A/N - Turned out to be a slightly longer than drabble-ish drabble. Sorry. And also, I think it turned out pretty crappy, but I couldn't look at it any more. Hawkeye x Roy is definitely not one of my more loved couples. Ok, it's one of my most hated couples, but this was for a friend who's a little down at the moment. Hope you guys can get some enjoyment from it, I know she did.

And lots of hugs to my two reviewers for the Havoc drabble. You made me very happy. I really need a Roy/Havoc drabble... hmm, guess it's time to let the muses play on that one.

Disclaimer - If I ever get the rights to FMA, I'll let you know...

Weakness

He's sleeping again; head cushioned on arms at his desk, soft snores that rival that of the tiniest babe filling the office, his features slackened without the usual stress lines of the day and I smile fondly at the sight of this angel in fighter's clothing.

He's worn himself out once again.

Silently, knowing that the nights are growing chilly with the upcoming threat of winter, I move across the room and drape a blanket across his shoulders, watching with a tender lilt I'm unaware of using.

Most men would crumble under the stress he carries, the sheer weight alone more than any one person should have to bear, yet he takes it in stride. A sarcastic stride, yet one none the less. He plays himself off as arrogant, smug and nonchalant, a slacker in the high ranks of a militarized society, yet I've seen the man behind the mask. Somehow, the paperwork he complains night and day about is always signed on time; he's a friend to the soldiers; a father-type to the Elrics... and a weakness to me.

My training keeps me from falling for his smooth words, wry humor, a hug here and a kiss there, but it's harder with every passing day to keep to my shadows. Sideway glances and stolen kisses only go so far, and I'm nearly at the end of a too-short rope here. As a private, I learned how to shoot a fly off a wall 50 paces away. I never learned how to brush aside the attempts of a smooth talking man who cares more for others than his own life. Somehow, I feel that would've been time better spent, yet I know I mustn't get in his way. Too much rides on his becoming Furher. His succession is all that matters, because any one who really knows him understands that 'tiny mini-skirts' are not what he's fighting for.

To fight for oneself is a selfish reason, and he is not a selfish man.

So people won't be afraid of speaking out of turn, for fear they may be carted off for treason; so that the only spread of 'war' will be the stories passed down to the younger generations; so children can grow up with both parents, instead of having only one or less.

His past is not something he wishes on anyone, be it friend or foe, and this is why he fights, and why I will stay by his side, always a constant. I wish to share that world with him, right beside him, whether it be for better or worse. Nothing is certain in this world, so it's up to people like us to change that. I take on this responsibility without remorse. I'm not afraid for myself; I only fear for him. Better men than he have tried to obtain the New World Order, and failed. I will not run if this becomes our case, though I fear it may come down to it. Through thick and thin, I'll be there, and even though I can't say that I love him, I can say that I love the man he wishes he were.

And that's enough for me.

With a kiss to his sleeping head, I retrace my steps back into the hall. It's all I can afford at the moment, because I refuse to take his concentration off what is important. Yet as I close the door on one man's imaginary world, I'm unaware that he, too, smiles.

Fin