Hiya guys!

So, the chapters are a little short, I know, but I'm still working on developing the story, yo. ^_^

Anywho,

I own nada!

Enjoy!


Chapter Three: Plan of Attack

In the darkness of Amestris, people steered clear of the streets at night. The murder-spree that turned people into human carving stones made clubs virtually vacant, restaurants close up shop early, and the lights in apartment windows burn brighter.

The only thing that moved at night, with no inhibitions or worries, was the murderer himself.

Or, I suppose you could say, themselves.

The man with the tentacle-esque hair took a swift right into an alley, holding the jacket collar over his nose. The smell of the festering garbage cans was sickening but the hideout was windowless and that spared them all from the putrid stench. He took the stairs that went underground, pulling back the metal door and slipping inside.

"Envy," a soft, seductive voice called. Envy removed his coat, hanging it on a hook. Lust sat on a cushy chair at a round table, holding a sophisticatedly patterned glass in her gloved fingers. Under the light of the overhead lamp, her face was shadowed, but her eyes glowed like that of a cat's. Her dark lips curled into a feline smile at the sight of her comrade.

"Lust-y," he grinned, pulling out a chair at the table. "I need a drink."

As he reached across the table to grab a clean glass and the bottle of whiskey, a thin blade swept down, seemingly out of nowhere, stopping short of just cutting his fingers off. Envy's hand retracted and his brows furrowed over his nose.

"Wrath," Lust sighed, "there's no need to be so temperamental."

"He can drink away after he's reported something of use this time," Wrath's deep baritone retorted. Sliding the sword back into his hilt, the third man in their coalition of killers bent into the light. His black hair was slicked back, his eyepatch was resting comfortably over his left eye, and a crisp police captain's uniform covered him from head to toe. "So, what have you gathered for us?"

"Nothing much," Envy replied, propping his legs on the table, tipping back onto the legs of his chair. "That Hughes fellow is incredibly boring."

Lust sighed. "That's all?" she asked slowly.

"Let's see," the tentacle-haired man began. "Maes Hughes wakes up, goes to work at the Eight Street precinct, does paperwork, makes numerous phone calls to various locations across the city just to spew dribble about his precious little girl and wife, goes to eat lunch at Gorgino's at twelve noon precisely. Afterwards, he returns to work until six in the afternoon, where he takes a cab home to eat dinner with his family in their apartment on West Lynne Avenue."

"Boring," a fourth voice coos from the darkness. With a swift kick of the leg, the legs of Envy's chair snapped, sending the androgynous man falling onto his back. Envy stared up at the face of his assailant, grunting at the familiar features.

"So nice to see you, Greed," Envy drew, sarcasm lacing every letter.

"Now, boys, there's no need for violence," Lust chimed.

"Sorry, Lust, Greed boisterously pronounced, tucking a finger under her chin. "Couldn't help myself."

She swatted his hand away, flicking her wrist, revealing a blade she kept tucked away in her sleeve. As the sun-glassesed Greed took a seat in a spare chair, she set the dagger on the table, turning back to Envy. "So, there's nothing you have on Hughes? Perhaps it's time we move on to another candidate..."

"Well, there was one little detail I thought we might find...useful," Envy practically sang.

"Is that so?" Wrath asked, obviously annoyed by Envy's mere presence.

"Yes, Wrath, it is so." Envy grinned a toothy, malicious grin. "You'll be happy to know that several of the calls Mr. Hughes made was connected to one office in particular: the office of Mustang Investigations."

Closing her eyes, Lust let herself revel in that bit of information.

The door promptly swung open, a tiny figure of a young boy striding in. "Welcome back, Pride," Wrath greeted, with uncharacteristic kindness.

"Hello, Father," the young child replied. He slid the door shut with immaculate ease before joining the others at the table.

"And what have you been up to all day?" the eye-patched man asked.

"I've been doing some reconnaissance," the youngling boasted.

"Thank you for being one of the only members in the Sins that has actually shown a notion of initiative," Lust said. "What have you uncovered for us, Pride?"

"I think you'll find my...discovery quite useful," Pride smirked. "You see, our little Mustang seems to have a very close friend."

"A lover?" Lust asked, eyes widening. "Gluttony, you incompetent little-"

At the mentioning of his name, the sixth member of their carnivorous group rattled the bars of his cage. With a whimper, he asked, "Can I eat now?"

Lust sighed. "No, Gluttony. Not yet. When you learn to do your job correctly, and once you know what you can and cannot eat, you may come out." As the fat, plump little man fell back into a heap in the corner of his prison, Lust turned back to the child.

"Mustang's got a girlfriend, eh?" Wrath asked.

"Please, enlighten us on the situation," Envy pried.

"You know the young woman on their team? The blonde woman?" Pride questioned.

"Greed," Lust snapped, "what was her name?"

"Riza Hawkeye," he smirked. "She has got a tight little-"

"Silence," Wrath cut. "We don't need your vulgarity."

"She's his friend?" Lust asked, placing a certain emphasis on the word 'friend'.

"Are you sure?" Wrath further inquired.

"I hid outside the office windows when they were the last two left. And he walked into her apartment with her."

Lust sighed. "Pride, that doesn't constitute them being involved with one another."

"Perhaps not," Pride agreed, clasping his hands behind his back. A knowing smile ripped across his face. "But when he has his hands up her shirt, I think that means something else entirely."

The only woman at the table thought a moment, her lips turning into a sickeningly twisted smile.

