Disclaimer: Still don't own it, just in case you've forgotten my other disclaimers.
A/N: Another chapter! And this one is longer than all of the previous ones. See, I told you that they would start getting longer.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Riza woke up with her heart pounding. She sat up quickly, breathing hard. It was only a dream, only a dream. A very realistic dream. Riza put her fingers to her lips, trying to wipe the lingering dream-sensation away. She had never had a dream like this before. Reliving the dream, she could feel her cheeks grow warm and her heart beat speeding up.
In her dream she had been in the middle of a field, with no sign of civilization anywhere. Just before the loneliness of the vast plain could overwhelm her, she had been forcefully spun around by Mustang, who had come up from behind her. Then he kissed her. And kissed her. And if she hadn't woken up, maybe...
She could still feel his lips on hers, regardless of the fact it had been a dream. Riza once again tried to rid herself of the sensation, extremely pleasant though it had been. How could she have imagined something like that! He was her superior for God's sake, and to even dream of him like that was rigidly against her ideals.
Riza was consumed by a horrible wave of jealously. Spitfire could dream of him like that, though why she would have to go through the trouble of dreaming about it, rather than living through it was incomprehensible. Riza wondered if Spitfire had been kissed by him yet. She wouldn't doubt it.
The sharp ringing of her clock in the other room sounded through the night. Riza counted the chimes. One. Two. Three. She waited for the fourth. It didn't come. She groaned. It was only three in the morning, and after that dream, her chances of falling asleep again were very slim. She was too afraid that she would repeat the dream. And she couldn't afford to do that. It was too tempting.
She slid out of her warm bed and turned on the light. Black Hayate, curled up in the corner of the room, woke for a minute to see what was wrong. He watched Riza grab a small book, then decided that there was nothing of interest going on, so returned to his dream of chasing a fat rabbit.
Riza laid back in bed, with her diary and pen in hand. Writing in a diary was a habit reminiscent of her experience in the Ishbal war. She often credited her diary for being one of two things that had kept her sane during that horrible war. Whenever she had felt that it was impossible for her to kill another person, and all the more possible to kill herself, she would write all of the damning things she had done in the diary. Somehow it had helped.
Now, whenever she needed to sort something out, she would write it down. It clarified things to her. And tonight she needed to clarify some things. Riza wrote for nearly two hours, and when the clock chimed five times, she put down her pen and flexed her hand, which was cramped from all of the writing.
She got up and dressed. Usually this was when she would go running for two miles, to keep herself in shape. However, this morning she had to go in early and to the work she had neglected the night before. And if she went in this early, she wouldn't have to deal with Mustang for a few hours. After the flower incident, and then the dream, she was a mess of contradictory thoughts and desires.
Riza spent a moment in consideration, then grabbed her diary on the way out. Should she get some free time, she wanted to write a little bit more—while she was dressing she had come to a conclusion.
The paperwork was waiting patiently for her, and Riza immersed herself in it gratefully. It banished her dream to a vague corner of her mind that only bothered her when she stopped reading for a moment.
Seven came too soon for Riza. She did not want to go give her morning report to Mustang and turn in the paper work she had completed. She half expected him to tell her to get lost again. Stupid day lilies.
Riza grabbed the pile of papers, not even noticing that her diary was in the stack. She walked down to his office. Maybe, she thought, he'll say something about the flower incident last night, or at least acknowledge the fact that I came in two hours early, in part to finish some of the things he couldn't do because he left two hours early last night. She was too loyal, almost infinitely it seemed. Was there a limit to it?
A ghost of a smile played across her lips. He wouldn't say a word to her, and she knew it. Yet she was still stupid enough to imagine it. She reached his office, but did not go in. His door was almost shut, left open only a crack. Riza stopped to listen, to see if there was someone in there that she shouldn't interrupt.
"Ah, I have so much paperwork to do," She heard Mustang complain. "Sorry Rain. I can't go tonight." Riza frowned. Naturally Spitifre was in there.
"Hmph," Spitfire said, "You shouldn't have so much paperwork to do. That Lieutenant Hawkeye of yours should do more work. Look at her, leaving you to do all this because she's lazy."
Riza froze. She, lazy? That was it. Somewhere inside of her, Riza felt her tolerance snap. She would do everything without any recognition or gratitude, but she would not be called lazy! Did that Spitfire know how lazy Mustang was? Apparently, there was a limit to her loyalty. Well, if he wanted to sit in his office all day gossiping with his beloved Spitfire, so be it. She wouldn't interrupt them. Riza knocked harshly on the door, deposited the paperwork at the base of the door, and left.
She was going to take the day off. Let Spitfire see how much work Mustang did without her. Riza heard a little voice in her mind telling her that she was overreacting, but she brushed it aside. She needed a day without that man. Every day she saw him, and now she was dreaming about him too. This was something she desperately needed.
OOOOOOOOOO
Roy got up from his desk at the knock. He opened the door and saw the pile of papers.
"What is that?" Rain asked him. "What are all those papers?"
"Huh," Roy muttered, "guess Hawkeye left me these." He looked and saw that they had all been signed—they were completed. He lifted the stack and sat them on his desk.
Rain twirled her auburn hair around her finger. "Look at that. She's too lazy to even come in and salute you."
"At least she did these," Roy said, slightly annoyed at Rain's attitude. "She's not as lazy as you think." Rain shrugged.
"Oh well," Rain remarked. "I've got to go back to my office now. Sorry you can't come tonight. We'd have so much fun."
"Don't worry, Colonel Spitfire," Roy assured her. "We'll have fun tomorrow night. Don't forget to tell your friend how much I loved that restaurant last night. She works at a great place."
"I'll tell her," Rain answered over her shoulder as she left.
