A/N: Going to watch Star Trek: Into Darkness on Saturday night became a game of 'how many ways can we mess up Benedict Cumberbatch's name?' I think the leader so far is "Bumpersticker Cabbagepatch."

I do not own FMA.


Fifty - Fingertips

"Colonel?"

"Mmmmmph . . . ." He lifted his head, blinking owlishly. "Wha — did I fall asleep?"

Hawkeye was watching him from the driver's seat, frowning in concern. "I think so . . . . Sir, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he muttered, dragging a hand across his face. "I'm awake now, really." Looking out the window, he saw the front of his apartment building and reached for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride, Lieutenant. Have a good night."

He got out and closed the door . . . just as another opened behind him. "Sir, wait a minute." Hawkeye came around to his side of the vehicle, still with that frown on her face. "Are you sure you're all right? You really don't look like it."

"Is there something wrong with being tired?" he asked, patience beginning to wear through.

"When you've been tired for almost a week, yes," she answered, not missing a beat. "Ever since the incident with Barry, you've been spending almost all your time in the archive room, and I'm willing to bet that your research doesn't stop when you come home at night."

He turned and started for the building's front doors. "How very perceptive of you."

To his annoyance, she followed him across the lobby, past the bleak-eyed reception clerk, and into the elevator. She didn't say another word until the doors closed and he shot her a glare.

"Is there a particular reason you're here, Lieutenant?"

Impassive as always, she ignored the dirty look, watching the floor indicator light move from number to number. "You can't continue on the way you've been going, Colonel. I'm going to make sure you go to bed."

"Is that so . . . ." Pivoting to place himself between her and the doors, her back against the rear wall, he grinned. "Is that all you wanted, Lieutenant? To get me into bed?" Touching two fingertips to her chin, he leaned forward, closing the gap to mere inches. "All you had to do was ask, you know . . . ."

She was looking him in the eye, showing no sign of reaction at his being so close. Maybe it was the fatigue getting to him, but Roy suddenly had this burning desire to kiss her full on the mouth and hang the consequences. Why shouldn't he? He'd been put through the wringer in the last month, and it was high time he was rewarded for it.

Before he could act on the impulse, the elevator dinged as it reached his floor, and the door slid open. Riza's hand planted itself on his chest and pushed him back, out into the hallway. "Let's go, sir. You need to sleep."

"Hawkeye, I can't," he said, feeling more than a little helpless as he followed her toward his apartment.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," she said, stopping beside his door and folding her arms as she waited for him to unlock it.

"No, Hawkeye, that's just it. I actually can't sleep." He sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "For the first night or two, you're right — I didn't sleep because I was trying to find out about the Fifth Laboratory, Barry . . . what Hughes knew that got him killed . . . ." He fished his keys out of a pocket and turned to unlock the door. "But after that, whenever I tried to sleep, I just couldn't. I just laid there and stared at the ceiling. For hours."

Riza didn't say anything, just entered the apartment behind him. He didn't even bother to turn the lights on, just crossed to the couch and collapsed backward onto it. She closed the door, then moved to sit on the couch's arm behind his head.

"You could have said something, sir," she said quietly.

"Could have . . . should have . . . didn't," he muttered, one arm draped over his eyes. After a moment, he said, "Sorry, I'm really not the best company right now."

"It's all right. Why don't I help you fall asleep?"

He lifted his arm far enough to watch as she shifted to sit beside him on the couch. "And how are you going to do that?"

Two fingertips settled either side of his forehead, massaging gently in small circles. With no idea why, Roy felt himself relaxing; his eyes drifted closed. For the first time in five days, he could feel sleep creeping up on him. He remembered her doing this once in Ishval . . . after a particularly long campaign, when he hadn't slept for almost 72 hours. Who cared why it worked, it did. And it just felt so damn good.

"Riza?" he mumbled, trying to stay awake a last few seconds.

"Hm?"

"Thanks."


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