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Monday

"Havoc," Roy's commanding officer voice made the Second Lieutenant sit up straight, "go stand by the window so they won't smell your cigarette smoke," he ordered. Havoc saluted, doing as he was told. "Close it just before they come in," Roy added. "Look busy.

"Falman, have the second copy of the reports prepared and fanned out on the desk – be sure to know which is which should they ask," he went on. Falman saluted in turn. "Hawkeye, I need the best coffees and teas at the ready should they so much as clear their throat."

"Sir," she snapped into a salute.

"Fuery, you go and bring them here – you're the shortest so they'll feel tall and intimidating just the way they like," Roy shook his head to himself. Fuery shoved his lower lip out in a pout. Following the order nonetheless, he trudged over to the door. They all knew it had to be done. Roy being of a high rank had always bugged the senior staff, the old geezers in particular.

There was but one who could stand him fine, but Grumman was seldom the one doing an inspection. Usually, it would be some Brigadier General – one rank above Roy – who would come by. Grumpily, they (he, let's not deny it) would try to play down any achievements or belittle the completed work. The team had never had a truly bad inspection, though a couple of months had been very close. Very close.

"Go on, Fuery, they'll bite our heads off either way," Roy scolded at the snail's pace the Master Sergeant crept to the door with. "And Breda, surrender whatever it is you're snacking beneath your desk to the coffee tray this instant," Roy kept reprimanding. It was early; too early for the inspection, but the good will counted.

Turning to where Havoc was now camping at the window, Roy got ready for another hour or two of nerve-wrecking waiting and – worst of all – paperwork. Just because there was an inspection did not mean the work was done; it only just started anew.

He sank down in his chair with a sigh. Fuery had only just reached out for the doorhandle when both doors swung open. They knocked the poor Master Sergeant over, making the rest of the Unit jump. Roy most of all. He bolted up to stand, painfully crashing with his knees against the desk in the process. His hand shot into a salute, as did those of the others.

It could not be. It had to be a joke.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the intruder's hoarse, deep voice greeted. The inspector's.

"Fuhrer King Bradley," Roy brought out. He thanked his tongue not to have twisted like his mind had. "What a surprise to see you here," he returned somewhat clumsily. Because how else was he supposed to react when the Fuhrer of the country came for a visit? It was impossible to judge whether to be cursing their luck or praising it – of all times that man decided to be spontaneous, it was the one where everything was spotless.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Bradley said.

"I don't think I could stop you, even if you were," Roy replied without thinking. Riza nearly winced. He could see the inward facepalm unfold in her eyes, the rest of her expression as flawlessly ironed out as always. Bradley laughed, spooking them once again. Roy shoulders sank with relief anyway.

"I was hoping this inspection would brighten my morning," Bradley explained, chuckling.

"Can we perhaps brighten it with a cup of coffee?" Roy ventured. Another laugh – whether on the good side or as a warning, they did not know.

"I don't plan to ensconce myself," the Fuhrer waved off, "though I did hear that the First Lieutenant makes excellent tea," he glanced at her with a smile. Bowing her head, she went to pour a cup immediately. Roy did not dare exhale with content at her quick work, focusing on the Fuhrer's gaze instead.

It did not travel the room, unlike any other inspecting high-ranking officer's. Bradley seemed to honestly enjoy the visit as some sort of holiday trip from his own duties. That was one thing he had in common with the usual inspectors – a fondness for making other people sweat nervously.

"I see the Fullmetal Alchemist is not with you," Bradley noted. Not even side-glancing the stupid reports Roy had had to sacrifice his stupid evening for when he could have spent it worshiping his beloved. Working instead of being illegal – what an imposition.

"He is out at the moment," Roy excused. As if that brat came around once a month. Or more often. Not that Roy minded.

"A self-invented mission with his brother?" Bradley guessed. His smile was friendly, but Roy knew not to let himself be at ease just yet.

"Alchemy research," he made up. It was probably correct anyway.

"What a shame he cannot present it today," Bradley brought the cup to his lips. "I would have liked to hear how his discoveries are faring," he mumbled. Casually, he took a sip. Roy tried hard not to have the tightness of his jaw show. That kid would hear from him soon enough.

