
Owari
A/N: I think my alter personalities have been spending two much time with Jane Austen Girl's alter personalities - my brain keeps getting taken over by fluff. Oh well. Fluff is vital to life!I hope you enjoyed this. Know how I'll know? Review!