Riza is a little OOC in this story to fit the romantic-comedy genre. She is trying to go in a new direction with her life and sometimes gets drunk (as you will see). Besides that, she's just PMSing. There is a fellow military woman who talks with Riza in the Red Gaiden about why she grew out her hair. Arakawa has yet to reveal her name. I made one up for her, but I still do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Chapter 1: Overtime

At three o'clock in the morning, if any of the residents in Riza Hawkeye's apartment complex had bothered to peek out their doors, they would have seen a surprising sight: their usually prim and proper neighbor barely conscious, being haphazardly helped into her apartment by a fellow soldier.

Two hours earlier:

1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye plodded down the long, dim hallway located in Eastern's Military Headquarters. It was late. In her arms she held a stack of files to be put away before she went home. "Almost done," she thought to herself, rolling her shoulders to get rid of that tired, weighted down feeling. A figure some length down the hallway stepped out of a doorway and raised an arm. "Riza!" it called.

"Hmm?" Lieutenant Hawkeye thought. "Who called her Riza?"

As she neared she made out the features and trademark curly black hair, now pulled back, of 2nd Lieutenant Emily Jensen.

"Oh, hello Lieutenant Jensen. You're here awfully late."

"You should talk, 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye, I'd wager you work this late every night."

"Not every night," Riza replied, though she thought to herself she often came close.

"I had to stay late sorting out a mess about an automobileaccident. No one was hurt, but there were damages and no one wanted to take the blame. They even tried to blame the military for faulty road directions or something. Jeez! I'm a field officer, but with the amount of paperwork I do I might as well have a desk job."

"Mmm-hmm," Riza replied, thinking of the amount of paperwork she did everyday.

"Listen, if you're almost done why don't we go out for a drink? Wind down? Complain about work?"

Riza laughed at the last comment. "Sounds great. I just have to file these. It shouldn't take long."

Riza finished sorting out the dreaded files and met Emily in front on the steps. There Emily had proceeded to chatter about this and that and lead Riza to a nearby bar, which catered to many military personnel.

Riza listened to her friend chatter. She liked that about Emily: she was so cheerful and effervescent that it covered up her own, taciturn character. At the bar she downed a few drinks while listening to the tinkly background music and a funny story about the tantrum the owner of an expensive new automobile had gotten into before starting to talk herself.

"I work overtime everyday, and I don't get overtime pay. Fucking military commission."

Emily nodded sympathetically. "I know; the military's so short staffedyet they won't pay us any more. All the rules and protocol about rank and commission are such a nuisance. You work harder than anyone else I know, harder than your boss. At the very least he should promote you to Captain."

"It's not even about the pay! I mean, I work overtime because . . . it's just what I do. It's routine – it's normal. I have no life—" Riza raised her hand for another shot. She downed it and continued, "I spend my time working hard, telling myself that I can relax on my day off, and then when I do get a day off, I don't do anything with it."

Riza paused and contemplated this revelation. Then she raised her hand for another shot. She downed that one too.

"You should get out more," Emily ventured, "You should come out to bars more often, like this one – no, we should go out to a real bar! Dress up, do some dancing. It would do you good!"

"Yeah, maybe," Riza replied, eyeing her empty shot glass quizzically. She started to raise her hand again.

Emily pulled it down. "I think you've had enough," she said gently.

Umm, I guess there really wasn't that much romance or comedy there. There will be in the future. I promise.