A/N: I have returned, from Anime North! My Riza cosplay was a huge success, as was my boyfriend as Roy Mustang. For those of you not in the know, I was cosplaying both usual-uniform Riza, as well as a miniskirt version. My high heels for the miniskirt shredded my feet, but every 'oh my gosh,' 'look at that' and smile I got made it WELL worth the pain. Can't wait to do it all again next year!

I do not own FMA.


Forty-nine - Cold Hands

She looked up, as had become her every-twenty-minutes habit, to find him, as had become his every-fifteen-minutes habit, face-down on his desk yet again. "Sir, if you drool on that paperwork, you'll just have to start it all over again."

When he didn't move, Hawkeye got to her feet. The other men in the office all looked surreptitiously from her to the Colonel. Trouble was brewing, and nobody wanted to miss the fallout. Anything to break up the routine of a dull work day. Four pairs of eyes watched as the Lieutenant approached their superior's desk.

"Sir, if you have this much trouble staying awake, perhaps you should consider getting checked out by the infirmary."

Even at the close range of her voice, Mustang didn't stir, except his head lolling to one side. He was well and truly asleep this time.

"If it is something he's got, it could be hypothyroidism," Fuery offered. "My mother has it. Symptoms include fatigue, cold intolerance, paleness —"

Falman frowned. "I don't think that's it. The symptoms also include poor muscle tone, weight gain, water retention, constipation -"

"Too much information," Breda groaned, covering his ears.

"I hope it's mono," Havoc muttered darkly. "Serve him right."

"Enough." Hawkeye's voice broke through the speculation, bringing the men's attention back to her. She'd moved behind the Colonel's desk, one hand raised in preparation to touch him on the shoulder. "I was being sarcastic; he doesn't have any mysterious illness."

Her hand lowered, two fingers pressed against the exposed skin of Roy's neck. For a full second, nothing happened. Then, all at once, he sat up ramrod-straight, giving vent to a panicked yelp. Hawkeye's hand dropped back to her side as her satisfied smile appeared.

"Oh, good. You're awake." She tapped a small stack on the desk top. "These need your signature before fourteen-hundred today, sir. You have twenty minutes, and then Fuery can take them to the main Administration office." Turning, she went back to her own desk.

Rubbing the back of his neck with a shiver, Roy reluctantly picked up the first paper. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, Lieutenant. It feels like you put an ice cube on me."

"I'd apologize, sir, but I don't want to seem insincere."

Falman glanced between Colonel and Lieutenant, seeming confused. "If you don't mind my asking, sir . . . what exactly did she do?"

Roy's eyes narrowed. "You've obviously never had the displeasure of finding out what the Lieutenant's Death Hands feel like. Pray that you never do."

"Sir, I think you're being a little dramatic," Hawkeye said calmly, resuming her seat. "It isn't that bad." No one paid any attention to the comment; they'd all become extremely tuned to what Roy was saying, the second the words 'Death Hands' left his mouth.

"What are . . . 'Death Hands?'" Fuery asked, tone suggesting that he didn't quite want to know.

Sitting back in his chair, Roy folded his arms with a scowl. "For as long as I've known her, Lieutenant Hawkeye has had abnormally cold hands. Even in summer, one touch is enough to make somebody shiver." He paused for a moment. "Only dead people have colder hands than that."

"Dramatic," Riza murmured, only half to herself. Again, her words went ignored in the scraping of chairs across the floor. The four men drifted toward Roy's desk, intent on hearing the rest of this horror story.

"One time," Roy continued, ignoring the comment, "in Ishval, she had to hold a gauze patch against a wound on my arm. Even with something between her hand and me, I could feel it." He leaned forward a little, staring down his captivated audience. "I swear, she chilled my soul."

"It would explain so much."

Jumping at the sudden, louder-than-usual comment, the knot of men turned to look at an irritated Lieutenant Hawkeye. Her finger rose, pointing in the general direction of their seats.

"Your desks are over there." They looked to her finger, then beat a hasty retreat as the story caught up to real life. With a quiet sigh of exasperation, Riza returned to her work. Silence descended on the office once again, broken only by the scribble of pens.

Riza had, however, developed a tendency to sign her name with a little more repressed rage than usual. Her pen made an extra-loud scratch every time, eventually attracting Roy's attention. Propping his chin in one hand, he watched as she did it twice more.

"Lieutenant, you're going to kill the pen."

Her gaze shot sideways toward him, briefly, before she resumed her work, more calmly than before. "I would think the pen is already dead, Colonel. After all, it's suffered severe exposure to my Death Hands, hasn't it?"