A/N: This is based on an episode of JAG (Judge Advocate General). I watched it with my mother (a huge fan of the show) and all I could picture was Riza being put into the same situation. So enjoy! It might get a little intense; try not to bite your fingernails completely off. ;)

I do not own FMA.

Semper Fidelis

The drill sergeant's scornful gaze watched the platoon of fresh recruits going double-time on the obstacle course. Women from a dozen different walks of life, their hair either cropped short or pulled tightly back, sprinted along a sand track, swung across raised bars or from knotted ropes above slippery mud pits. Others leapt a series of log hurdles, belly-crawled under barbed wire that stood a foot above the dirt, or took running jumps at a seven-foot vertical wall, climbing up and over before moving on.

In the middle of it all, one unfortunate woman collapsed at the edge of the mud pit.

The recruit just in front of her paused to look back, then reached out a hand. "Come on, Barrett. Don't let the Sergeant see you."

"I can't," the first woman panted, bent double with her hands on her knees. "I can't do it. My side is killing me . . . ." Her helper's face softened a little. Pulling a canteen from the small of her back, the second woman opened it, and held it out to Barrett . . . just as a sharp whistle sounded.

"Private Aarens! Private Barrett!" Both women came swiftly to attention as the drill sergeant stalked over. Barrett winced visibly as the movement pulling at the pain in her side. "This isn't tea time, ladies! Keep moving!"

Aarens kept her eyes forward, her voice ringing out loud and clear. "Understood, ma'am! But Private Barrett is dehydrated; she needs water, ma'am!"

"What did you say?!" the sergeant hollered, almost nose-to-nose with Aarens. "Do you dare disrespect me, Private?"

"Ma'am! No, ma'am!"

"Do you think that I don't see what goes on on my field?"

"Ma'am! No, ma'am!" Aarens barely paused for breath. "With all due respect, ma'am, Private Barrett does need water!"

A loud slap sounded across the training field, before the drill instructor's hands shot out, catching Aarens on the shoulders and shoving her forcefully backward. The unfortunate Private held a brief battle with equilibrium before falling backward, straight into the mud pit. Mud splattered everywhere, coating her already dirtied fatigues and sending brown flecks into her blonde hair.

"Private Aarens, even if I didn't see half of what went on out here, I would sure as hell notice your insubordinate attitude!" The sergeant pointed to the dust in front of her boots. "Out of that hole, on your face, and give me twenty!"

With stone-faced dignity, Aarens pulled herself to the edge of the mud pit, slipping and sliding. Dropping to her knees, she stretched forward, starting in on the ordered push-ups. The drill sergeant's boot pressed against her spine, forcing her to put more effort into the exercise.

"You mark my words, Private," the officer said, voice low. "If you so much as think about sassing me again, I'll tan your backside so well, you'll stand at attention for a week rather than sit down. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Aarens said, trying not to let it show that she was fighting for breath. Her arms gave out as the drill sergeant shoved with the foot to her back, sending her face-first into the dirt.

"You remember who's in charge here, Private. You remember it damn well." Turning on her heel, she marched off along the course, leaving a muddied and breathless Riza Hawkeye — or rather, 'Private Aarens' — staring after her.

The silhouette came around the corner of the building, and she shifted in the shadows. "Over here, sir."

Roy paused for a moment, until his eyes found his lieutenant in the gloom, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Between two buildings like this, in the middle of the night, the darkness was especially deep. "Hey. How did it —" As he got closer, his eyes widened. "Oh, damn . . . ."

"Would you believe me if I told you that it doesn't feel as bad as it looks?" Riza gave a half smile, the still-visible slap mark on the side of her face shifting with the movement. "I looked worse after my first time at boot camp."

He crouched in front of her, one hand going to her injured cheek. "Forget the assignment; I'm pulling you out of here."

"Sir, no." Reaching up, she caught hold of his wrist. "I have a chance at this. Let me see it through, at least for another few days."

She watched as he gritted his teeth, clearly loath to leave her in a situation where she could be hurt again. "Riza, this is crazy. Investigating them from the inside is one thing, but not to the point where something like this happens!" His expression dropped into something almost helpless, his voice becoming little more than a mutter. His thumb brushed gently over the bruise. "I don't want this to break you."

"It won't." Her hand shifted, fingers curling around his. "After my first trip through here, and after Ishval, there's nothing that sergeant can throw at me that I can't handle. I'll be fine; I promise."

At last, he smiled, if only half-heartedly. "I'll hold you to that." Dropping his hand away from her face, he settled into a more comfortable sitting position. "What have you found out?

"There are two drill instructors that train female recruits," Riza explained. "The ones in charge of this platoon are Sergeant Remmen and Master Sergeant Whitfield; Whitfield is the one who did this." She pointed to her cheek. "She seems to enjoy paying special attention to me, making use of every opportunity to single me out. Not an unusual tactic for a DI."

