First FMA fic. Working with post-3rd lab incident in the manga series.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
In order to maintain a superior level of combat excellence, the military requires all of their officers, both commissioned and enlisted, to be examined and evaluated. Just like State Alchemist Evaluations, these examinations can lead to demotion, or even expulsion from the military if performance isn't up to standards. Every single officer goes through a session of firearms examination with the military issued pistol in an effort to keep everyone in the service competent enough with the weapon to wield it when necessary. And after that evaluations are based on what type of training the individual was listed under during boot camp, military academy, and their on-job experiences.
Roy frowned at the first document on the large stack of files sitting on his desk. The memo was not offensive because it was the longest or most boring of the reports he had to look through and sign that day. It was simply one sheet of paper decorated with the military's insignia at the top with straightforward typewritten message.
In order to maintain a superior level of combat excellence, the military requires all of their officers, both commissioned and enlisted to be examined and evaluated. To ensure the continuing success of our military's performance we require that the following subordinates under your command be released for Basic Evaluation as well as the following
Sitting just below the generic paragraph in a secretary's neat script the bottom portion was filled out.
First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye
Defensive/Offensive Sniper Evaluation
Unarmed Combat Evaluation
Roy's frown turned into a partially disgusted sneer. The fact that his First Lieutenant was being evaluated today meant that she was automatically entitled the day off, which translated into five men lacking the self-discipline to get any of the hordes of paperwork done without Hawkeye's constant badgering. He had shut himself into his office to get away from four of the five afore-mentioned men. His subordinates had gotten into a heated discussion as to the best café to get a pastry from at the absolute lowest price; Roy finally had to slam his doors shut when frosting-to-jam ratios came into the discussion for fear for his sanity.
Roy sighed with frustration, the offensive memo had just become even more disturbing to his ease of mind because it was dated a week ago; the idea was that it would give Mustang time to let Hawkeye know and make arrangements for her absence. And of course the papers had gotten lost in the shuffle of papers that were 'less important a week ago' and were transferred into the pile that can be 'fashionably late' and went unnoticed until today.
Obviously the First Lieutenant, being the organized and collected person she always is, had placed it on to the top of Roy's work for the day before he had come into the office as a reminder before heading to the evaluation. By the time he came into the office, after a late breakfast, a secretary came walking in and tucked a portfolio underneath the memo as if to say "Oh, you do know about this then. That's good." and exited the room.
The portfolio contained two evaluation charts and some photographs of the targets and dummies that had suffered the wraith of Hawkeye's fire. He briefly skimmed the evaluation charts, reconfirming what he already knew; the evaluators literally referred to her handling with the rifle for both offensive and defensive use as perfect. He looked at the photos of dummies with distances ranging from practically in-your-face to unfathomably far, each cloth target with two bullet holes, one exactly where the heart would be on a live human, and one between the imaginary eyes and into the brain.
Another almost identical evaluation was tucked neatly into the folder for the Basic Evaluation using the military issued pistol. Once again the evaluators made note of superior marksmanship and handling of the firearm, ensuring her continued success in the service. Looking at the photos Roy noticed that all of the shots entered right around where they were supposed to, leaving several holes in the center ring of the bulls-eyes painted onto the head and torso of the paper human silhouettes.
Roy smiled for a moment, knowing what Hawkeye would say when handed the evaluation, claiming there was still room for improvement. She preferred her silver pistol that was always in the small of her back to the black semi-automatic the military required all officers to carry. The First Lieutenant favored her personal firearm for practical (if you could call it that) use, and claimed to not be used to the recoil and hindsight alignment on the military standard.
Roy remembered distinctly muttering that he wasn't used to any kind of gun whatsoever after asking Hawkeye while she was cleaning the barrel of the silver weapon. Roy was a terrific asset in combat because of his alchemy, but when given a pistol and told to fire everyone, his own men included, would duck for cover. With a small smile, Riza had promised the Colonel to show him how to shoot the damned thing sometime.
That left the Unarmed Combat Evaluation, which always took place late in the day so if anyone sustained any injuries during the test the rest of the evaluations would already be over with, no hard feelings. The first time Hawkeye's observation was scheduled while under Roy's direct command he had asked why a marksman of her skill would ever bother fighting unarmed. It made about as much sense as the Flame Alchemist strutting into battle without his array-clad gloves. He distinctly remembered her standing in front of his desk, before he had paid a visit to the Elrics in Risenbool, back when he was still a Major.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Just answer the question." Hawkeye just stood there for a moment with her indifferent facial expression, then tipped her head slightly and glanced at the ground. Without losing her 'perfect soldier' disposition she had silently made it clear that she wouldn't not just answer the question. Roy sighed and scratched at his bangs, leaning back in his chair." Granted, Lieutenant."
"Thank you sir." She looked up with a shadow of a grin. "Then to be quite frank, it is really your fault sir."
"And how, pray tell," Roy slowly articulated each word, "is your enlistment in Unarmed Combat Evaluation my fault?"
