DISCLAIMER: All recognizable material belongs to Funimation/ Aniplex. I take no credit and make no profit from the use of these characters, events, or setting.

Rain hammered at the bulletproof glass windows of the office, a place that was beginning to replace home for Roy Mustang. He'd spent God knew how many nights there, staying long past when he should have gone home. Once his men had reported (they hadn't known that he knew they were spying on him, but he wasn't their superior for nothing) that he put off his paperwork for as long as possible, then at the end of the day rushed through it, claiming he hadn't had the time to do it. But ever since Hughes had been killed, Mustang had been burying himself in his work, trying to suppress his grief, his guilt. He'd spent countless hours turning over the possibilities in his head, examining the different ways he could have prevented his friend's death. He didn't really sleep anymore, because every time he closed his eyes, Maes' face was right there to torture him. His dreams consisted of Elysia getting shot, Maes' suggestions to find a wife becoming death threats, and basically every variation of every person he knew getting hacked down right in front of him. Even his old nightmares from Ishval were resurfacing.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't handle the sea of black and white that, in all honesty, did nothing to dull the pain. He needed to make it stop. Now.

Roy banged his chair against the wall as he shot out of his seat, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack, and slammed the door behind him. His military uniform shoes clicked against the tiles on the floor, echoing throughout the empty building as he made his way out.

The night air was chilly; there was no moon in the sky, and thin clouds covered the stars. The wind picked up, kicking up leaves and litter off the abandoned streets. Roy wasn't going home – he was headed to the one place in Central that would still be open at this hour: The Pub. Roy didn't actually know what its name was – he'd never had a reason to – but he knew where it was, and he had the money on him to get him drunk enough to forget for a night.

The bar was loud and obnoxious, and maybe if he was lucky he'd get knocked out in a fistfight. He sat down on the only available barstool, one that looked like it could break under the weight of someone half his size, breathing a small sigh of relief to find that it would hold him. After taking his order, the cross-eyed bartender shoved a mug of beer at him, and slowly the world began to fade.

"Come on, sir, I'm taking you home."

Riza Hawkeye had called Roy seven times with no answer before she decided to come looking for him. This was the first night she hadn't stayed at the office with him to keep an eye on him, and she was worried he would do something stupid… like go and get drunk. She'd never approved of drinking. She felt it was a cowardly way to handle strife, and it did nothing but make a person behave foolishly. Still, she couldn't deny the pang of pity she felt when she saw Roy slumped over the counter, unconscious.

She shook his shoulder again. "Colonel Mustang. Wake up. I'm here to take you home."

Riza felt rather than saw the bartender sizing her up. "I'd be running along if I was you, kid," he said to Roy. "If I had me a broad that fine…"

She'd never appreciated being treated like a piece of meat. "Watch your mouth," she warned the man, giving him a hard glare before grabbing Roy's arm and slinging it over her shoulder. She carried him to her car, half-pushing him into the passenger seat. He was still out like a light. Riza, with a sigh, shut the door and turned around, trudging back to the bar.

The bartender looked surprised to see her. "Well, well, well, look who's back," he commented with a greasy grin.

She couldn't help it. It was two in the morning, she was having to babysit her drunk boss, and she was a soldier who deserved some fucking respect. Riza pulled her gun from its holster faster than he could blink. "Shut up! Give me a glass of water. Now." She wouldn't actually shoot him, but he didn't need to know that.

The man's hands went up automatically. "Hey, I don't mean no troub-"

"I said shut up. Give me a goddamn glass of water before I make you."

Riza didn't have to count even to three before there was a glass in her hand. She slid her gun back in its place and marched out of the bar like its existence offended her. She threw the car door open and tossed the liquid on Roy, who, she realized a little too late, was already beginning to wake up. "Sorry, sir," she apologized quickly.

He didn't react beyond looking up at her with bleary eyes. Riza's eyes locked on his for a brief minute, then she strode around the car to the driver's side and hopped in, starting it and pulling out in one swift movement. Once she had the car going down the long, deserted avenue towards his apartment, she reached behind her to feel around in the back seat for something to dry Roy off with. Finding nothing, she pulled her arm back and frowned. After a long silence elapsed, she asked him, "What were you doing?"

At first, she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then his quiet, sullen voice drifted towards her. "I was trying to forget."