"What about the Private that you replaced? The one who was allegedly murdered?"

"No one is saying much about it; I'm fairly certain that Remmen and Whitfield have issued direct orders not to speak about Private Romarck's death." Riza gave him a meaningful look. "That in itself should be cause for suspicion."

"If one of the DIs had something to do with it, they certainly wouldn't want that information getting around," Roy mused, propping his chin in one hand. "I'll look into it a little more, see if they have alibis for the night Romarck was killed."

Riza nodded. "You should know, sir, that the night Romarck died, one of the other girls, Private Barrett, saw her sneaking out of the barracks. The next morning, Romarck was dead, tangled in the barbed wire on the obstacle course; a section she had already gotten stuck in during that day's exercises."

Frowning, Roy thought the information over. "Could be that she snuck out to practice on her own in the middle of the night. Without someone to help her, she could have gotten tangled in the wire, gotten it wrapped around her neck . . . . You get the idea."

"I do . . . but I'm not sure I agree with it." Riza nodded toward the darkened barracks across the nighttime compound. "Colonel, when these girls finish their exercises for the day, they eat, they get one hour of free time, and then it's lights out. The moment their heads hit the pillow, they're asleep. They're exhausted."

"Private Barrett was somehow awake enough to see Private Romarck sneak out in the middle of the night," Roy pointed out. "For Romarck to be up and about, it must have been something important."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

He regarded her for a moment. "If the other girls are exhausted, you have to be too. If that's all the information you have for me for tonight, go back to the barracks. Get some sleep." Getting to his feet, Roy held out a hand to help her up. "You're doing great so far. Just keep your head down, and your nose clean. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled slightly, brown eyes checking the area to make sure they were alone. "But if I might be permitted just one indiscretion before I go?"

Between the two of them, the word 'indiscretion' could mean any number of things; none of them being things Roy ever really felt like denying her. "Go ahead," he said casually.

In the next instant, her body was pressed against his as she gave him a single long, fierce kiss. He very nearly lost his balance, but managed to stay upright thanks to her grip on his jacket. Breaking free, Riza took a deep breath, exhaling in satisfaction. ". . . I needed that. Thank you."

He was slightly more out of breath. ". . . Anytime. I'll meet you tomorrow. Same time, same place."

"I'll be here." Turning, she started off through the dark, her fingertips trailing briefly across his chest before the contact was broken as she left. Roy watched her go, waiting until she turned the corner before going his own way, heart pounding and lips feeling like they were on fire.

"Hey; Aarens?"

Riza looked up at the pseudonym, smiling at Barrett, who stood in front of her. "What is it?"

The other woman tilted her head to where Master Sergeant Whitfield was barking at another recruit. "I heard the Dragon-Lady say we're doing a five-mile run, in pairs." She smiled ruefully. "Make that a five-mile three-legged race. We get to choose partners; want to be mine?"

"Sure." Face straight, she added, "But it might be dangerous to let the recruits pair up. We might turn on them."

Barrett grinned. "Too true."

Within fifteen minutes, the paired-off platoon was waiting at the starting line, the two drill instructors pacing in front of them. "Listen up, you sorry excuses for soldiers!" Remmen barked. "Today's five-mile run is to be completed in pairs. You will not untie yourself from your partner, you will work together, and you will be back here in less than one hour, before dark!"

"On your marks!" Whitfield raised a pistol. "Get set! MARCH!" Bang!

Riza didn't have time to contemplate how firing a gun into the air could potentially kill someone when the bullet fell to earth; Barrett was already moving, and it was keep up, or fall on her backside in the dirt. The two women quickly fell into a rhythm, arms linked at the elbow as they moved at a fast jog. The other pairs around them gradually spread out, the more coordinated runners pulling ahead. For the first twenty minutes, 'Aarens' and Barrett held their own, somewhere in the middle ground.

Until suddenly, the cord tying their ankles together yanked painfully as Barrett went down.

Riza caught herself on the ground, palms grinding hard on the gravel. Beside her, Barrett yelped as her ankle was twisted; Riza hurriedly turned her leg to lessen the other's discomfort. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm sorry!" Barrett rubbed at her rear, grimacing. "I must have taken a bad step . . . ." She looked up at the last of the other pairs passing them by. "I have a bad ankle from when I was a kid, and it sometimes gives out on me."

"It's all right. Do you need a break?" Riza glanced at her watch. "We've got time for five minutes, if you need to."

". . . . That sounds good." Barrett grinned, reaching for the cord. "A couple of speedsters like us? We'll catch up in no time."

Her foot free, Riza stood, dusting herself off. "What did you do to your ankle to injure it?"