Riza's hand dropped to Roy's desk and lightly brushed against his white gloves lying next to his desk lamp, "Because you are Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist." Her hand withdrew behind her where Roy knew she had fingered the silver pistol out of habit. "State Alchemists are valuable to the military, and the tend to be disliked by a lot of people. You probably know this, those silver pocket watches are trouble magnets."
"So I'm not as loved by the general populous, so what?" Roy snatched one of his gloves and pulled it on in one swift motion, holding his fingers in a snapping position with a cocky smile. "It's not like I can't take care of myself."
"I'm perfectly aware of your ability to fend for yourself, Colonel, and the military is aware of the abilities of their Alchemists. But I'm also aware of your ability to fend for yourself in the rain" Roy's hand slipped and his face fell. "The military requires that at least one of the officers under the direct jurisdiction of any State Alchemist has to be able to defend their superior under any and all circumstances." Hawkeye pulled her pistol out and released the clip into her hand, looking at it passively, "I wouldn't be much of a subordinate if I couldn't defend you because of something as trivial as an empty clip, would I?"
So with nothing left to explain the evaluations came and went without problems. Never once was Hawkeye's performance recorded as anything less than satisfactory, and never once were they caught in a situation where the need to fight hand-to-hand was impending. So it was, in a way, forgotten completely until the next evaluation the following year.
Roy stuck everything back into the folder and looked at the rest of the formidable stack of documents on his desk. What were the odds of there being consequences to his fingers accidentally brushing against each other and the documents abruptly vanishing with a satisfying 'fwoosh'? A small voice nagged in the back of his head "You know there will be hell to pay if you slack off." Getting frustrated with his conscience but still not willing to give into the day's responsibilities, Roy seized the evaluation results and marched out of the office, working hard on ignoring his underling's mindless arguments. If he planned on putting off work any longer he'd need some kind of decoy responsibility to at least feign work for the rest of the day.
"Perhaps the new candidates for the State Alchemist position are still being tested. That's always a decent show." Planning to discretely join the evaluators and offer his (perfectly candid, haha) opinion on the potentials, Roy walked toward the back courtyard guilt-free.
The drink had a very innocent smell, iced coffee… very strong iced coffee no doubt, but in no way did it reveal its potent contents. The main ingredient in the drink was an import from Aerugo, the country south of Amestris. Despite the lingering tensions between the countries, most bars with a large military customer group knew that the drink was highly coveted by those in the service for one very good reason.
Nicknamed "Java Venom", the liquid was a rich dark brown and was no doubt made by fermenting the coffee bean in some fashion or another; leaving the smell of coffee instead of liquor on the breath of the drinker. Military men would order rounds of the stuff during breaks on late-night shifts to forget about the work and to keep their superiors thinking they just went for a coffee beak. No brewery in Amestris could figure out just how the people of Aerugo pull it off, but the end product is a potent, heavy drink with a pleasant mocha flavor that faded into a warm burning in the mouth and throat.
One soldier sitting alone looked at the dark liquid blankly for a moment, swirled the ice cubes around, then tipped the last half of the glass into her mouth and set the glass down with a soft clink. She had ordered the drink with a touch of the local chocolate liquor with the idea of making the drink as enjoyable as possible. A 'comfort drink' in the eyes of the barman, the chocolate and the mocha blended sweetly and went down smooth. After a moment of still contemplation, she raised her glass and gently shook the glass in the air just so she got the barman's attention, but didn't seem vulgar.
The barman obliged the wordless gesture for a refill, used to the silence that accompanies drinkers of this type. After years pouring, mixing, and refusing drinks to customers, the fifty-something man had figured out all types of drinkers. There are regulars, who come as much for the ambience as for the drinks, drifters, who just are in need of the drink at the moment and wander in. and then there is the soldier, who comes to drown out their inner demons into a drunken oblivion for a moment's relief from whatever. This soldier was obviously drinking to get drunk, and it didn't take a lot to realize that the three drinks in the past half hour would catch up with the girl fast and hard, not to mention that the hangover would probably render her completely incompetent the next day.
Alcohol was an infrequent and unwelcome experience that she rarely 'indulged' in, however the dull burn in the back of her throat and throbbing nothingness that accompanied glass after glass stirred a morbid nostalgia within her. As much as she hated to admit it. She slowly finished the last drink, almost enjoying this one now that the first couple were beginning to make their presence known in her blood stream. Not that she was an alcoholic, or even a social drinker. Under normal circumstances she never ever touched alcohol, never able to understand the joy in having your senses deadened or the inevitable hangover the following morning. No, Riza Hawkeye was to smart, to practical for that.
Pulling enough out of her wallet to cover drinks and a generous tip and setting them on the counter, Hawkeye stands up slowly to get a feel for just how far gone she is. Satisfied that she still had enough sense to realize that she might be late, which would have its own consequences, she set out into the clear afternoon back towards Headquarters for one last little chore. Feeling the slow debilitation looming, she picks up her pace in hopes of outrunning it for just a while longer.
There we go, chapter 1. I'm going to see how this goes before I post anything else. If you like it then speak up. Review. If you didn't like something, then you speak up too.