The tension seemed to heighten with every genteel sip. Bradley took his time, that was for sure. Whether they preferred it that quiet and dangerously friendly way or the usual openly hostile, degrading inspection, none of them was sure. Hawkeye was the only one not betraying her unsettlement. Fuery was still recovering behind the door, though decently enough not to be noticed. Havoc had closed the window the second Bradley had sipped his tea, just as discreetly. They were a staid team, that much was certain, but if it would be enough for the Fuhrer himself remained to be seen.

"I hear you enjoy a game of chess," Bradley turned to Roy again. "Perhaps you would care to play a round against me sometime," he proposed. Still no interest in the damn reports. Roy attempted an easy smile.

"I wouldn't know whether to try and brag or let you win," he admitted. This time, the laughter he triggered felt less as if sucking the air off its oxygen.

"You're an honest man, Mustang, I appreciate that," Bradley nodded. Then again towards his two accompanying soldiers. "I must be on my way now and won't bother you any longer," he had the cup taken from him by one of his men. Hawkeye bowed again as she received it. "You will have the evaluation by no later than tomorrow," he promised. Hands clasped behind his back. Voice hinting at nothing.

No one dared to breathe when he was almost out the door. He did not turn again as he left, though halted shortly.

"Thank you for the tea. That was truly delicious," Bradley said. And then he was gone.

The men deflated with sighs, shoulders slumping. Havoc slumped altogether (not least because he had dropped his cigarette at the sudden entrance, now trying to erase the traces on the floorboards). Breda went to help Fuery stand, the latter fixing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Falman glared at the reports as unhappily as Roy had a moment ago. Now he could only stare at the shut doors.

"Alright men, back to work," he caught himself. "This is a day like any other after all, so let's get things done," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir!" the team exclaimed in unison, snapping into salutes. Breda could not help his snicker, Havoc grunting from behind. Of course, Roy had only said so because that Monday was everything but a regular day. Inspectors liked to linger in front of the door to listen for any laziness or gossip. Roy's Unit knew all the tricks.

Only with Bradley, nothing had seemed to work. Nothing but a cup of tea.

"Breda, I want you to try the tea," Roy lowered his voice again. The Second Lieutenant frowned with puzzlement. "Go on, you're our gourmand," he urged. "I want to know if he was being sarcastic or not," he expounded. This time, it was the First Lieutenant giving him a look. She rose a single, nearly threatening brow. Roy shrunk awkwardly.

"Well done, chief," Havoc snorted.

"Pissed off your only strong point – or so I've heard," Breda consented with Havoc, grinning as he glanced towards the door, then winked. She poured him a cup regardless, and he hummed his approval before having swallowed his sip. "Good," he emphasised. Roy still kept from sighing with relief when feeling Riza's eyes on him.

"Back to work then," he nodded, eluding her by slipping behind his desk. "I don't want another all-nighter just because- hey!" he remembered then. "Havoc," he slammed one hand on the desk.

"Oh, boy…"

"From now on, if I find a single sheet of yours that doesn't have a date on it-"

"I'll have to do the night-shift, yeah, yeah," Havoc rolled his eyes.

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Roy smirked mischievously. Havoc frowned. A single drop of sweat formed on his forehead.

"You lost the bet – you can't ban cigarettes from the office until next year!" he stood, defending himself. Roy's smirk only grew, adding to his Second Lieutenant's distress.

"Just put the damn dates and we're all good," Roy then shrugged. Glancing down at his desk, he found several forms to be waiting for him. None of which he was even remotely keen on reading. Or signing. Why should he care which calibre guns higher ranked officers were allowed to use once promoted to Major or above? Now if they were allowed to date subordinates, his signature would be ready before the document was fully written!

Still, he had made a point and in order to remain cool and on top, he had to get to work. Look professionally busy.

He would not mind a break though – assembling everyone for the inspection had been tiring enough.

"Tell me," Havoc insisted. "Or else you do what?" he rounded their desks towards Roy's. "Come on, Colonel, don't play the lone wolf now, tell me," he was beginning to sweat more profusely now. It only made Roy's smirk set back into place. "Tell me or I'll- read these and have them ready for tomorrow morning, Sir," he somewhat yelled when the door had suddenly opened. With a salute, he aimed to retreat from the desk.

