A is for Acetone
Acetone /ˈæsɪˌtəʊn/ noun - A colorless, volatile, extremely flammable liquid ketone that is widely used as a solvent, for example in nail-polish remover.
"You really shouldn't be doing that."
Rebecca jerked in surprise and then whirled to face the owner of the voice, who was leaning casually against the door frame.
"And why not? She said that I could!" Rebecca replied, with a proud toss of her head.
"Oh? And just when was that? Because she's been unconscious since before you arrived," Colonel Mustang retorted. "She only got out of surgery an hour ago, and the doctors already told me that the sedatives hadn't worn off yet." Rebecca gave him her prettiest pout, but Mustang was immune to such tactics, and merely raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he demanded.
"Oh, all right, fine," Rebecca admitted, looking away. "I used to beg her to let me do it back when we were in the Academy together, but since it was against regulations, she always turned me down."
Mustang frowned.
"So you waited until she was helpless, in no condition to give her consent, and then just went ahead and did what you liked?" he asked.
"Well geez, when you put it like that, it sounds creepy," Rebecca mumbled, frowning slightly.
"I ought to call security and have you thrown out on your ass," Mustang replied gruffly, crossing his arms.
"Aw come on, what's the big deal, anyway?" Rebecca pouted more genuinely this time. And then her face suddenly brightened. "Come on, I'll let you do the left one," she cajoled, offering him the tiny bottle with an enticing little shake. In spite of himself, Mustang's lips twitched.
"You're doing it all wrong, anyhow," he said, giving in at last and striding toward her. He waved her aside imperiously, and Rebecca cheerfully relinquished her place at the end of Riza's hospital bed. Dispassionately, Mustang examined Rebecca's handiwork.
"You spilled some on the sheet," he admonished her.
"Hey, only because somebody came sneaking up behind me," Rebecca grumbled, fumbling with the little case she'd left on the visitor's chair beside the bed. "And since she's unconscious and not exactly cooperative, the angle wasn't ideal to start with. Here," she added, and passed him a cotton ball soaked in acetone.
With firm, even strokes, Mustang fastidiously removed the smudged nail polish from his Lieutenant's middle toe.
"I can't believe she's slept through all this," he said, chancing a glance at Hawkeye's face.
"I guess they gave her the good drugs," Rebecca shrugged. "I've already trimmed and filed all her nails, rubbed oil into the cuticles, and given her a nice clear coat, and she hasn't so much as flinched." Mustang paused and shot her a suspicious glare.
"You've done all that in such a short time?" Rebecca shrugged with a little half-smile.
"What can I say? I'm a pro," she said.
"How'd you even get all this stuff together so quickly? Have you just been carrying it around every day in the hopes that she'd suddenly ask you for a pedicure?" he asked. Rebecca grinned a little wickedly, and Mustang shook his head. "Never mind, I don't think I want to know. So what other colors did you bring? This blue one's far too flashy to suit our Lieutenant," he added, gently adjusting Hawkeye's foot in his hand so that he could rub the garish polish off of her other nails as well. Rebecca snorted.
"Spoilsport. Here," she said, dumping out the bag. Four other bottles rolled onto the crisp white hospital sheets, and Mustang frowned over them for a moment before selecting a deep, rich red. "Going for the classic look, huh? Excellent choice," she added.
"Classics are classics for a reason. Although I'm sure this hideous teal blue is 'in' this season," he said absently.
"Naughty Nautical," Rebecca supplied.
"Beg pardon?" Mustang said, raising his eyes. Rebecca grinned.
"The color. It's called Naughty Nautical."
"Ugh, really?" he replied, grimacing faintly as he returned to his task.
"Yep! And yes, it's the season's hottest color right now," she explained.
"Be that as it may, I still think it's too much for someone who doesn't normally wear nail lacquer."
"What, you think she'll be less likely to strangle us both if she likes the color?" Rebecca asked, amused.
"One can only hope. Although she'd never admit she liked the color, even under torture," he returned, chuckling. Rebecca just grinned and sat back to watch him work.
Mustang applied himself to his task with the same single-minded focus he normally reserved for avoiding paperwork and flirting with secretaries in short skirts. Oddly enough, he seemed to know his way around a bottle of nail lacquer.
"You know," Rebecca said, after watching him quietly for a few moments. "You're suspiciously good at this." Mustang blew lightly on the wet polish before answering her.
"I had eight foster sisters growing up," he explained. "They had me fully trained in the mysterious feminine art of the mani-pedi before I'd hit puberty. And if you share that information with anyone else, ever, I'll tell Major Armstrong that you're harboring a secret desire is to bear his offspring, due to a fervent wish to ensure the continuation of the glorious Armstrong family line for the benefit of future generations," he added, nonchalantly. Rebecca blanched.