"Oh, you know. Just running around as a teenager."

Riza looked over at her partner . . . and abruptly froze. Barrett was still sitting on the ground, casually studying a wickedly sharp blade in her hands, turning it over and over. The brunette wore a small smile. ". . . . Barrett, what are you doing?"

"Me? I'm not doing anything." The other got to her feet, watching her 'partner' intensely. "But you know . . . I am getting a little pissed off at the way you've been snooping around here the past week. You're working with that handsome guy with the dark hair, right? Colonel What's-his-name."

"That's right." Riza kept her voice calm, and her eyes away from the knife. There was no point trying to deny it. "I was sent to look into Private Romarck's death from the inside, in case someone in the platoon, or one of the DIs was responsible. Am I to take it that you had something to do with it?"

"Not something, no." Barrett grinned, and in her eyes, Riza caught just a hint of madness. "I had everything to do with it."

How had this girl managed to sneak such blatant psychopathic tendencies past the psychological evaluation? Not important, Riza decided. What was important was that she get the knife away from Barrett before the other had a chance to use it. "This has gone far enough," she said quietly, holding out a hand. "Give me the knife, Barrett. It doesn't have to end this way."

The other woman laughed aloud. "Ohhhh, I'm so sorry, Aarens, if that's even your real name. I don't like to share my knife." She sobered, tilting her head curiously. "What is your name, anyway?"

Almost reflexively, the blonde stood a little straighter. "My name is Riza Hawkeye. The man you mentioned earlier is my commanding officer, Colonel Roy Mustang."

Barrett whistled quietly. "Really . . . . He is as pretty as they say. You've worked with him for a while, huh?" At the confirming nod, her casual demeanour vanished in a shrug. "That's too bad. He'll probably miss you."

With that, she lunged forward and slashed.

Riza jumped backward, but not quickly enough; the knife opened a gash across her palm where her hand had still been extended. She hissed in pain, but kept her eyes on Barrett. The brunette paused for a moment, weighing her options before turning and sprinting off the track into the woods.

"Barrett!" Springing into motion, Riza sped after her, following the white T-shirt through the dim forest. She had to end this quickly; with the sun going down, it was going to get very dark, very quickly, and she did not want to be facing a homicidal knife-wielding madwoman under those circumstances.

And Roy doesn't even know . . . .

Up ahead, she watched as Barrett suddenly dropped up to her waist into the ground with a startled yell. Skidding to a halt, Riza squinted, trying to see what was happening through the gathering darkness. She edged closer, watching her would-be murderer floundering in what looked like liquid sand.

Barrett caught sight of her, eyes wide and panic-stricken. "It's a sinkhole," she whimpered, voice shaking. "Aarens, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! You have to help me!" She reached out. "Please! I'm sorry; I'll do anything, I swear!"

"Where's your knife?" Riza asked calmly, not moving from her spot on solid ground.

"I dropped it, it sank already." Barrett's voice cracked. "Please, you have to get me out of here! I'm so sorry! I don't care if I go to prison, but don't let me die, Aarens!"

Wordlessly, Riza moved around the edge of the sinkhole, taking careful steps. To one side, barely a metre away from Barrett, was a dead tree with thick, leafless limbs, one of which hung over the sand just out of her reach. Climbing onto it, Riza lay flat and stretched out her hands. Barrett immediately clamped onto them like a leech.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . ." She smiled weakly. "You're gonna pull me out now, right?"

Brown eyes stared back impassively. "Not just yet."

"What? Why?!" The panic seemed to flare again. "You have to pull me out! Please, it feels so weird!"

"You're a soldier, Barrett; tough it out." Riza's eyes narrowed. This wasn't recruit to recruit anymore; this was officer to subordinate. "I'm not about to bring you out when I'm by myself; you've already tried to kill me once, and I'm not going to give you another chance. I made a promise to someone, years ago, and I have every intention of keeping it."

The other woman's lip twisted. "B****," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "You're just like Romarck was. Focussed on being the perfect little soldier. I hate that."

"Funny; I'm not too fond of you either, right now," Riza answered calmly. "Is that why you killed her? Because you didn't like her attitude toward her training?"

"It was so pathetic!" Barrett spat. "She messed up on the obstacle course, got her foot stuck in the barbed wire. She wasn't hurt or anything, but Johnson had to go back in and help her get out. Little Miss Perfect couldn't take that, and she wouldn't shut up about it. She said she 'had to do better,' and 'had to focus more.' So I thought, why not help her?

"I suggested that we should sneak out at night and I would help her on the obstacle course. So we did . . . ." She grinned up at Riza, that hint of insanity showing through once more. "She got herself stuck in the barbed wire again. When I went in to help her, all I did was help her get it wrapped around her neck, too."