"So, what do you think, Lust-y?" Envy asked. "Think we oughta switch candidates?"

"No," a foreign voice called from a darkened doorway. The six in the room turned, looking with respect towards their leader, their founder, their father. "I say we utilize both of Mustang's relationships. How do you ensure that a horse will die?"

The others blankly looked at him until the Father spoke again.

"You take out the things that hold him up."

.Siste.

Riza's eyes slowly fluttered open, half of her vision obscured by a pillow.

She groaned as the sunlight flooded in through the slits in her curtains, still early and pale. Rolling away from the offending light, she expected to take a few minutes to herself to spread out on the sheets. Instead, she lightly bumped the strong body next to her. Her golden eyes shot open as she stopped and watched the shirtless man that slept beside her snore and drool on her spare pillow.

With a sigh, she let her head fall deeper into the pillow. She ran her fingers through her bangs, rubbing her forehead.

It happened again.

Riza Hawkeye had promised herself that she wouldn't let it happen again. She wouldn't allow herself to feel pleasure; not when she had caused so much pain. But still, even after she had made the vow to herself- the one that forbade her from being felt by her co-worker, the man who she felt such burning love for- she insisted on being weak-willed and selfish and she let him into her apartment, and shortly thereafter, her bed.

Sitting up, she realized she too was without clothes. So it wasn't just a sleepover, she smirked with a bitter sweetness.

She moved to be sure she wouldn't wake him, and plucked up the white button-up he had been wearing the night before from the wooden floor. From there, she pulled a mug out of the cabinet and put a kettle on the stove.

As she stared into the cup, mentally berating herself for ignoring her atonement promises, she felt his presence sneaking up on her.

"Morning," he chirped as she turned to face him. He stuck his hands in the pockets of the pants he had wrangled on only a second before. Riza clutched the front of the dress shirt shut. She always felt unnecessarily naked when she stood before him.

"Good morning," she said as professionally as possible, as if they were meeting in the office.

He quirked his eyebrow, unable to help the smile. Withdrawing his hands, his fingers snaked down, reaching for the spot where she clasped the shirt. Undoing her hold, he drank in the sight of her body. Riza only stared at her feet.

"Riza," he muttered, concerned. "What's the matter." The kettle's whistle came to her rescue and she slipped away from him to tend to it. "Riza," he spoke again.

"I think you'd better get going, sir," she said, though her heart ached in protestation. "We have a busy day today."

A bit taken aback, he sighed, shutting his eyes in annoyance. "You always do this," he exhaled.

"Do what, sir?" she asked, not facing him.

"Kick me out! Push me away! Riza, you won't even call me by my first name," he burst. His voice softened. "What are you punishing yourself for?"

"Ishval," she said, her voice sharp as a knife. Turning to face him, her eyes glowered. "I don't deserve to feel what I feel when we're together."

"If that's your logic, than neither do I," he says. "Or Armstrong. Or Maes with his wife. Would you wish them unhappiness and the pain of being unable to love anyone?"

"Of course not," Riza began harshly.

"Then don't do it to yourself!" he snapped.

Setting the kettle on a cool burner, she looked at him, eyes dripping with sadness and guilt.

Roy took a cautious step closer, speaking in a quieted voice. "You've been through hell. Your own father defaced your back, your mother was murdered, and you were thrust into a war at a younger age than the rest of us. If anyone deserves to let themselves be loved, it's you."

With a slight smile, she turned back to her tea, pouring the water into the mug. "You can stay the night again, if you want to...Roy."

Behind her tattooed back, Roy beamed with satisfaction. Sweeping up from behind, he held her shoulders and planted a kiss on the crown of her head. "I should go get some fresh clothing on. See you at the office."

"Roy!" she called after him as he donned his jacket over his bare torso. He looked up from the buttons that busied his fingers. "Your shirt..."

"Keep it," he grinned goofily, patting his fedora atop his head. He smashed his lips against her's once more before ducking out of her apartment door.

As she set a frying pan over the flame of a burner and cracked an egg yolk over it, she grinned despite herself. "Idiot," she murmured.

.Siste.

"Roy Mustang!" a voice called, knocking the door open, the silver bell atop the threshold being nearly thrown off the hinge.

The members of Mustang Investigations looked up from their work. Mustang set down a sheet of paper, groaning audibly. "Maes," the detective growled. "What a surprise."

"A good one, I hope," the officer chimed. "So, what's my best buddy been up to, huh?"

"Solving murder cases, Hughes," Roy replied. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"No, sir!" Maes cheered. Adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose, he raised an eyebrow. "I'm on my lunch break." Grabbing hold of Mustang's bicep, he tugged, waving over his shoulder to Riza, who sat at her post like a dutiful soldier. "I'm borrowing your boss for lunch, Detective Hawkeye. Hope you don't mind."

As Roy shot her a pleasing look, she smiled with a pinch of smugness to herself. "I don't mind at all. Enjoy yourselves."

Maes laughed boisterously as his friend strained against his grip.

"Detectives Havoc and Hawkeye," Roy ushered in before he was unceremoniously swept out the door. "Hold the fort down."

"Yes, sir," the two replied in unison.

And with that, Roy Mustang was kidnapped by Chief Officer Maes Hughes, forced to enjoy a delicious lunch against his will.


Phew! Much longer than the other chapters. I just want to thank paracutiesfor reviewing. It means the world! (and I looked up Fury's name! You were right! It's Fuery, not Fury.) So that'll be changing in upcoming chapters. XD whoops...

Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading.

Peace, L.