Author's Note: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. For the thousandth time

30. Conversation

He valued the way she spoke with him. Every word she exchanged with him, every look of concern she shared and every night they sat late in the office discussing the events of the day—all of it was crystal clear in his mind no matter when it had occurred, and it always felt right. No matter the situation, he knew he could rely on her to listen to him and respond only in the most genuine of ways.

The evening had begun like every late evening in the office, though she seemed to be more tired than usual. Occasionally, her eyelids would droop, nodding off above the paperwork before snapping back to attention. It was difficult to stifle his laugh at her behavior despite her concern. When she had managed to nearly nod off three times, she shoved away from her desk, declaring that she was going to make some tea and she would bring him some as well.

She returned from her expedition less than five minutes later, two steaming hot mugs at hand. Carefully, she set one on his desk, before sitting back down at hers, amber eyes staring at the remaining work with a look of vile resentment. She took a sip of tea.

And it was quiet. Scratching pens and shuffling papers, all silence and work.

There was no need for small talk. Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye were people of many words, and whatever was said passed quickly and clearly from one to the other, concise and to the point. "I don't like what is happening in this government, Hawkeye."

She glanced up from her work, and nodded slowly. "I know that, sir. You're working to change the mistakes this government is making."

The sir she added to her statements was perhaps the only unnecessary word she'd say in a sentence. It disgusted him, though at the same time it fascinated him, how she could formulate the precise response to any comment thrown at her without batting an eyelash.

"I'm hardly making progress towards that goal."

He heard the quiet click of the pen being capped, a drawer being slid open to tuck the writing utensil away. "I do not agree with that statement, sir." He glanced up from his desk to see that she was staring directly at him, gaze layered with concern.

For a moment, he simply gazed at the expression on her face. Beyond her words were the expressions that she shared without saying a thing. More often than not, her features could fill in and account for every unsaid word. And once again, without fail, she caught his subtle frustration. She caught the slight fear that he might not achieve his goal. And, like every time before, her response eased the weight on his chest.

"That means a lot to me, Lieutenant," he said softly, folding his hands on the desk. "Thank you."

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