I wish I had more interesting dreams than this.

Title: Blondes
Author: Ileana A. (babygray)
Pairings: none completely stable...
Disclaimer: FMA is not mine. This is pure jest.
Warning: A bit AU, but not by much. Plus, unbeta'ed and rough.
Note: This was a dream. I wrote it down, and ended up accidentally making it adopt some sense. Oops. And enjoy.

--

There was a rustle of curtains, and for a moment he could see her. He could see the muted sunlight of her hair, the sharpness of her eyes.

No doubt she could see him there as well, hiding behind the bushes. She wouldn't be the best if she couldn't spot him, just over a hundred meters away from her living room window. But, oh, she couldn't do anything about him at this distance. At least not legally. Though, if she was so inclined, she could very neatly split his hair right down the middle with one shot.

Nonetheless, there he was, trying his best to stay inconspicuous behind the shrubery, rather confident that she wouldn't take a potshot at his head. One reason would be that he was her superior. The second would be that he was still outside the proper limit and perfectly safe from the legal repercussions.

"Um," said a voice to his right. "What are you doing."

For a moment, he was transfixed by the golden blond hair of the speaker. Blond hair would always be his undoing, and he could wax eloquently on the topic if he was so inclined. The shimmering stands of gold, the pale yellow soft spikes, even strawberry blondes with their hit of saucy red... He was almost carried away to that flaxen heaven before he noticed the red of the speaker's coat and the smart-alek slant on the other's lips.

"Hagare no," he said in acknowledgment, taking a brief moment to admire the fair bangs framing the boy's face before turning towards the rustling curtains.

"I thought she has a restraining order against you," Elric said as they watched Hawkeye walk past her window again. He wasn't sure if the dark object in her hands was a rifle, but a man can hope against bodily harm, no?

"I am perfectly outside the required distance," he replied, contemplating the possibility of firearms entering the equation. He had come, wanting only to see the color of her hair, but that wasn't something he was willing to lose his own head over.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and he could kind of see why snipping a few locks of Hawkeye's hair while her back was turned was a little too much. Surely not enough to warrant a restraining order, but a bad call all the same.

Considering his other options, however, there was no one else that really appealed to him. Havoc was a nice enough fellow, and he would love to pursue him, but oftentimes he seemed much too volatile for his tastes. Armstrong, on the other hand, was too big and too bald to do it for him. Hawkeye seemed the only logical choice. But, as his eyes kept flickering back to the sheen of Elric's sunshine hair, he wondered if there was another option he didn't think of.

"Have you ever thought of..." he ventured for a moment, admiring for a moment that even Elric's eyes were nearly golden, before he realized what he was going to say. In a frown, he clamped his mouth shut and turned his head towards the rustling curtains. Hawkeye wasn't there.

"What?" Elric asked, confused as well as properly wary.

His frown only deepened at the question. He must be insane, thinking about propositioning Elric. Perhaps he should woo Armstrong's sister instead. She's much less likely to fight him without provocation. On the other hand, she wouldn't be nearly as feisty as the blond squatting beside him would be, and feisty has always been a good thing in his book.

As he prepared his answer, a bullet whizzed by his ear, nearly cutting his skin along the way.

Well, as long as that feistiness didn't come armed with a sniper rifle, he was fine with it, he supposed.

"I'll be aiming for your head next, sir," Hawkeye said from her position on her rooftop, her voice amplified by a megaphone.

"Maybe we should continue this conversation elsewhere," he said to Elric as he scampered away from his hiding space as gracefully as his hunched position allowed.