"Aw, c'mon Chief, you could debate the entire council in your sleep!"
"I know. We sleep on the same bed. It had been hell."
It was a usual night in Central—not-so-crowded traffic, starry sky cloaked by the city's light pollution, pedestrians scattered on the sidewalk. Slurred drunk men in the alleys. Nothing exceptional.
Usual night indeed for a gang of people—who proudly proclaimed themselves as 'Team Mustang'—to have their usual men's night out in Madame's bar, having been completed its renovation earlier that year after being blown-up prior to The Promised Day.
Although, technically speaking, that night out wasn't one of their usual drinking agenda. Breda had just been promoted to First Lieutenant recently—much to Havoc's dismay. He kept blaming his rehabilitation progress, which according to him, went on at a sluggish pace—so his mates kept nagging him to take them all on a treat. He refused at first, but consented to do so after the General suggested to drink at Madame's, promising him some sorts of discount. Besides, Breda did enjoy drinking. He was a heavy drinker to begin with, possessing much higher alcohol tolerance above anyone else in the team. Even Havoc.
How could he be so certain?
Well, they had been drinking together for years. A lot. Breda was a strategist, highly calculating and could easily pick up things most people won't notice right away. But considering the amount of night-outs they had, he didn't have to be one to conclude his friends' drinking habit.
Fuery would pass out if he indulge more than two glasses of beer. Enough said.
Falman had a habit of explaining bad effects the alcohol had on human's brain every single time somebody suggest them to have one. Most of the time, Mustang insisted to treat him on non-alcoholic beverages the bar could offer so that he agreed to have some fun 'bonding time' with the rest of his men. But after he came back from the freezing Briggs, he seemed to had picked up drinking habit and built up quite a tolerance. Survival of the fittest—you drink, or you die.
Hawkeye had never chosen stronger beverages. Yet, she could endure several glasses of beer and still had the capability to drive every single one of them home. Nobody had seen her got drunk before—except the General, and Catalina, perhaps?—she always cut it off before the alcohol got the better of her. The closest she was to being drunk Breda had ever witnessed was red tinges on her face, drowsy eyes, and that she became more cheerful. It was the only time he should drove everyone home, despite her protests.
Havoc and Mustang alwaysset up a competition on who could drink more before one of them pass out. Havoc won more, but it wasn't uncommon either when Mustang did. They were basically on par. The former would start sobbing out of nowhere when the alcohol effects started creeping in. Then the sobs would turn into curse words—mostly about a certain someone who always steal all of his dates—and then he passed out. The latter would become threefolds flirtier everytime the alcohol gets him. There was this one time when Havoc won in an unfair way. Mustang got a bit drunk (and a lot dumber) and attempted to kiss his Captain in front of everyone, only to be punched in the face afterwards—effectively knocking him out even before his seventh glass. Until now, he still had no idea why he woke up with bruised left eye the following morning.
Breda himself rarely got drunk. He needed a shitload of beer to become one, but sadly his wallet won't let him (which meant, automatically, hard liquor was out of question either). According to Hawkeye, that one time when the stars aligned and he actually got drunk, he would challenge random strangers into a fight. It was a relieve that he could stay sober enough at the end of every drinking session.
So, there they were, sitting around a rounded table in the bar. On a Friday night. After dealing with a surprisingly frantic day in the office. The Madame was kind enough to gave out liquors for free—practically saving him from skipping dinner for one hellish week ahead. He remembered her saying "Tell your Elizabeth to drink more and have fun," while lifting her chin to his boss. He cut it there, deciding that overanalyzing things could lead to dangerous misinformation regarding his two superior officers.
Of course he knew. He wasn't dumb. The thing between them had been there for years—or even long before that, he pledged. The late Brigadier General Hughes started a betting pool with them and Lt. Col. Armstrong—in which the Elrics and Lt. Rebecca Catalina invested afterwards—on how long the two of them would be together. The wager varied from months to a decade—well, Falman was rather optimistic, while Edward doubted the Flame Alchemist had enough balls to ask her out (in his opinion, it would be vice versa). Then he said something about 'damn fraternization' and how he would drink a galloon of milk in front of everyone if it ever happened.
But he chose to be wise and not point it out, avoiding unnecessary harm from being inflicted. Havoc teased Hawkeye about it once during work. Her expression made the rest of the day went by in productivity, with nobody daring to say a word or slack off.
Their talks went from one topic to another in a relatively quick pace. First they talked about how good the boozes was, then about Mustang's 'sisters' (Havoc tried to seduce a few of them, in which he failed miserably), and the topic changed into how gears in a car worked (it took everyone's effort to shut Falman up before he started recounting a whole automobile article). Suddenly, they were gambling on how much longer it would be before Fuery drop his head onto the table in defeat. (Hawkeye blinked several times when she won the prize, saying "I was just teasing him when I said he would be over in one more shot!")
It stayed like that for hours.
Just when they started talking about the way those stray cats Alphonse adopted wrecked the Rockbell household, their focus shifted into work matters with mostly Mustang nagging about how the current brass just intentionally made things hard for him. At that point he, Havoc and his boss were the only ones actively participating in that particular topic. Falman just nodded and commented occassionally. Hawkeye and Fuery only sat there in silence—gosh, is this kid seriously over already?
Havoc snorted at the General as he poured himself his fifth glass of vodka. "Aw, c'mon Chief, you could debate the entire council in your sleep!"
"I know. We sleep on the same bed. It had been hell."
