It was common knowledge that day that General Hawkeye was not feeling particularly well; her cheeks were flushed from fever and her eyes were slightly glossed over. Diligent in a way that only she could be, she arrived on time and insisted that she stay her full shift despite protests from the Führer himself and their other subordinates.

At 2045 hours, her head dropped to the desk with a muted thump, and she was asleep. It was as simple as that: one minute she was doing everything in her power to stay productive, and the next she was out like a light.

"Ah…General Hawkeye?" Fuery's voice was quiet; though his statement was obviously meant to wake her, he didn't seem at though he was making a concerted effort.

"She's asleep, Fuery. She had a fever yesterday evening as well but refused to take today off." Mustang glanced at her, his brows furrowed as she continued to sleep. "Stubborn as an ox." With that, he pushed away from his desk and started to the closet, digging for his coat.

"Hey Chief, what are you doing?" Havoc chewed absently on the butt of his cigarette, leaning backwards in his chair as his eyes followed his superior officer's movements.

"Getting my coat."

"…Why?"

Mustang swallowed thickly, coat now in his hands as he dug through the pockets. "I can't take it anymore."

Breda nervously glanced around the room. "Take what, sir?"

By then, Mustang was behind Hawkeye's desk. He gingerly draped his black coat over her shoulders, and placed a hand on her forehead. Shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval, he sighed. "She's impossible. Her fever is worse."

Exchanging nervous looks, his subordinates chose—wisely—to hold their tongues.

Now his hands were in his pants pockets, and Mustang was staring anxiously at the sleeping blonde as though desperate to do something. Havoc watched Mustang stare with mild confusion, until his curiosity got the better of him nearly ten minutes later.

"Chief, what are you staring at her for?"

"What?" Snapped from his trance, Mustang looked at Havoc, puzzled.

"You've been staring at Hawkeye for almost ten minutes." After a pause, Havoc snickered quietly. "She's gonna kill you if you don't get back to work, Chief."

"That's all right. She won't kill me," Mustang responded with a quiet confidence, smirking just slightly. "I have something for her." He pulled his hands from his pockets, revealing a small black box.

"No way—"

"Is it a nice ring, at least?"

"I want to see it!"

"This will not get you out of your work, you know."

Mustang started waving his hands to silence them. "Be quiet! You're going to wake her up!" He opened the box to reveal the small ring if only to appease their curiosity. "Now get back to work." Without another word, Mustang carefully placed the box on her desk and returned to his own work.

Almost half an hour later, she woke up. Dazed, she surveyed the room, seeing that everyone was working quietly. Her head was throbbing, and the fact that her coworkers were all on task almost unnerved her. It was then that she realized there was a small box on her desk. "…What's this?" She asked groggily, gently fingering the soft black velvet.

"I don't know," Fuery replied quietly, sounded as though he had scripted the response.

"Just open it." Havoc carefully peered up from his papers, tilting them to shield his gaze, which would allow him to survey her reaction without being noticed.

The small box clicked quietly as she opened it, and her eyes widened like saucers the moment she recognized the small golden ring. "Who left this here?"

"I did, General."

Hawkeye looked to Mustang, still clearly surprised. "Really? Is that so?"

He nodded slowly, his nondescript grin growing. "Well, what do you say?" By then, he was on his feet, standing in front of her desk and admiring the ring as he turned it slowly between his fingertips.

She smiled. "I would be honored."

Quick Note: Short chapters, I know. I just want it to flow right, and the way the original is written is not really conducive to chapters, but it's so long it needed to be broken up.