"You forgot these," Roy gleefully handed over a thick stack he hated in particular. He had just been promised completion by tomorrow, had he not? Who was he to deny such a strong wish? Havoc's eyes tried to kill him.

Roy's growing smile fell however when he recognised the Fuhrer's secretary in the doorway. So that's why there was no need to knock – he had been about ready to chastise, gulping it down the last second.

She did not introduce herself – not that they did not know who she was – neither greeting anyone until arriving right in front of his desk. She strode so briskly, Havoc had to hurriedly sidestep to make room. Hawkeye's hand twitched to her back, the quick pace having agitated her enough to almost ready a gun. Roy did his utmost to keep a straight face. Not least because his Lieutenant could have nearly blown the woman's brains out.

"Mensual assessment for Colonel Roy Mustang," she simply declared. Swiping a thin manila envelope from the documents she was holding, she handed it to him. He hardly had the time to take it, slightly baffled, but she was also too quickly letting go, already turning on the heel to leave. He kept from pulling a face. Was she running from the storm that was about to come…?

The door banged shut before he had the time to consider all possibilities. He had not yet lowered his gaze to it when the men huddled around his desk. Hawkeye shook her head. However he noticed the way she neatly rearranged the teacups for the next visitor with a tad more care than necessary. Staying close to his desk.

He turned the envelope over. A perfectly centred wax seal greeted him – that of the Fuhrer, not of the evaluation committee. He would either have to burn every trace of it to ashes or keep it in case he could show off with it. If it was show-off worthy; the report would have to be good.

It needed to be good – the last one had been… let's just say an entire week of all-nighters would not have saved it. Living with Hawkeye would have certainly not been an option, not if he wanted to spend time with her. It was a miracle they were able to do so and had gotten work done. Perhaps it was his boosted morale; the way she improved his mood merely through the thought of returning home together.

This evaluation had to be good, it just had to. He was not ready for any more nights of working without proper cuddling. Making use of her stay was top priority, so work was sadly one too.

"Do it," Havoc urged.

"I can't believe it's here already," Fuery said.

"Maybe there was nothing good to be said but nice tea…" Breda mumbled under his breath. Havoc waved his hand in front of Roy's face, spurring him.

Carefully, impatiently, Roy broke the seal under the watchful eyes of his Unit. Hawkeye glanced over her shoulder, while Falman could have probably vacuumed the sheets out of the envelope by how strongly he inhaled in order to stay quiet. Havoc drummed his fingers on the desk when Roy slid the pages out. The first one was always the final result, the rest going into detail.

His eyes widened to saucers. "It's a perfect score," he whispered. It was all the men needed to hear. They burst in unison, cheering loudly and high-fiving each other. Fuery was promptly lifted off his feet by Havoc, and Roy found himself wishing to do the same with Riza.

Later, he told himself.

"It's got the Fuhrer's signature!" Falman spotted. "An outstanding from the Fuhrer himself!" he laughed triumphantly.

"What was in that tea?" Havoc patted Riza's shoulder humorously. She tutted at their boyish celebration, smiling nonetheless.

Roy's smile was even broader. Cuddling was back on.

Roy harked when the key rattled in the lock of the front door. It clicked, then again as it closed. Claws scratched across the hall. Hayate was by his side within a second, but Roy stayed focused on his task. Boots thudded lightly in the entrance. Her coat swished where it was hung.

Her civilian clothes were always a sight to behold, but when they had changed after coming home, he had noticed a certain bra she had been wearing – was still wearing. Had it not vanished under a blouse the next moment, he was sure his trousers would have tightened.

Right now, he would have loved to see her expression when she entered but he had to make sure the water did not boil over.

That, and he had to stay nonchalant and mysterious.

Not for long, Riza's faint gasp told him. She must have smelled it right away. Hayate definitely had, though he did not much care for what people tossed into his mouth as long as they did it.

"What are you doing?" she asked despite the obvious sweet flavour engulfing them.

"Melting chocolate," Roy slyly said. Lamely, he realised. He could have let her find out, playfight to catch a fleeting glance of the stovetop, having to hug and trap him fiercely in order to see. The scenario alone made him blush ever so slightly. He blamed it on the steam.

"Chocolate fondue?" Riza crossed her arms. "For dinner?"

