A/N I'm posting this early because all weekend I'll be in North Carolina with, dun dun dun no internet! I except to die from boredom, but I'll probably get some writing done which is good because now I officially caught up to myself in posting these chapters. (I've just had no time to write recently) please keep those amazing reviews coming. Nothing makes me happier than reading them! By the way this chapter is kinda fluffy but I like it.

Mustang unlocked his apartment door. "After you, Lieutenant," he said, motioning for her to enter.

Hawkeye looked at him apprehensively. "Sir, I'm not comfortable with this. If it's discovered that you're harboring a fugitive, your career will be over."

Mustang sighed. She was still thinking of him. She was going to get herself killed if she continued to so blatantly disregard her own safety. "If anyone finds out you're still alive, my career will be over. This could hardly make matters worse."

She crossed her arms, and still refused to enter. "It could. If someone suspects that you didn't really kill me, this will be the first place they'll look. It would be better if I stayed with Breda or Havoc. Or I could stay in an apartment in the slums like Falman and Barry."

Mustang looked at her. "Breda and Havoc are in the military quarters. So is Fuery. They could never hide you." She knew all this. "Your picture will be in the paper for weeks. You can't just rent an apartment. Everyone would recognize you." Why did she insist on going through this? He knew why.

"I would be careful." Hawkeye said, refusing to meet his eyes. He could tell that she was still uncomfortable putting him at risk.

Why was she so difficult? "It's only for a few days. Then we can get you somewhere safer." Like Xing.

Seeming to read his thoughts, the lieutenant said, "I'm not leaving Central."

"I know."

She nodded and finally entered his apartment.

Mustang let a light smile touch his lips, but with the weight of the current situation, too soon, it slipped back under his weary mask.

The both stood in his small living room for a second, neither knowing what to do. Finally, he said, "You can have the bed, Lieutenant. I'll sleep on the couch."

A slight blush came to her cheeks, making him smile again. "That's quite alright, sir. I'll take the couch."

Knowing that there was no way he could change her mind, he sighed, but acquiesced. "Fine. I'll get you some sheets and a blanket."

She bobbed her head. "Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"No, sir. I mean thank you. For everything. For getting me out of there." A slight shiver ran down her spine. She tried to hide it, but Mustang saw.

He started towards her then. Raising his hand, he gently touched the side of her head. Had she really thought that he would leave there? That he could? Didn't she know that he- Didn't she know how much she meant to him? "Lieutenant. You're okay, right? Nothing happened that I should know about?"

She looked at him, surprised. "No. It was nothing like that. It's just that the Lieutenant Colonel was my friend." She grimaced. "It's… painful that everyone thinks I killed him."

Mustang mentally slapped himself. He realized that she was much more bothered by the entire situation than she had let on. This entire time, he had just been focused on her physical well-being. It had never even crossed his mind how much it would hurt to be accused of something like this. He honestly didn't know if he could've dealt with it. She was just so strong, it was easy to forget that she was just a person. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"Sir," she started, her voice shaking. She lifted her head up to look at his face. She bit her bottom lip, and steadied her voice. "D-does Gracia know? Does she think that I killed her husband?"

Again Mustang mentally slapped himself. He had entirely forgotten about Gracia as well. But, could anyone blame him? "No, not yet."

"Are you going to tell her the truth?" Hawkeye asked, her voice impossible to read.

He sighed. "I don't know. I owe her the truth, but I don't want to risk your safety."

Hawkeye looked away.

"We can tell her if you want," he said quickly.

"No. We can't." She said the words in a calm voice, but her face contorted, like she had just swallowed something with a bitter taste. Like she wished she could just spit out the whole day. Mustang didn't blame her.

"It's not that I don't trust Gracia, but if whoever's behind this suspected she might know something, it would put her in danger." He smiled. "Maes would never forgive me."

"It's alright, sir. You don't need to explain. I know." She said softly.

He held her tighter. She breathed heavily onto his coat. But didn't sob. In a second, when they broke apart, he saw that her face was completely dry. It saddened him. What had happened to harden that little girl he had once known to the point where her life going entirely to hell wasn't enough to make her cry? Unfortunately, he knew all too well what had happened, and it had been his fault. Suddenly, he was amazed that despite everything that had happened, she still stuck with him.

"Sir, are you okay?"

Mustang started, realizing he had been staring at her. "I'm fine. I'll go get the things for your bed."

A few minutes later, he came back but his lieutenant was no longer standing there. A tendril of fear momentarily gripped his heart, but before it time to lodge there fully, he heard her in the kitchen.

She turned around as he came in. "Oh! I hope you don't mind. I just came in here to get some tea…"

"It's fine," he said, sitting down at the counter across from her.

"Would you care for a cup, sir?" she asked, smiling, clearly glad to be doing something.

"Yes, please."

She hummed to herself absently as she made the tea. He watched her, hiding a smile behind his hand. He was struck with the thought of how nice this was. He allowed himself a brief moment to wonder if this was how it could be like if their lives had gone differently. In a different reality, maybe he and the Lieutenant shared fleeting moments like this all the time. The thought widened his smile, but it was tinged with a bitter sweetness.

