A/N: Aah, sorry sorry sorry for the late post! On Friday I got locked out of my house, on Saturday I had the SAT, and it's finals week this week, so I've been very busy ^^` But here I am now with another (long) chapter, so enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its wonderful characters.

Havoc walked casually into the office, trying not to show how out of breath he was from dashing through the hallways just seconds before. With Hawkeye around, it was never good to be even a split second late. That one time he slipped up…well, dwelling on bad memories did no good.

He was diverted from his gloomy musings when he noticed Breda, Falman, and Fuery huddled in a corner, as far away from Mustang's closed office door as possible. Curious, Havoc tossed his jacket over his chairback and joined his friends. "Hey, guys. Whatcha doin' ?"

Breda quickly pulled him down into a crouching position and hissed, "Say that a little louder, would ya, so Hawkeye can come in and shoot us so full of holes even the swiss cheese in my sandwich wouldn't have anything to boast about!"

"Alright, alright," Havoc said more quietly, straightening the collar of his uniform, looking slightly miffed. "Don't get your boxers in a bunch."

"We're writing some letters," Fuery offered, answering his earlier question.

"Letters, huh?" Havoc perked up. "Love letters? Those are the best kind."

Breda rolled his eyes. "Of course the first thing you think of is love letters, you romantic idiot," he snorted at the same time as Falman said, "Correct, Havoc."

Havoc paused to give Breda a winning grin before turning back to Falman. "Really? Who to?"

"To whom," Falman immediately corrected. "And the letter isn't really from any of us, exactly. We're just writing for the intended sender to the intended recipient."

"I see…no, I don't. You know how I get when you use too many words in one sentence," Havoc complained.

"Basically," Fuery explained, "we're writing a letter to the lieutenant that looks like it came from the colonel, and we're writing one to the colonel that's supposed to come from the lieutenant."

"Oh!" Havoc's eyes lit up with understanding. "Sweet, to finally get them together, right?"

"Fuery used more words than I did," Falman grumbled under his breath.

"So what do we have so far?" Havoc grabbed the sheet from Breda and read it. "Wow. This is good. Maybe you should take out the part about the ADHD monkeys with grape juice, though."

"I think it adds character," Breda said defensively.

"Um…but do you think the lieutenant would really say that?" Fuery pointed out timidly.

"Fine, fine," Breda sighed, crossing out the aforementioned line. "But I'm keeping the part about frolicking in the daisy fields."

Havoc pulled a pen from his pocket and a slightly stained napkin. " And while you do that, I'll start on Mustang's half."

"I'll help," Fuery offered.

"No, no, I got it," Havoc assured him. "Believe me, I know that damn date-stealer well enough."

"Just don't let your emotions get in the way. Try to put yourself in Mustang's shoes," Falman advised.

Havoc's eye twitched maniacally. "If I had that bastard's shoes, I'd laugh in his face and then go pick up chicks with them, 'cause I bet his secret to getting all those girls are those shiny boots of his. I swear that amount of sparkle is unnatural; maybe he gets them from Armstrong."

Breda rolled his eyes at his friend's ramblings. "Someone clearly had a bit too much coffee this morning."

Hawkeye sat at her desk, diligently working away at the tidy pile of incomplete paperwork in front of her. The colonel was being surprisingly quiet as well.

Too quiet.

She suddenly realized that she hadn't heard any paper rustling, pen scratching, finger drumming, or dark mutterings for the past fifteen minutes. Something was definitely wrong.

Hawkeye looked up to find her superior staring off into space, a blissful smile on his lips. Actually, he wasn't gazing into the distance; he was looking down at the paper in front of him. She sighed. He was probably napping with his eyes open again. Ever since he had discovered this newfound talent a few weeks ago he'd been "practicing" every single day.

"Sir." She got up and approached his desk. "Sir? Please get back to work." She waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Wha? Oh, sorry, Hawkeye. I was just…" he glanced down again and that silly grin was in place once more. "…so happy."

