Title: Regret
Author: Kusagi
Summary: Roy has had a lot of regrets…Some bigger than others.
Rating: T to be on the safe side, due to a bit of suggestiveness closer to the end.
Pairing: Royai if any. Kind of one-sided and yet, the other party isn't necessarily unwilling.
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 1,202.

A/N: I was trying to get to sleep, but at roughly 1AM, I got hit with this idea. I had to write because it wouldn't leave me alone. It's kind of on the crack side, but who cares? Enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: I do not in anyway own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. FMA is © to Hiromu Arakawa, all right reserved. I am not making any profit off my fanwork; I'm just writing this for my own, as well as others, enjoyment.

He had so many regrets. Each one fought for the title of his biggest, but he eventually narrowed it down to a few larger incidents. Such as the one troubling him now. It haunted him, you could almost say. How could he have been so stupid? So foolish to do something like that without thinking of the future consequences? Who cared if it seemed logical then? He didn't. He desperately wished he had never done it. Of course he never told anyone, he couldn't. Of course not. What would they say? They would think he was insane.

And it all came down to that faithful day several years ago. He had been a Lieutenant Colonel at the time. That was the day when his brain decided to actually take notice to details. Such as the fact that Second Lieutenant Hawkeye's hair was longer than he normally remembered. She was growing it out after all this time? It was strange he thought, but not unwelcome. He started imagining her with longer hair, immediately finding that he favored the idea. She would look so nice with long blonde hair and he liked the thought of running his finger through it . . . He was sure it would be soft. So soft and shiny and smelling of flower-scented shampoo.

His daydreaming would get worse quickly, his mind drifting off. He had to plan this out. If she had long, elegant hair, it wouldn't look right with the military issued uniform. No, that uniform was far too baggy and . . . Blue. He will never forget this exact hue of blue, though he could try all he wanted. It was engraved into his brain, never to come out. It got annoying. In his daydreaming, Hawkeye's new hair needed a different uniform to go with it.

So he imagined her in that uniform he vowed to one day issue to all female officers. It had black heels, tinted stockings, the perfectly measured miniskirt, and a form-fitting jacket. Ah, yes, that was much better . . . Except it was still blue. Curse that blue. So, after trying to find a way to get out of the blue, he thought of her in civilian clothes. That was nice. She would wear simple but pretty civilian clothes, he was sure. Well, maybe not one hundred percent sure, but close enough.

So long as she wasn't in uniform, he couldn't ask for much more. He hated that uniform, especially on her. It was too baggy and left too much for the imagination. He needed to speed this process up. He wanted to encourage her to grow her hair out, without being rude or implying that she looked bad with short hair. So that night after work, he went out and bought a hairclip.

Of all his stupid mistakes.

Why did he do it? He proudly presented her with the gift the next day, saying that he noticed her longer hair and the clip would come in handy once it grew even more. She seemed happy when she thanked him; he figured she was glad that he was thoughtful enough to buy it for her, and even notice the difference in the first place. He had gotten so cocky, happy with himself and his keen . . . Noticing . . . Erm, skills, if you could call it that.

And so time went by, her hair growing longer and longer. He had seen it at shoulder length once, and the next day it was clipped back. She had messed with it a lot that day, since her hair was just long enough to be pulled back, but not quite long enough to stay pulled back. He beamed when he saw his gift in her hair, happy that she still had it and was using it. But that was until he never saw it out of her hair.

He assumed her hair kept growing, though he frustratingly would never know for sure how much. Her hair was always put into that tight bun-ish looking . . .Thing! All because of his stupid gift. How could he run his fingers through soft, shiny, silky, smooth, and flowery-scented hair, when it was tied up everyday? So here is now, years later, filled with regret over his mistake. He could have at least given her a hair tie instead, that way he could see even just a little more of her hair. But no, he had to get a hairclip. And to top it off, she was still in that baggy blue uniform! How he loathed both the uniform and now the hairclip, too. He wished they would just disappear all together.

Now there was thought.

Oooh, yes, he liked that idea. The office and all of his work seemed to slip away as his mind played through a new fantasy . . . A fantasy he much enjoyed, far more than the others even. One where there were no clothing imperfections or any worry about her hair; there was nothing. Nothing indeed. Maybe less was more and maybe, he wondered, he really did like plainness more than he originally thought. That is, if plainness meant nothing but skin. Okay, so it didn't in most cases. Not that he cared, he was far too enticed with imaginary of the – his – Lieutenant, sprawled out on his desk. Reality could wait, he was busy.

And he swore he could hear her calling him. It was his rank, rather than his name though. But it worked in that . . . Particular situation. Normally he got so tired of hearing "Colonel" from her mouth, but it sounded different when she used it then. It sounded right. She was saying it more frequently, gently at first, but then harder and louder. Until finally she about screamed it.

In fact, the scream was so realistic, he woke up. Oh. And there she was, clad in blue, accompanied by that . . . That . . . Disgusting hairclip. He looked around briefly, realizing that he fell asleep while fantasizing. Oops.

"Colonel, honestly, I've been trying to wake you up for nearly three minutes now. How many times must I tell you to not fall asleep during work hours?" she scolded him, almost like a mother would to child. He tried to look innocent, but he really wasn't. And he couldn't keep a professional face with her now, courtesy of his dream.

"Well, I . . . Erm . . . Sorry." It was all he could say. He glanced to her pinned up hair, cursing it mentally. Just look at the mess he was in now, all because of IT.

She sighed, disappointed with his pathetic excused. "Don't let it happen again, okay? Now please get some work done, sir." She then went back to her desk, sitting down to finish up her paperwork. He looked over to her, wishing that the hairclip would disappear. Vanish. Evaporate. Combust. He didn't care, so long as it was gone. Hesitantly, he grabbed a pen and began his work in a foul mood.

Yes, of all his regrets, giving her that stupid hair-trapping-prison had to be one of his biggest.

A/N: Right, so there it is! Comments, critiques, flames, whatever, don't really care, but please review. Once again, this was just some random piece that I thought of last night and couldn't rest until it was out of my head.