"Here you go," she said, pulling him out of his musings. She plopped a steaming mug in front of him, and when he looked up, she was smiling.

"Thanks." He took a sip.

They sat there for a few minutes, slipping into a comfortable silence, both drinking tea. Mustang had to admit that it felt good not to be harried and worry-stricken for a moment. There was no hurry. No darkness hanging over them. All too soon, the spell was broken.

Hawkeye yawned.

"Here, you must be tired. I guess you should get to sleep."

"I'm fine!" she insisted, but Mustang saw that she was about to collapse. It seemed that she was reluctant to end the moment as well.

"Don't be stupid. There's no reason to run yourself into the ground."

"What time is it?" she asked, suppressing another yawn.

He flicked open his silver watch. "Past midnight."

"We should get some sleep," she admitted grudgingly. "You have to go to work in the morning."

Mustang groaned. "Damn."

She smiled. She reached across her table and grasped his empty mug. In an efficient movement, she slid it into her waiting hand. She then took both their cups and placed them in the sink.

Mustang got up and waited for her to exit the kitchen before him. "Goodnight Lieutenant," he called, going into his bedroom.

"Goodnight, Colonel," she answered, spreading the sheets over the couch.

Mustang tossed and turned, but sleep just refused to find him. It wasn't all that surprising. Even before the crazy events of the day, he hadn't been sleeping well. This time however, every time he started to drift off, he was plagued not with images of Maes, but rather, of her. They were horrible. His imagination spiraled through different scenarios that easily could have happened. He watched her die at least twenty times.

In one, he couldn't get her out. She was executed. Her back was straight, hands tied behind her behind her, chin jutted high. Long blonde ran free down her shoulders. Strands of it blew back in a gentle breeze. A blindfold was secured around her eyes, but her shoulders were squared and she faced the men in front of her with pride. Suddenly, deafening shots rang through the air, disturbing the eerie silence.

Her knees wobbled as big blotches of red appeared on her shirt. She didn't cry out or say anything, but she refused to fall. Seconds passed. The men of the firing squad looked to one another, confused. She still remained stubbornly upright. Her knees were shaking violently, but still she held her position.

Finally, she fell. She hit the ground with a weak thump. A puddle of blood, the color of melted rose petals, flowed around her creating a small pool. The white blindfold soaked up some of it, and soon it too was a sickly rose color. The weight of the blood pulled the blindfold down a bit, enough to expose one eye. The brown orb stared straight ahead. It was cold and empty. Dead.

Mustang sat up. That one had been too real for his liking. Suddenly, he had an urge to check on her. To insure himself that it had been his imagination. That she was still safely asleep on his couch.

Carefully, he placed his feet on the ground and tiptoed to the door. The next room was dark, so he hovered in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When he could see at least a lingering outline of shapes in front of him, he made his way to the couch.

Her blond hair seemed to shine in the darkness. It surrounded her head like an unnerving wreath. Her form was crumpled in on itself, as if to protect her from unseen dangers. Unseen. How close was that to the truth?

Mustang sighed and sat down in a chair. He had barely had any time to consider the next step of this equation, who was behind it? Who had orchestrated the entire thing? Someone with power and high up military connections, that much was clear. Unfortunately, there were too many people in Amestris who met those standards.

They had to have some reason for covering up Maes' murder… He thought. This definitely could be the work of the real murderer, but as his team had pointed out, if that was the only goal the person wanted to reach, there were many suspects far more likely than his lieutenant. So they had been trying to send him a message, then… A message saying what? To stop digging? He tiredly ran his hands through his hair. Maybe they had been killing two birds with one stone: covering up the murder, and rattling him. It made sense.

Well, he decided grimly, his eyes hardening. If I wasn't going after them before, I sure as hell am now. His hands clenched as a possibility occurred to him. But what if my continued digging puts Lieutenant Hawkeye in even more danger? He thought worriedly. Hopefully her faked death will protect her. At the very least, it should buy us some time. Mustang carelessly picked at the arm of his chair. There had to be a way out of this! The only way to make sure that she stays safe, is to figure out who's behind this and take them down. Of course, even though the lieutenant was relatively safe for the moment, the same couldn't be said for the rest of his team. Any one of them could be next. He couldn't order them into a battle like this. Without a clear goal in mind, fighting an invisible unimaginably powerful enemy, with only themselves, no one else. No. All of them would have to make the decision for themselves.

Mustang turned as Hawkeye stirred in her sleep. He held his breath, trying not to disturb her.

She rolled over and puffed a small sleep noise from the back of her throat, but did nothing else.

He smiled. He carefully brushed a few of the golden strands out of her face. Standing up, he leaned over her sleeping body, and a planted a small kiss on the top of her forehead. He was gratified when a small smile brushed the edges of her lips. Chuckling quietly to himself, he slipped back into his bedroom, a light feeling telling him that now he would be able to get to sleep.

A/N Did you like it? Please tell me your innermost thoughts! Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this, you guys are the best and I promise I'll update as soon as I finish writing the next chapter!