"You wouldn't!" she cried. Mustang shrugged.
"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"
"All right, all right! I'll swear secrecy to my grave or whatever. Cripes, and I thought Riza was good at threats," she mumbled.
"Who do you think I learned that one from?" Mustang asked, grinning. "Here, your turn," he added, passing her the bottle.
Mustang had just put the finishing touches on the clear top coat when the Lieutenant finally stirred.
"Where'm I?" she slurred softly. Mustang bit back a grin. Hawkeye was always so adorably confused when she'd been drugged, whether it was pain pills or anesthesia.
"You're in the hospital, dearest," Rebecca spoke up, patting her friend's hand. "You had to have your appendix out, remember? Sharp abdominal pains? Collapsed suddenly in the middle of the office? Scared the crap out of everyone there?"
"Huh. Nope, don't remember," she replied, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy toddler.
A nurse came in, then, effectively distracting everyone as she asked questions and noted down vitals on Hawkeye's chart. Rebecca took the opportunity to sweep the various implements and bottles back into the cosmetic bag unnoticed. Mustang stayed sitting where he was at the end of the bed, somehow managing to look as though he belonged there.
"How're you feeling, Lieutenant?" Mustang asked when the nurse finally bustled away again.
"Well, my stomach kinda hurts. And my feet are cold," she complained, wriggling her toes. And then her eyes narrowed and suddenly became more alert. "Why are my feet cold?" she demanded, looking from Mustang to Catalina accusingly. Mustang arranged what he hoped was an innocent expression on his face and quickly flipped the blanket back over Hawkeye's exposed feet.
"There we go, problem solved!" Rebecca said, shifting to hide the cosmetic bag behind her in the visitor's chair she'd claimed.
"Rebecca, I swear to god, if you've just painted my nails 'Roarrrange' or 'Golden Goddess' again, I'll…I'll do something horrible to you," she said, craning her neck to see her feet.
"Really, that's the best you can do?" Rebecca retorted. "Guess they gave you even better drugs than I thought, if you can't even manage a proper threat."
"Shush, you. Everything's still sorta foggy. I'm sure I'll think of something, though, don't you worry," Hawkeye said. Her eyelids were beginning to droop. Rebecca and Mustang exchanged looks. And then Rebecca grinned evilly.
"Well, as it happens, I wasn't the one who painted your toes, so you're threatening the wrong person." Hawkeye blinked a few times and then turned a perplexed look on her commanding officer.
"Et tu, Domine?" she murmured drowsily. And then her eyes slowly drifted closed again.
By the time she'd regained consciousness, Rebecca had gone, and there were several vases full of flowers sitting on the bedside table. Mustang was absently rearranging a sprig of baby's breath in a bouquet of soft yellow roses, his back to her. Hawkeye carefully edged her foot loose from the blankets, not entirely sure whether she'd been dreaming or not.
At the sight of the pretty red polish, she sighed. Mustang chuckled and turned to face her.
"I wondered how long it would take you to check, once you'd regained consciousness," he said, smiling.
"She's done this to me every time I've ended up in the hospital," Hawkeye explained softly, studying her scarlet toes. "I'm pretty sure she picks the most outrageous colors she can find just to annoy me."
"Ah, that explains the eye-searing blue and the rather alarming shade of pink she had with her," Mustang said as he sank into the visitor's chair.
"Red is far too tame for her taste, it must have had a ridiculous name for her to have picked it up. Did she happen to tell you what it was called?" Hawkeye asked. Mustang's smile turned coy.
"True Love's Flame," he said. "I thought it was rather appropriate, myself."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir, the next time you find yourself laid up in the hospital and I've got time on my hands," Hawkeye said serenely.
Mustang's face paled.
"I hope you'll remember, Lieutenant, that without my intervention, your nails would have been defaced with something called 'Naughty Nautical,'" he said, somewhat nervously. "I chose the least offensive alternative!"
"I'll take it under advisement, sir," she replied, hiding a smirk.
After all, he had done a pretty nice job.
A.N. So...I meant to write a one-shot, but it appears I've started myself an alphabet challenge in the process. (Which will be updated very, VERY sporadically. I am accepting prompts for upcoming letters, though, so if you have a word you'd like to see me tackle, feel free to PM me!)
This chapter is dedicated to ssadropout, who wanted to see a story about Roy painting Riza's toenails. Hope you enjoyed it, my dear! :D
xoxo Janie