Riza smiled grimly. "Thanks for the confession. I'll make sure they use it against you at court-martial."

"No problem." Barrett glared. "You got what you wanted. Pull me out."

"No," Riza repeated. "It won't be long before they notice we haven't come back. When they do, they'll come searching for us. We're not that far off the trail; they'll find us. And when they do, you'll wish you never saw my face."

The two of them stood to one side, watching as a handcuffed Barrett was put into a military police vehicle. As the door closed, the brunette turned to look at Riza through the window, her mouth forming yelled words that were inaudible through the glass.

Roy watched almost curiously, one hand on his Lieutenant's shoulder. "What do you think she's saying?"

"Due to the number of words beginning with 'f' . . . nothing worth repeating." Riza glanced at him. "It surprises me how well she was able to hide her instability when she wanted to. She even fooled the psychiatrist who evaluated her. And she fooled me, up until she tried to kill me."

His free hand moved to take hers, studying the bandage wrapped across her palm. "You were lucky. A couple inches higher, and that cut would be right across the artery in your wrist."

She looked his way again . . . and then moved her hand out of his grasp. "Save the concern for later, sir."

The two drill instructors stopped in front of them; Whitfield folded her hands behind her back as she spoke. "Colonel, I'd like to thank you for your work on this investigation. If you hadn't dug into Private Romarck's death, Private Barrett might have gone on to become a fully-fledged soldier, if she made it through the Academy." She looked to Riza. "Private Aarens: you're to be commended for your efforts. Until then, return to barracks."

Roy smirked. "Actually, Master Sergeant, I'm going to have to countermand that order. You see, there's something that I should mention . . . ." He indicated the blonde beside him. "I'd like you to meet my adjutant and bodyguard. First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

For a moment, shock was all that registered on the faces of the two drill instructors. In nearly perfect unison, they came to attention, right arms raising in salute. Colour drained just slightly from Whitfield's face. "Lieutenant, I am very sorry. I had no idea —"

"That was the point, Master Sergeant," Riza said calmly. "At ease, both of you." She waited until their arms lowered before she continued. "I have no issue with the way you ran this platoon, Sergeant Whitfield. You're a good soldier, and you perform your duties well. But I have to wonder why you ordered your recruits not to speak of Private Romarck's death."

Whitfield almost succeeded in hiding a grimace. "You have to understand, ma'am, this sort of thing . . . if the girls let themselves think about it too much, it'll start to effect their performance. I was only trying to keep them at their best, to give them a better start at the Academy."

"I see." At last, Riza gave a small smile. "Thanks to you — and you as well, Sergeant Remmen — I think they'll do just fine."

The two drill instructors returned the smile, saluting again. "Thank you, ma'am."

Remmen took a half-step forward. "I guess this explains why the recruits wanted to show their own appreciation. If you and the Colonel will permit it, they have something they wanted to do for you."

Riza looked to Roy; he shrugged in a casual 'go ahead.' "All right. Where are they?"

Remmen's answer was to turn and put two fingers to her lips, blowing a piercing whistle. After a second's pause, the unmistakeable sound of a group of uniformly marching feet came from behind the barracks. In perfect formation, the entire platoon came forward at a quick march. They stopped in front of the sergeants, and turned as one to face the two officers. Twenty-eight right arms lifted in salute.

Leaning forward, Roy murmured in his Lieutenant's ear. "I think this is your show, Hawkeye. Take it away." He stood straight, and took a step back.

Brown eyes scanned along the rows of recruits until they found the one she was looking for. "Private Johnson: front and centre." Waiting as the young woman came forward, Riza folded her hands behind her back. "Private Barrett told me that, the day before Private Romarck died, you helped her get out the barbed wire on the obstacle course."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And were you ordered to go in, or did you turn back to help a fellow soldier?"

"I turned back." Johnson shifted nervously. "When I was younger, my mother taught me that if you have a friend in trouble, you don't leave them there if they can't get out alone. Private Romarck couldn't get out on her own, and no one else was stopping to help her. So I did."

"That's good." Reaching out, Riza put a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "A soldier is only as good as the rest of her squad. It's good to look out for yourself, but better if you also look after the others with you." She looked to the others. "That goes for all of you. Understood?"

Twenty-eight voices rang out together. "Ma'am! Yes, ma'am!"

Private Johnson returned to her place in the ranks, and Riza turned to face the platoon at large. All were still standing to attention, and now, she saluted them. "Thank you, all of you. You'll all do well, but I hope for the sake of peace, we never have to work together."

When she turned away, as the platoon marched off under the watchful eyes of the drill instructors, she found Roy smiling. "I think I've had enough of my second run through boot camp, sir."

His hand went to her shoulder again as they moved toward the car waiting to take them back to East City. "Then let's go home."

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