The entire table stunned. Four pairs of wide eyes stared at their Captain in utter disbelief, as if they just witnessed lightning strucked the ground out of nowhere on a bright sunny day. The said Captain just looked back lazily after finishing her sherry in a few gulps. "What?"
At that point, Breda noticed the redness on her cheeks. It was not the usual flush he saw—it was, well, more than that? "Err, Captain?" He asked, "how much alcohol did you have?" His eyes laid on the empty bottles near her. She had been drinking that much when we weren't looking?
Good heaven. He knew he was the one to drive tonight.
Mustang, inspite of being shocked, gathered his composure in no time. "Nonsense, Captain." He chuckled, "who told you I talk in my sleep?"
"Nobody told her, Sir. She said she was there when you did." Havoc throwed a lopsided grin. "Tell us, Ri, how did it happen?"
Roy glared at the sand-haired man. "Havoc, taking her current condition into account, the Captain is not fully aware of everything she says, so I would like you to ref—"
"He usually just show up unannounced in front of my door."
Usually. Jean Havoc turned to face his commanding officer, vicious smile on his face. "You sure, General? She seems pretty honest to me."
The said man scowled. "Can't you see she's just tricking you?" He hissed. His subordinate suppressed a laughter. Prove it, he mouthed and gave a condescending look.
Roy was drenched in cold sweat. But the cat had been out then—he had no choice but to play along. Very well. "Don't be silly, Hawkeye."
"I am not, Sir. You are."
"I'm not blaming you for fantasizing Central City's cassanova sleeping on your bed," Breda saw the General rested his chin on his tauted fingers—what's with that seducing look? Is he out of his mind? "You don't have to make up things if you want me to do as such, Captain. You just have to ask me."
The blonde woman hiccuped—the hell? Breda thought—"I didn't even expect it, General. You insisted."
Falman choked on his beer.
Mustang flustered. "Captain," he lowered his voice, "I am, and definitely you are, aware of the fraternization law and the consequences of breaking it."
"I am. But you said something about my grandfather being the current Fuhrer."
Havoc was about to whistle when Breda elbowed him, hard.
"Keep putting the blame on me, eh, Captain? I recall you do enjoy them nevertheless. In other words, you too are guilty."
Hawkeye deadpanned. "Honestly, Sir," she paused, as if she was trying to give an emphasis, "you aren't that good."
That was when Havoc lost himself and laughed out loudly. Falman didn't bother to pour anymore—he gulped his beer directly from the bottle, trying not to get involved in whatever madness his fellow commissioned officers did. Fuery was—oh well, bless that kid for not knowing anything, Breda mused. He just ran his right palm through his face, not sure what he was trying to wipe off.
As for Mustang, he was red to the neck. Breda eyed him in sympathy as he raised to his knee. "Very well, Lieutenant. That's enough alcohol for you. I'm going to kindly drive you home. Now."
She shot him her blank face and hazy eyes when he pulled her arms and forced her to stand up—gripping her shoulders to support her afterwards.
"I am not a Lieutenant anymore, Sir. Eventhough you usually call me by my previous rank on bed."
Breda swore it was the first time he saw the Hero of Ishval looked so helpless. Not useless—helpless.
"That's enough, Riza Hawkeye. Let's go."
She tilted her head. "I thought you insisted me to let you call me 'Riza Mustang' instead?"
Mustang shook his head in defeat. He decided not to talk to her anymore and turned to leave—but not before he glared at each of his remaining subordinates at the table.
"What happened in this bar, stay in this bar." He growled rigidly. Havoc's laughter stopped immediately as he heard his boss' voice. The three off them stiffened, now sitting with their back straight.
"You are under strict order not to let every single word that had been said previously leave this table. Is that understood?"
His voice left no room for arguments.
So the three conscious soldiers just stood up and saluted. "Yes, Sir!"
They sat back as they watched the two figures left the scene—Mustang spoke to Madame Christmas briefly before he exited the bar.
Nobody said anything for a moment.
"Say, Heymans," Havoc broke the silence, his blue eyes still fixed on the bar entrance door. "What's that?" "Should we tell Becky that she won an astonishing amount of money first—considering she has the closest bet to the reality—or we tell the Fullmetal boss to drag his ass here and drink a shitload of milk in front of the Central HQ main gate?"
"None." The bulked man shook his head, "we still spend 5 days a week—heck, even more—being in close proximity to the Flame Alchemist, who has the highest probability above anyone else to catch our arses on fire. Just leave it here." Jean snorted.
Falman raised to his knees, "We came here by the General's car and now he left us. I am going to call a cab." He said when he caught Havoc's questioning look.
"Wait, Falman," Breda called out, "while you're at it, please tell the bartender to bring me an ice bucket of Scotch Whisky." The older man nodded and left.
Havoc side-glanced him, "getting wasted tonight?" He sighed. "Probably. Besides, it's free."
It was unusual for Heymans Breda to get drunk.
But then, he really needed to forget—even momentarily—the absurdity he just witnessed.
He didn't have to drive that night, after all.
Yet another random idea I had… Based of a tumblr post that said something like
A: You could debate the council in your sleep.
B: I have.
A: I know. We sleep in the same bed. It's been hell.
As for the alcoholic beverages, I don't drink myself, so I just googled about most of them… sorry for the inaccuracies TT I tried. Really. (And sorry for the obnoxious repetition of the word 'usual'...)
Don't drink and drive.
Don't drink if you're still below the legal age.
Thank you for reading. Critics and reviews are welcomed!