#7: Crime and Punishment

Walking down the damp, chilly, and dimly lit hallway, Hawkeye had to renew her effort to keep the dismal circumstances and hopelessness at bay. The echoing footsteps from her escorts' uniform dress shoes added to hers only served to increase the desolation. They were all immaculately dressed, uniforms and accessories per regulations, but even so, she would never feel apart of them. They weren't family after all; only Mustang's established group would ever hold that privilege.

Her side felt empty, lighter, and naked at the missing weight of her gun. That'd been the first thing they'd done before even allowing her past the security gate, taking her precious love, her heart and life…or was it simply the means to that? But it didn't matter now. If worst came to worst and she'd given in to the temptation of drawing it, there'd be no place to hide in this corridor of open-barred cells from her escorts' assault rifles. But it really didn't matter, it was long since removed and she could already see his cell.

There he sat nonchalantly on his cot, covers pushed off to one side and legs bent, one under him and one knee propping up an arm, his coat discarded beside him and the sleeves on his under shirt messily rolled. His head was bent forward slightly, hair obscuring his face, and she was sure his eyebrows were drawn together in concentration. She knew he heard them, who couldn't with how their footfalls reverberated, but he was scribbling away ever incessantly in his book, as he always did when he had free time, and he wouldn't look up until he finished that thought.

And knowing him as she did, she simply waited for that moment to arrive as she stood before his cell after having involuntarily quickened her pace and pulled away from her friends, watching the muscles in his partly revealed forearm as they strained in his frenzied scrawling. The two guards on either side of his cell had glanced at each other momentarily at the officer that had darted between them before nodding and moving to the newly arrived soldiers via escort duty, talking quietly while maintaining watchful gazes on their respective charges.

Her fingers wrapped themselves around two bars, but she refrained from calling him just yet. She knew how important his thoughtful silence was to him and how it was even more so when he was really working. But the tension and anxiety boiling in her chest couldn't be contained any longer, and the froth that spilled from her lips in the form of his rank burned sharply before its sudden heat dissipated into the cool air.

"Hawkeye."

The surprised look in his eyes and the relieved, gentle smile that blossomed at her worried voice only served to strengthen the constrictions seizing her chest rather than offering the relief she'd been seeking. He was physically fine, and appeared to be mentally, as well. But the situational aspect was decidedly…non idyllic. Her hands gripped ever tighter on the bars in her unease as she watched him lazily fold his pen into the book's spine, stand, and walk to her. She pried the loosening digits and her eyes away as he stuck his hands through to let his arms rest on the cross bar and wiped them on her pants embarrassedly.

Looking up unsteadily from her nervous actions, knowing he could see them for what they truly were, she passed his undone collar with little thought on to his face. This state of 'undress' was normal for him when not working and she'd been privy to it plenty a time, but it was the unguarded look on a face she was so used to seeing as moderately stern that threw her into an angry spin, however.

"Colonel!" she whispered, anger and frustration combining with other emotions she couldn't quite separate to bring her heated tone into manifestation. "At least look like you're taking this seriously," she half-pleaded in that same tone, eyes scoping his face.

"Oh, please," he responded, closing his eyes in making a scolding face, his voice free from…anything, really; his serious voice. And looking upon her again, finished, "I'm no longer your commanding officer."

Her eyes narrowed at the hasty conclusion and his attitude, it only adding more fuel, funny how his trademark fit him too well, to the fire burning in the upper branches, continually spurred by one Roy Mustang. "I think you're being a little too impulsive, sir. It's only a court-martial."

A sigh heavy with exhaustion was proffered prior to his damning words, a shake of his head given as some sort of perverted consolation. "If it was only a hearing, don't you think I'd be under house arrest and not locked in a dingy cell?" He looked at her through the sides of his eyes, face breaking at her classic don't-be-stupid-sir expression. How many more times would he get to see it?

"Abuse of rank, insubordination, insurrection, conspiracy with intent to murder…murder," he listed solemnly, watching his favored black book bounce as it hung from his hand through the bars. "Do you think they would imprison a State Alchemist and vaunted war hero for only a charge?" He glanced to her face briefly, his tone serious as he delivered the sarcastic words. "Yeah, I was sentenced long before they actually found me. They even took my watch," he laughed bitterly.

"No, my dear Hawkeye," she didn't much like his tone at all, "I think it's safe to expect transfer orders within the week."

Her eyebrows pulled together, the tightness they caused in her face strengthening her frown. His uncanny scrutiny, words, and dropped honorifics increasingly dashing any hopes she had left remaining with the more time she spent dwelling on them.

"Still, sir," she offered, her quiet timbre gentle, "wait until tomorrow."

His eyes were locked onto hers, held fast by her earnestness, and he could only give a tilted nod.

She nodded back, breaking eye contact to look down in chastisement at having over-stepped her bounds. She pulled away and straightening her posture, nodded to the guards that she was ready to go.

Roy straightened jerkily in surprise as she began to move away, voice illustrating it as clearly as his body language, "Uh, Hawkeye! Here!" He pulled a single piece of paper, folded into thirds, out from his little book, and held it out to her. "Take this…please."

"One last order?"

He smiled, grateful for her diligence and loyalty, and yet rueful for the same reasons. "A…request, from a friend, an acquaintance. Let us at least be that much."

"Sir?"

"If worse comes to worst."

She tucked the letter away and halted the hand in its salute at his look before nodding and walking away, the fading echoes of her steps dragging out her goodbye and painfully reinforcing his isolation. He sighed to himself as he stood bent, head against the bars as his hands dangled from between them, the book in his right hand capturing his blank sight. He stood after all trace of her ever having been there was gone and the guards once again returned to his cell's sides, combing a hand through his hair before sinking back onto his cot to record what he could in the time still left.

I've always wanted to write something regarding a court-martial for certain actions Roy's committed during the show/manga and this is the result. I've decided to cut it off there and not continue on with the results to keep it ambiguous like this so that no special knowledge is required to complete this piece. And though some might consider this to be spoiler-ish, only those who've actually seen all the episodes will get what could be taken as spoilers as spoilers, but they'll also get the situation this is taken from. What situation, you ask? Well, if I told you that, I wouldn't be living up to my goals, now would I? There is nothing specific that could've been spoiled in this piece, so don't worry FMA newbs. All is well, in here.

Coincidentally, I finally obtained access to the RoyAi 100 challenge translations and this fits marvelously well to theme #7: Crime and Punishment. I may end up converting this story to house the rest of the responses to that… Scratch that, I think I will. So, as a result, there'll be ranged entries from full on prose to drabbles; if I can ever stop at a drabble. My attempts thus far have failed and I've learned that I'm a horrible study in drabble-dabbling.