Disclaimer: I own some books. But I didn't write any of them, sadly, and Fullmetal is amongst that lot.
A/N: I come bearing fluff! Partly because I need a not-depressing fic and partly because I am not yet ready to put out my obligatory "dealing-with-chapter-100" ficlet yet. It will come, of course, but not yet.
069. Are You Satisfied?
Riza sighed as she glanced up at the stack of papers still awaiting the Colonel's signature of approval as the man himself sat lounging sleepily in his desk chair.
"Sir, you do know those reports are due in this afternoon, don't you?" she said. His lazy mouth formed a languid 'o' as his drowsy eyes tried to focus on her. "And I doubt that the excuse of taking a nap will go over well with the general."
That woke him up a bit. He grumbled – she thought she caught the words "slave driver" amongst his other mumblings – but turned and began to set himself to the work she had mentioned. She restrained a self-satisfied smile. He might be the superior officer, but it was she who kept him in line. Inside this office, he was the one under her thumb and they both knew it.
Still, he didn't seem to mind. Sometimes Riza could swear that he enjoyed being ordered around by her. He would cast her a cute little conquered grin and hunch his shoulders, as if prepared for a whip, as he bent to whatever task she had ordered him. Sometimes she wondered just how far that workplace authority would get her, just what she might be able to order him to do, but she had never tested it beyond using it to get him to complete his necessary work.
She returned to her own work – she still had a fair amount, though nothing compared to the Colonel's stack – and tried to banish inappropriate thoughts. But her mind would wander. She imagined his hands, large and dexterous, reaching around her head to undo her hairclip so he could run his fingers through her hair. She imagined his white dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked, hanging disheveled from his strong, bare chest. She imagined the heat of his skin under her hands. She shook her head. No. She reined her mind in, giving herself a mental lashing for having such unforgivably improper thoughts about a superior officer. Still, when she turned to make sure he was still working away, it became harder to keep the images at bay and, in a desperate effort to hide the growing redness of her face, she jumped to her feet.
But her gesture had been too abrupt and all five sets of eyes in the office turned to her, more than a little fear in some of them. She picked up her thick brown courier's folder and tucked it against her chest.
"I have to deliver these to the Investigations department," she said matter-of-factly. "Colonel, I expect those papers to be signed by the time I come back." Mustang grumbled again, and this time she thought she heard the words "heartless dicator," but she could also see the beginnings of that little vanquished smile and she headed out the door before it went to her head.
She was half way down to Investigations before she felt the heat in her face subside and she could freely chide herself inwardly for letting her mind run away from her like that. She had no business thinking things like that about the Colonel. Especially while in the office. She continued to fiercely chastise herself when the images attempted to resurface as she handed the folder to the clerk at Investigations. The clerk gave her a surprised look upon seeing the files from Mustang's office arrive days before their deadline but Riza had no comment for him on their earliness but a shrug.
To give herself a few more minutes before returning, Riza walked down to the mail room to check for incoming documents and passed through the distribution office to see if any more paperwork had piled up for the Colonel. All told, about a half an hour had passed before she made her way back toward the office. She could hear the voices of Mustang, Havoc and Breda in the middle of a raucous discussion of some sort. Clearly she had allowed herself to be away for too long because they all seemed to have forgotten their work, letting unsigned documents lay abandoned on their desks as they lounged back in their chairs.
She opened the door a little more loudly than she would normally have done, just to watch them all snap back down to their desks and grab their pens frantically.
"Look, Hawkeye, I'm nearly done!" said Mustang, holding up one of the last few pages from his pile for a moment before setting it down on his blotter to read.
"Very good, sir," she said, setting down another stack, though small, that she had picked up in her travels. Mustang deflated a little.
"Do you go to other offices just to find more work for me?"
"No, sir," she answered. "It wouldn't seem like so much if you kept up with it better."
Time passed and Riza worked through her own pile of paperwork – some of it not due until next week – as, each in turn, the other four officers completed their own assignments for the day and were excused.
"Hawkeye, do I really have to do all of this?" he said once they were alone in the office with darkness gradually falling on the world outside.
"Yes, sir," she said curtly.
He whined but continued to read and sign for another half an hour until he had finally finished the stack. He threw his pen down with a flourish and stood, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and causing his jacket to slide up and reveal the neatly buttoned dress shirt beneath. He yawned widely and turned those coal black eyes on her.
"There, Lieutenant, I've finished it all! Are you satisfied?" His lips curled up in that little smile that made the heat return to her face. She imagined what it would feel like to cross the room and grab his jacket front and drag him down, pulling his lips to hers, smelling his skin and feeling the warmth of his breath against her face.
Satisfied? she thought. No.
"Yes, sir," she said, endeavoring to sound like it and allowing herself only a carefully schooled smile in response to his as she moved to get her coat.