Heh, apparently I'm one of the few that appreciates having a small gesture over OOC-ness... ah, well. This was written for Theme 5; Rumour. Thanks for your comments, guys; they mean a lot!

It was unfair to say that one invited the other to any of the numerous galas and formal engagements the military held for both its soldiers and financial backers, but somehow, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye always reached a silent, mutual agreement and ended up walking through the doors hand-in-hand. Almost immediately behind walked Havoc, Fuery, Falman and Breda, all of whom looked extremely uncomfortable in their dress uniforms, especially Breda, who had made a valiant attempt to do up his jacket over his generous figure. None of them particularly enjoyed these galas, even if they were obligated to come, and they were often one of the last groups to arrive and usually the first to retire for the night.

The men were always expected to wear their uncomfortable formal uniforms, including hat to these occasions. She, despite being a soldier, could wear a gown but looked no more comfortable than the rest of his subordinates. He was more accustomed to putting on a brave face for these events.

When they were seated at their assigned tables, with only each other as familiar, comfortable company (and Hawkeye only seated with him because she was his 'partner for the night') the talk started between the men, with the women often sitting on the sideline, expected to keep a decorative silence. They discussed politics, tactics, the state of the areas there were in charge of, and eventually the wives and partners would join in once the subject converged around the latest rumours making their way around the ranks. While the other women tittered about who had got who pregnant or who had been seen being unfaithful or whatever the latest 'news' was, she listened with a polite silence and only spoke when she was spoken to, all the while fiddling with the hems of her heavy dress and fanning herself shamelessly with her gloved hands, as she was lacking the hand-painted silk fans that most other women associated with superior military officers treated themselves to. He knew that although she manifested herself in self-control her patience often wore thin with the small talk, even if she did try her very best to mask it. That is why, as soon as dinner had been eaten and the majority of couples had made their way to the dance floor to ready themselves for the first dance, which was traditionally the waltz; he stood and offered her his hand, which she accepted without notable hesitation in front of others.

Riza's dress was the same vivid blue silken gown that he had become so accustomed to seeing on her at times like these; it was most likely the only formal garment she owned aside from her uniform. Compared to the other women's dresses it was quite simple, but apparently just as uncomfortable. Roy smiled as she hitched the edge of the simple layer of silk up to expose her low-heeled shoes, looking grateful for the small blast of cool breeze that brushed across her heated legs. She also wore a stole of pale pink about her shoulders, white gloves that reached her elbows and simple silver hoops in her earlobes. Her hair hung loosely down her back, perfectly straight and soft, not a hair out of place. She looked almost exactly the same every time, save a single difference in what type of earrings she chose to wear, but he couldn't help but admire her beauty. Perhaps this was because he was so used to seeing her dressed in a different type of formal clothing.

And then they would dance, trying to keep step while being perhaps the closest they had been to each other all night. Their gazes would stay locked upon the other's face, and somewhere between the delicacy hiding the compelling rush of heat and blood through their veins, they would hear comments on the bizarre amount of comfort and familiarity between the two of them. They would dance until he could feel her start to lag behind in her pace with the heat and tiredness, and she would carefully lean towards him and whisper in his ear that she would sit the next dance out. Almost immediately after their hands parted, he was bombarded with generals' wives, each with an ironclad grasp around a blushing daughter's wrist. Perhaps her face betrayed her, because the women that had been watching both her and her Colonel dance continued to mutter behind raised hands. They say love is like a battlefield; always the rumours of illegality, always the suspicion between friends and enemies alike, always the risk that one wrong move would be the end.

For the few remaining dances she would be content with watching on, finish a flute of champagne or occasionally being treated to dances by Havoc, Falman and Breda, and even Fuery if his boyish courage reached its utter epitome. However, he would always insist on returning to her for the last dance, as did most polite gentlemen at the functions. However, in reality they rarely danced to the final song.

Instead, he would reclaim her hand and take her out to the gardens, occasionally passing a couple that looked like they had just finished doing something that was probably much more frowned upon than what they were about to do. The younger couple would then stumble back into the hall, and Riza can almost remember herself from Ishbal days; slightly foolish, utterly in love, but never able to pitch her voice so high as to giggle about it.

And when he felt comfortable with their location he would stop just a suddenly as he would grab her hand to draw her outside with him and after looking around hurriedly like an unfaithful husband, secure his arm around her waist and embrace her. Their lips would meet and would kiss slowly, but with a passion that only old lovers going back many years could achieve. Roy broke away then, his eyes dark and passionate and almost frightening, and then he would and kiss the slightly breathless Riza again, tongue tracing irregular patterns across her palate and his arms pulling her ever closer, and she would envelop her arms around his neck and respond in turn. As the music died and the other couples begin to clap to signal the end of the evening they broke away from each other quickly, his lips finding her neck one last, hurried time before they would rush back into the ballroom to await dismissal like all good soldiers would.

Sometimes Riza wondered how long this cycle of love, work and rumour would last before it merged into one compound and became unstable, but she would look at Roy and feel as if she could live life like this forever. And then the final speech would finish and they would both make their way to the door as quickly as they could without seeming utterly impolite. They would share the military car with Havoc (Fuery, Falman and Breda were quite effective at hitching rides with other people who lived in dorms) and Riza, usually being the most sober of the three, would drive. He enjoyed teasing her about this ("Driving in a pretty dress like that?") but once Havoc was gone, and they had arrived at his house, he would give her a final, intense kiss before making his way up to his apartment and leaving her to drive home for the night.

The next day, they would be back to being formal, a commander and his subordinate. However, even if it was for the most fleeting of moments, she enjoyed his full attention and cautious, breathtaking love.

End

I got a little bit carried away with this one. It's a little over one thousand words, but I'm actually quite fond of it. I thought it was a nice take on the obligatory military gala fic. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed it. All reviews and feedback is appreciated greatly.