"What else?" He really should have imagined the scene more, neither of his replies close to sounding as chic as he had hoped.

"On a Monday?" She seemed equally lost, perhaps thrown off by his dinner plans, because really? The day was what bothered her?

Logically speaking, that would have been an issue since it was a workday and the following as well, but Roy's brain was still occupied with Riza-playfights and whatever compromising positions might entail. Not that he was out for them, but the idea that she would be the one to initiate the tussle or even just a hug… he caught himself exhaling blissfully at the possibility alone. Improbable, but not impossible.

Going over to the table, Roy popped open the wine he had prepared during her evening walk. It was nice and chilly just right, the bottle not yet dripping but coating his hand with the melted ice cube water.

"Why not?" he grinned over his shoulder. She watched him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"Chocolate and red wine?" she grabbed a kitchen towel, crossing over to him.

"Red wine goes well with chocolate," he argued.

"Says who?" Riza retorted. He almost whooped when she used the tip of the towel to wipe chocolate off his chin.

"The wine," he said, barely catching himself. Her eyes were shining so fondly. "It's been waiting around for such a success for way too long," he implied the evaluation.

"How long is too long?" she arched a brow. He could not get enough of it.

"Two weeks, probably," he remembered his last red wine. Not a particular success. It earned him a chuckle, luring out a purr in turn. If he had to rate his favourite Rizas, playful Riza was definitely a strong candidate for top five. Probably top three.

She let the towel sink, tilting her head innocently. "What else did it tell you?" She went over to the cupboards, hanging the towel. Then she took out plates, ready to set the table. He edged over quietly – circumventing a begging Hayate – while she transferred the already sliced fruit from the cutting board to a bowl.

"That it shouldn't leave you too drunk, because that makes you sleepy," Roy wound his arms around her waist. It did not matter who initiated, really, as long as he could dwell in the heaven of her so close for a little longer. He was about to squish, then remembered the bra she was wearing. The very feminine bra. Perhaps if he peeked over her shoulder and wound his arms a tad tighter…

Riza surprised him by turning halfway. He opened his mouth for a witty reply, but she was faster. Having swiped a fork off the counter, she stuffed his mouth with a slice of apple.

"And we wouldn't want that." She dropped the fork back into the bowl with an equally baffling speed. Before he had the time to follow – or remember his plan to sneak a peek towards her cleavage – she had taken one of his hands over her stomach. On the tips of her toes, Riza raised their joint hands. She twirled him like he would when they danced, leaving Roy enamoured, nearly bewildered by her grace. Again he opened his mouth, only to have the words get stuck again.

She had used the move to wind out and away. Planned it all along. What a dazzlingly bright woman she was. Both in intelligence as well as aura. Even with her back turned as she set the table did he feel her radiate towards him – serenity, friskiness and affection. All for him. Only him.

Okay, perhaps Hayate was a rival when it came to the latter.

"You seem rather keen on feeding me," Roy advanced again, this time to actually be of help. Bringing over the pot of water where the chocolate took its melting bath, he set it down where she swiftly placed the folded towel. "I wouldn't want to keep you from doing it throughout dinner," he wiggled his brows.

He took care of her chair for her to sit down, then poured their wine. She bore a sly yet soft smile once they raised their glasses.

"If it gets you to eat, so be it," the glasses clinked, "but don't get used to it," she took a sip. The way she did not cease to hold his gaze while drinking made a fuzzy twist of excitement whirl through his chest. "With weight loss comes muscle decrease, and since you have no fat to offer, you'll become flabby," she bit her lip as not to grin too obviously. Had it not looked so incredibly sexy, he would have been by far more indignant at the remark.

At least played it. For the sake of the joke. Her sake.

They brought work up several times during dinner, but the topics never strayed into upsetting spheres. The food was sweet and the wine warm down his throat as Roy felt more and more in love with his adjutant the longer he looked at her. He thanked any and all odds that had bestowed Bradley's ridiculous visit and consequently phenomenal evaluation upon him – without those, he would have never been able to enjoy such a wonderful evening. He would otherwise not have been able to look forward to a peaceful night of slumber with her in his arms.

Now in the bedroom after washing up, Roy sank down on the end of the bed. Riza returned from having given Hayate his food. A gentle smile crowned her lips when their eyes met. If only he could ask her to marry him, he thought.