Roy watched her go, and then turned his attention to the papers in front of him. He half-heartedly flipped through them to make sure that all of them were complete. There really was no reason for him to check. Hawkeye always did her work.
Wait...what was that? Roy pulled out the dully bound leather book from under the pile. The cover was totally blank, except for a simple leaf pattern around the edges. He opened it, and was surprised to see that the pages were covered with cramped writing. It was a diary! Roy momentarily wondered if he should go ask Hawkeye if it was hers, but then he didn't know for sure that she had left those papers in front of his door. And if he asked Hawkeye, and it wasn't hers...that would just be awkward.
"I'll just read one entry," Roy muttered. "Then I'll be able to tell whose it is." He glanced at the writing. To his surprise, the handwriting looked almost exactly like his. Roy frowned. That was rather scary. He settled into his chair and began to read.
An hour later, he was utterly engrossed. Every time he thought he had a decent guess on the identity of the person, there would be an entry to contradict him. He knew one thing for sure—the writer was a female. And while that narrowed it down, there were still too many possibilities. Hawkeye was still a candidate, but if it was her, there was so much he had never known about her. And since he was sure that he knew her fairly well, she was not at the top of his list.
The person was a trained person of the military, for every person mentioned was not written with a name, but some sort of number or letter. That had taken some getting used to, and he had a vague idea of the identity of some of the people referenced. Roy's conscience was starting to pester him, but he pushed it aside. He had already read this far, so he might as well go until he figured out for certain who the author was. And when he did figure it out, he would know this person so much better—but the handwriting still unnerved him. It was almost a perfect replica of his writing, if only being slightly neater. What a strange coincidence that two people could have such similar handwriting.
Roy suddenly realized that he had spent a great deal of time reading, and he still had a great deal of work to do. He sighed in dismay and read one final entry before going to work.
Today is my birthday. As usual, I spent it alone. However, I find it is far lonelier tonight for some reason. I have not celebrated my birthday for a few years now, so why is it bothering me this time? This is just another day of the year, and as special as any other. A birthday is such a pointless celebration, because your life starts when you are conceived, not when you enter this world.
Still, this day makes me look back on my life, and look forward as well. What did I want to be at this age? What do I want to be at my next birthday? I remember telling my friends when I was just a child that I wanted to be a bride. How foolish, and how far from my current state. But I don't need anyone. Loneliness can be conquered, and I have done so. Besides, I have my hands full with another anyway. He doesn't notice me, or care about me, but I, strangely enough, notice and care about him.
I have no explanation for this. P-51 has done nothing for me at all. And yet I'd follow him to the end of the earth. Officially, I am a hypocrite. I do not like having to do with anything that is not a firmly logical course of action. My devotion to P-51 is not logical.
This also brings me to how he has changed me. When I was a child, all I concerned myself with was myself, and being the best. Nothing stood in my way, and if I had a superior, I worked until I was the superior. This was because I would be consumed with jealousy when I met someone better than I.
And yet, all this changed when I entered the military. I met someone so better, so impossibly beyond me, that all of my jealousy was forgotten. I finally realized how small I was, and how insignificant. It is truly amazing to meet someone who is infinitely above you, that all you can do is dedicate yourself to them.
But enough of that. It is just another day in the year; another day in my life. It is no more special or important than any other. P-51 is still the ultimate in my universe, though he gives me no notice at all. I am a hypocrite. And I might be a lonely hypocrite. But that is not important to anyone. I will conquer my loneliness, as I have every day. And even though P-51 uses me, I will stay with him. There is nothing left to discuss.
Roy reluctantly shut the diary and shoved it in his desk. That last entry left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. It was so depressing. P-51 was written about more often than any other entity, and Roy wondered who in the world could be so wonderful that this person would give their entire life to them. The sooner he figured out whose diary it was, the sooner he could figure out who this arrogant bastard P-51 was.
P-51 annoyed him. How could this person not notice the author of the diary? P-51 had to be the most self-centered blind person in the world.
He grabbed a pen and started on his work. The sooner he got it done, the sooner he could continue reading, and then he could figure the whole thing out.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
"There is nothing left to discuss, Hayate," Riza fumed to the canine, who lay in her lap contentedly. "I was a bitch today. I don't know why I'm acting like this. If Mustang is happy with Spitfire, I should be overjoyed, even though in the end, I suppose he'll end up getting tired of her and find some new toy. I don't know why she bothers me so badly. I'm sure Mustang treats all of his girlfriends like that, I guess I've just never witnessed it so closely before. Well, if she thinks that I'm lazy, that is her opinion."
Hayate said nothing. Riza smiled wearily. That was what was so nice about him. She could say anything she wanted to him and he would never berate her or argue with her or laugh at her.
"I hate the fact that I think I'm in..." Riza paused. She just couldn't say it. "Never mind, boy. It's not something I need to voice. After a while, it will go away, I'm certain. And if I truly do...like...him, I shouldn't stand in his way. After all, haven't I been helping him all of this time? What kind of fool would I be to stand in the way of his happiness..." She trailed off, uncomfortably aware that her throat was tightening. It was getting harder to speak. Riza shook her head and got up. Hayate reluctantly left her warm lap and found a comfortable patch of floor.
Riza lay down on her bed and tried to forget the fact that she had been very close to crying. And for what? There was nothing to be crying about. But then, there was nothing to be happy about, either.
OOOOOOOOOO
A/N: Oh yeah. Sorry my reviewers. I haven't been responding to you. So here are some responses.
Aphrael-chibi: I do think that Mustang deserves the Jerk-of-the-Year award, even though he is one of my favorite characters. And I don't spoil you, you spoil me with your reviews.
az4ever: Okay, I know that Mustang wouldn't intentionally treat her like this, but you see, he doesn't realize what he's doing yet. But he will, he will.