Riza didn't know what to say to that; she hadn't fully realized how hard Brigadier General Hughes' death had hit him. She let the silence return. But glancing over him and the shape he was in, she decided she wasn't letting him go home tonight. She was bringing him to her house so she could make sure he didn't do something stupid. She still remembered the incident in Ishval all too well.

Colonel Mustang didn't even seem to notice that Riza hadn't taken him home; she wasn't sure how much had gotten through to his head in the last half hour at all. With a heavy sigh, she helped him through the door and led him to her couch. She hadn't really thought this through; she didn't have a guest bedroom for him to stay in. She would have to apologize in the morning when he had sobered up.

Turning around, Riza set her coat on the hook next to the door, taking her housekey out of her pants pocket and transferring it to her jacket. Roy, already on the couch, stared at her.

After taking a minute to get settled in, she finally noticed the Colonel's intense gaze trained on her. "What?" she asked uncomfortably.

He was silent for a while. Just as Riza looked as though she'd given up and started to move towards her bedroom, he spoke.

"One of the most common phrases I've heard to describe us is 'dogs of the military,' but I've never really understood why."

She stopped where she stood, confused. "Sir?" Was she in for a drunken ramble? She sighed, already knowing she'd stick around to hear him.

"Dogs are some of the most loyal creatures on earth. They are something to be looked at fondly, not used as derogatory slang. Personally, I think one of the best qualities a human could have is loyalty." He sat up slowly and faced her. "You've always been there for me, Riza. And I haven't ever thanked you for it."

"Sir…"

"Don't 'sir' me. Say my name, Riza."

She shook her head. "Colonel Mustang, you've been drinking."

His eyes watered, and he averted his gaze so she couldn't see. Maybe he had been. Damned if he wasn't justified in doing so. Damned if he didn't mean what he was trying to say. "Will you sit?"

Riza cast him an apprehensive glance, mulled it over, then nodded and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Look, sir, I know how rough it's been for you… losing Brigadier General Hughes… but you can't do this to yourself. Drinking yourself unconscious and burying your pain in your work are not appropriate ways to handle grief," she told him softly.

Roy laughed humorlessly. "Then tell me, O wise Riza, what would be an appropriate way to handle my best friend's death?"

"Why don't you start by talking? Trusting people around you to help you through this? You aren't the only one who misses him," she retorted. Roy thought for a second that he saw a tear forming in her eye, but that wasn't possible. This was Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, tough as nails.

"And who exactly do I turn to? I have no family, no friends outside of work - "

"You have me, sir, unless you don't find a woman's help worth anything if it doesn't come as a distraction in bed."

Roy fell speechless. What was she insinuating? That he slept around? That he used women as toys, as objects that could be disposed of when he got tired of them? Well, maybe it was true… but she had no right to say so.

Riza's eyes widened as she seemed to realize she'd stepped out of line and quickly backpedaled. "I'm so sorry, sir, forgive me, I didn't mean that. It's just - "

"Just what?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

Unless his slightly intoxicated vision was deceiving him, her cheeks were turning pink. "Nothing, sir." She stood up. "I think I had best be going to bed. I'm just making this harder for you, and I swore to protect you." She stood up and quickly began moving towards the hallway.

Without any real conscious decision on his part, Roy found himself standing up and wrapping Riza in his arms, holding her as tightly against him as he could, burying his face in her hair. Riza stood frozen, shocked at her superior's actions. He'd never so much as touched her on purpose before; now he was gripping her like he'd fall apart without her there to hold him up. Roy couldn't recall deciding to do this, but all he knew was that he needed her right now. He needed her not to leave him. God knew how alone he was.

Eventually, she stopped fighting it. Her arms wound themselves around his waist, returning his embrace for all it was worth.

"You protect me in more ways than you'll ever know. I can't thank you enough for always being by my side," he mumbled, his voice muffled by her hair.

Somehow, she still managed to hear him. She looked up into his eyes, bloodshot from the alcohol and from his tears. "You don't have to thank me, Roy. I've always known you were a man worth following."

Riza felt him tremble. "I miss him, Riza," he whispered.

She hugged him tighter. "I miss him too, Roy."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Sorry if my comprehensiveness of the state of being drunk is a little lacking, but I don't drink. I have a part II to this that I'll post if I get enough feedback! *coughcoughREVIEWcough* :)