Another idea struck him. Chocolate fondue was great, and wine better (in his humble opinion), but for a true treat after hard work, she might just enjoy a soak before bed. He knew her routine was to shower in the evenings in order to let her hair dry overnight. Thanks to paperwork past midnight though, she had done so in the morning. But perhaps she would still appreciate the peace and quiet. He even had bath salts from that time Vanessa had stayed to elude some stalker, having left half her wardrobe and toiletries behind.

"Lieutenant," he started, nearly getting distracted when she reached for the first buttons of her blouse, "you can also use the bra-tub- bathtub! The bathtub," he cringed. So much for almost distracted. Both her brows rose. There was no eluding that look. "Sorry," Roy scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, "I'm still thinking about you in that bra- I mean no, I just…" he suppressed a groan. He rubbed his face with his entire palm. Grimacing, he cautiously stole a peek between his fingers.

There had been amusement reigning over the mild silent reproach. He was unable to see either anymore. She was unreadable, watching him as if expectantly.

"There's no getting out of this one, is there?" he sheepishly pulled a face. Slowly, very slowly, she shook her head. Was that a glint of amusement in her eyes? It was dark somehow, impossible to decipher where he could usually read her emotions off her straight, on-duty expression. "Sorry," he repeated, "but it's so unusual for you to wear anything that's not a sports bra and it suits you so bloody well, I just couldn't get it out of my head," he hastily excused himself, "yet," he added, fading.

A moment of silence passed. He dared to meet her eyes, still left clueless. Her hands still hovered in place over the blouse.

She let him simmer for a heartbeat longer.

"Would you like to see it again?" she then asked. Roy's eyes snapped open. He nearly choked on his own spit, mind too blank to even think of forming words. His hands fell limply into his lap. They were immediately forgotten alongside his shameless stare when she began unbuttoning her shirt.

Calmly, without any rush whatsoever, Riza slid one button after the other out of their holes. Her eyes had wandered down to the task, seeming closed from where he sat, had his own not been glued to her actions anyway. His mouth had gone dry by the time she was done. He felt her look at him, but it took him a good minute to tear his gaze off her torso.

She was gorgeous. Not that he had not known before. Her skin was milky and supple. The lightest of streaks here and there told stories of Ishval, and merely one of their time together at her father's house. Up from her navel, past the cutest of birthmarks he had a particular fondness for, her ribs neatly outlined her ribcage.

The bra was splendid. A deep black. Nothing special, really, only in comparison to her common, very functional choices, it stood out like a bolt of lightning amidst a pitch-black sky. It had lace. Fixed over the cups was a thin layer of lace, its edges sticking up at the tops of her breasts in floral ruffles. The straps were what had caught his eye earlier when changing, not because they were especially pretty, but because they were slim and so different from the habitual ones.

She was a sight to behold, so his brain took more than just one moment to link her lingering glance with the enquiry to meet it. Once he did, she was just as unreadable and composed as before.

He might have uttered a compliment or ten, he could not remember. Not when she spoke up, features just as unmoving as before. "Would you like to touch it?"

This time, he could not produce a single word, let alone sound that was not a helplessly scratching attempt at clearing his throat. How was she this cute while at the same time this sexy? He could not decide – neither whether he wanted more to squish her into an adoring hug or squish her bosom to him in a heated suckle. She put his brain before such riddles, he did not notice for a second how his mouth would not fully close.

Roy ended up nodding. Wordlessly – for entirely different reasons than him – Riza stepped closer. Heat pooled in all kinds of places when she decided to sink down on his lap. Legs to either side of his, her pelvis rolled forward, seemingly of its own accord. It robbed his breath, his chest constricting where his heart pounded wildly.

Her cheeks flushed when her breasts stopped at the height of his lips. He kissed the top of the left one, enticing a desperate shiver.

"Would you," Riza had to quietly gasp for breath when he drew her closer, arms winding around her so tightly his chin rested on her bosom. On that magnificent bosom in its magnificent bra. He plunged his gaze into hers from below. Her face was not half a centimetre away from his. "Would you like to see the knickers, too? They match," she breathed huskily. It nearly earned her an immediate rise where she sat.

Roy was close to panting, hands ardently finding their way to the waistband of her skirt, "please."