A/N- Series: Post manga and FMA: B

Warnings: A little rambling with angst and references to pain, but there also be fluff.

FMA is Arakawa's. Also, I reference an iconic scene from Disney's "Lady and the Tramp."

It was strange, he thought, how little he had known about Xing. He'd been so consumed, first with an interest in learning alchemy, and later, with dedicating all of his energies to climbing to the top, that he had never thought much about the country of his mother. When he initially went to live with his aunt, he had kept one of his mother's silk robes with him at all times. Auntie Chris had not even tried to extricate the soon tattered and soiled garment from his hands. He hadn't considered its art or craft. He'd realized that there were embroidered dragons and butterflies that appeared to float and fly on it, but he'd only thought of his momma who was gone.

But, now he was here in this strangely exotic land where in appearance (well, if he had not been in uniform) he almost blended in better than he did in Amestris. And, he knew a lot more about the country, having read up on it prior to this trip on the first commercial run of the Xingese-Amestrian Railroad.

Ling, now the Emperor of Xing (could life get much stranger than that?) had thoughtfully assigned librarians to research his family and had supplied him with an information packet about his mother and her people. It was interesting, but it didn't really hook him deep inside. It was sad that his birth parents meant so little to him, but, thank goodness, he had had people to raise him. He'd had Auntie Chris, Master Hawkeye, and even Fuhrer Grumman. He snickered at how unusual and eccentric his parental-ish influences were.

He felt a gentle and subtle bump against his arm. His captain, always close by but lately even closer, intoned, "Is it possible to let me in on the joke, Sir?"

They were sharing a desk, really a long lacquered table in an office at the palace. The remainder of the team had gone out to lunch with Alphonse who had become quite a Xingese foodie. (His list of things to do once he got his body back had been overwhelmingly heavy on foods to eat.) He and Hawkeye had stayed in for a working lunch. He didn't mind paper work so much any more, because he could see the results of the tedious chore. They'd left Ishval physically for this journey, but they would never leave it behind in their hearts and minds.

"You may not find the thought as humorous as I do, Captain." Another strangeness in his life- calling her by rank was more of an endearment than any lovey-dovey words that he knew.

"Hmm. Likely not, but feel free to share."

His hand ached, so he took the opportunity to put down his pen and smiled. "I was just thinking about how I had been raised by a somewhat motley variety of people."

She did laugh. The sound still amazed and enchanted him. She did it so rarely, though less rarely these days.

Just then, one of Ling's infinite servants knocked and entered carrying a tray of covered dishes. He looked startled when he saw the two of them. In accented but understandable Amestrian he stated, "I am sorry to have only one meal. I thought that the general was out with the other men. I will fetch another platter."

"It's not necessary, thank you. There is plenty of food for us to share," Mustang assured him. The captain next to him nodded with a smile. The portions in Xing were astonishingly generous.

She put her pen down also, and they carefully placed their papers in organized piles as far from the food as possible. They began with the spicy soup, full of bean curd and odd types of mushrooms. The aroma was intoxicating. Hawkeye handed Mustang the soupspoon, and using the teaspoon herself, they alternated dipping into the soup.

"I suppose that I share some of that motley upbringing with you. My father certainly disciplined you enough, and I'll never forget that fortnight I spent at Madam's that one spring. She was scarily protective of me."

"Not any more protective than you are of me!"

He placed the empty soup bowl back on the tray, trying not to wince as he drew the larger covered bowl towards them. The doctors had told him that he would never fully recover function of his hands, nor would they ever stop being painful, but he could live with that. He could snap. He could clap. He could do everything that he had to do. And the pain was much more bearable than other pains he had suffered and caused.

Ling's kitchen had supplied them with western cutlery as well as Xingese feeding sticks. Riza had become quite adept with the sticks, so Roy took the more easily manageable fork. The long thin noodles were mixed with tender morsels of pork and some of those unfamiliar- but delicious- vegetables. He slightly awkwardly spun his fork to spool the noodles, gave up, and since it was only her there, he began to suck the noodle into his mouth. She laughed again and drew on the noodle looped between her sticks. As they sucked, nibbled, and laughed, it became apparent that they were devouring opposite ends of the same long noodle.

Well, they both thought, what a great excuse for a kiss.

A/N- Oh, I am so sappy when it comes to this pair! I hope that you enjoyed, anyway. Thanks for reading, and take care.