"Come again, sir?" Hawkeye examined the paper in front of him. It was a standard form, requiring his signature at the bottom. But Mustang had never finished—a single "R" had been completed with a flourish, but no other letters followed.

"Look at it, Hawkeye." He made a tiny "ta-da" gesture at the single character. "It's so…perfect."

"…It's the first letter of your name, sir. You've written it millions of times before." Hawkeye kept her voice calm, but she was screaming inside. Sometimes, she just had to wonder about Roy's sanity. He genuinely cared about things like the crookedness of a picture or the beauty of a perfectly penned word. On days like these, in her mind, she saw Ed giving her a puzzled look and asking "Lieutenant, why him, of all people?" And she still didn't know.

"No, I've written 'R' a million times before. But I've never written… 'R'…" Mustang sighed happily and rested his chin in his hand, still marveling.

"For the love of…" Exasperated, Hawkeye picked up his pen and pulled a sheet of scratch paper from a nearby stack. With a few expert strokes, she copied the marvelous letter perfectly and stuck the finished product under her colonel's nose. "There. Keep that, sir, and then you can get back to your paperwork."

Mustang gaped. "Hawkeye…how…" He looked back from his "R" to her "R" and then back again. His lips slowly quirked into his signature smirk, already planning to make use of this newly discovered piece of information. "I didn't know you possessed such wonderful forgery skills, Lieutenant."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not forgery, it's practice. I have an 'R' in my name, too, sir. I just write it more often because I actually complete all of my paperwork."

He laughed. "Point taken, Hawkeye. For your excellent work, I'll finish this stack by the end of today. Promise."

She gave him a wry smile. "Glad to hear it."

Fuery glanced around furtively before opening the door to the file room, two envelopes in hand. Quickly, he found the lieutenant's and the colonel's respective boxes. He stuck the letter from "Roy" in Hawkeye's empty box and slipped the note written by "Riza" into the messy stack of papers flowing out of Mustang's box. With any luck Hawkeye would check her inbox and then bring the colonel's new stack of work back too so he could find his letter as well. Mission completed, Fuery closed the door behind him and headed toward the equipment room, passing Hawkeye on the way. It took all he had to keep from squeaking, but he managed to flash her a weak smile before speeding up his pace as casually as possible.

Fuery's looking a little high-strung today...more than usual, at least, Hawkeye thought to herself. I should talk to the break room about just offering decaf.

Upon entering the file room, she noticed with some surprise that there was something in her inbox. She examined the envelope, curious, and noted that it was addressed to "Riza" in curling script. Immediately, she knew who it was supposed to be from, from the tiny "R.M." inscribed in the corner where a stamp would've normally gone. And, recalling the flustered Fuery she'd encountered moments before, she realized who the actual senders were. "Those guys," she sighed out loud. "They must have put a lot of money in that bet." Amused, she opened the envelope and read the note just to see what they'd come up with.

My dearest Riza,

I know that you watch my back because I told you to. But I also know that there's something more to that.

I know you love me.

And I know that I'm a mean, arrogant, deceitful, womanizing, shiny-booted bastard who doesn't deserve you.

But I want you. So I hope you'll have me.

Love,

Roy

"That was certainly...succinct," she couldn't help observing to herself. "The colonel should really should stop picking on Havoc...that poor man's apparently having some issues." She wandered over to Mustang's box and immediately picked out the cream-colored envelope that was supposedly from her. She took it and looked at it, wondering if she should open it as well. I'll give it to him tomorrow, she decided, pocketing the letter. I'm definitely not wasting this chance to get him to actually do paperwork.

On her way back, she wondered exactly how she was going to face her colleagues in the office without laughing.

A/N: Well, a little longer than usual, but hopefully still satisfactory :) So, do you guys want a continuation of this for the next chapter, or are you okay with just leaving it here?

Thanks for reading!