Here's a little something short and sweet for you guys! Things have been pretty busy for me lately but this idea took me over and I couldn't stop myself from getting it done. I just love the idea of Team Mustang all having their own ways of catching those rare moments Roy and Riza let slip what they truly feel about each other, even if they don't realize it. First we have Havoc's experience, next up will be Fuery's! Enjoy!
Second Lieutenant Havoc prided himself on his ability to read people. Most sized him up as all brawn and no brains, but the sandy-haired marksman was no fool. He may not have gotten the highest scores in school or knew all the in's and out's of political diplomacy, but understanding people? That he could do.
So it didn't take him long after joining the renowned "hero" Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang's team, to figure out there was something more than a respectful working relationship going on with the Flame Alchemist and his adjutant.
The first few weeks in East City had been benign, textbook even. The unrest in Ishval was starting to feel more past than present and the Amestrian military was finally settling into a monotonous routine. What the second lieutenant knew would turn into a ragtag team of soldiers was starting to come together, slowly but surely. Havoc's old buddy Breda from the academy had also signed on to the flame colonel's troupe, and they would soon be adding another, some brainy kid fresh out of the academy who knew his way around a radio.
It had been a long week, and Jean suggested they all spend their night off right...with a lot of alcohol.
Heymans was on board immediately, as well as a few other stragglers outside the team who were distant pals of the two of them. The lieutenant had already witnessed his superior's expert handling of the more feminine variety of military employees and was interested in gleaning some of his skills for the night, so he'd been an instant invite. The lieutenant-colonel had mountains of paperwork (as Jean was beginning to discover was a common theme), but he still smiled charmingly and agreed to come along, much to his new assistant's chagrin.
Ah, and that was where the second lieutenant started to wonder. He'd extended the invite to her, of course, but hadn't been the slightest bit surprised that she'd immediately turned it down. Second Lieutenant Hawkeye was a woman of routine, that much he'd discovered. For all the notoriety of her wartime reputation, the "Hawk's Eye" was nothing more than a quiet organizer and an effective presence forcing them to finish their paperwork. For all his people smarts, Jean knew she was the last person he'd expect to find at a bar.
Still, the rapidly growing "Team Mustang" was persistent. Breda seemed like a harmless, pudgy fellow a bit too entranced by sandwiches, but he was a master sweet-talker. Combined with the suspicious goading of their superior, Hawkeye never stood a chance. After enough convincing, she sighed, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and agreed to spare an hour or two. Good enough for the rest of them.
After finishing the last dredges of the week's work, the group (minus Hawkeye, who wanted to go home and change) made their way to a cozy bar not far from headquarters. It didn't take much time for them to settle at a table, blast through a few rounds, and become boisterously taken by the night.
The more inebriated Havoc got, the more confident he became. That confidence manifested itself the moment a pretty group of women settled into the table a few spots over from theirs. Jean had quickly voiced his interest to the rest of the men, who all shamelessly agreed. Taking his moment, the lieutenant propositioned his superior for the help he'd long sought after. There was only one issue with that plan, however.
Where Havoc had hoped he'd find a wingman, he'd gotten a competitor.
Mustang had tossed back the last of his drink (what number it was, no one knew) and swaggered over to the group, knowing he couldn't disappoint. His subordinate figured he'd say a few sweet words, get them giggling, and start listing the accolades of his "dashing" second lieutenant (who just so happened to be freshly single). Instead, the lieutenant-colonel had settled right in, the women fawning over the powerful man in a uniform in seconds.
Needless to say, Jean Havoc felt positively betrayed.
Drowning his sorrows in another pint of beer while Breda practically chortled from his side, Havoc lamented, "How the hell does he do it? One look and they're all melting into puddles at his feet. And here I thought all that womanizing talk was just for show."
With a knowing twinkle in his eye, Breda slapped his buddy on the back. "Don't take it personally, man. I have a feeling he'll find something else to occupy his time eventually."
"Sorry I'm late," a new voice spoke from the side of their table. Havoc lifted his head to find Hawkeye warily sizing the group up, no doubt wondering how much she'd missed. While objectively Jean knew the astute second lieutenant didn't live her entire life in a military uniform, he was still surprised to find her in a knee length skirt and flattering blouse, switching her bulky boots for light pink flats. It was hard to remember she was a young, beautiful woman, when she chose to define herself as something entirely different most of the time.
Still, Havoc didn't want to be caught staring. And he was still positively bristling from his superior taking all his potential dates. He invited her to sit and listen to him mope, which earned a small and somewhat amused smile, the closest he'd seen to happiness from her since they'd started working together. "I think I'll need a drink first," she told him in a rare teasing tone before turning and walking toward the bar, a strangely high number of eyes following her form.
Breda shook his head and shoved against his distraught and slightly tipsy friend. "Don't drag everyone else into your pity party, Havoc. This was supposed to be a casual get together after a long week of work."
"Yeah, well, say that to our boss. First chance he got to flirt, he took it." He'd only been working under Mustang for a few weeks, but he still couldn't keep the bitter tone from his voice.
Surprising him, Breda let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think you need to worry about him anymore. Seems he's got other things on his mind," he spoke, gesturing over to where Hawkeye had gone. Confused, Havoc turned to look toward the direction Breda had indicated and tilted his head curiously. In what had felt like an instant, the group of giggling, fawning women was instantly forgotten. There, casually leaned against the surface of the bar, with a suspiciously relaxed and familiar gaze, was their "womanizing" superior. Despite the multitude of beautiful women milling about, the notorious playboy had his eyes on only one. The colonel and lieutenant spoke casually, fondly even. Gone was the Flame Alchemist's cocky and devilish smile, replaced with a softness around his eyes none of them had ever witnessed.
What was even more shocking was seeing the way Lieutenant Hawkeye's entire form had relaxed. She clearly wasn't comfortable in a setting such as this, but nevertheless looked quite at ease as she discussed something with her superior. Knowing the two of them, it was no doubt boring and work-related but….still. The way their entire countenances changed instantly in each other's presence was all the evidence Havoc needed.
Sobering up momentarily, the second lieutenant turned away from the pair and brought his glass to his lips. In a weird way it felt almost wrong to look upon them like that. They were in the middle of a busy bar, sure, but the intimacy they were showing felt too private to ever be a part of. Suddenly, the rumors concerning his superiors that he'd refused to believe were even slightly plausible felt a lot more real.
Not his place, Havoc immediately decided. Most didn't like to give him credit for things like this, but he was no fool.
With a new spring in his step, Havoc set down his drink, straightened his jacket, and got up from the table, every cheesy pick-up line in the book ready to go. Suddenly Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang felt like a substantially smaller threat than he used to.