A/N- This chapter was originally posted on Royai Day 2014 as a separate story. Due to my impatience, I hadn't waited for my beta, Steph's, to get back to me. Subsequently she did, and her suggestions were so good that I reworked and expanded the story. Steph's has not seen this version, but it is because I do not want to bother her. She is incredibly busy and, hopefully, managing to have a wonderful time, as well. So, all of the improvements are thanks to her, and any errors or misfires are all mine. Thank you, Steph's!

I often forget to put the disclaimer of ownership when I post. I am sure that you all know that I am not Arakawa, and I own nothing of the FMA universe or characters. I am merely a great admirer.

It didn't happen often, but when it did, it was monumental (at least to him). One of the most tantalizing things about it was that no one would believe him if he told them about it. His people knew that he wore a false persona, but everyone thought that the Hawkeye they knew was the real Hawkeye.

He remembers the first time as if it had just been yesterday, though it was more than 15 years ago. He had just moved into Master Hawkeye's house. He'd been so obsessed with alchemy, that he could not have imagined that anything could distract him. But, there was Sensei's solemn daughter, just a couple of years younger than he was. Maybe it was because she seemed bent on ignoring him except for household business like meals and laundry. He'd always been a pest, but he enjoyed annoying her even more than he did his aunt. He just wanted her attention, and he didn't seem to care that it was negative.

How she knew that he, city boy that he was, was afraid of even the smallest garden snake that wriggled in the field behind the house, he never knew. Another thing he never knew was how the hell she had come into possession of one of those canned snake gags. He'd gotten halfway through his pile of freshly laundered and precisely folded clothes that he was putting away, when the false serpent (somehow compressed in the pile without the can) struck. The sound the gag had made was horrendous. Never mind that it really did not resemble a snake in the least and that he knew that garden snakes did not rattle. It might have been better to have been bitten by a real snake, so embarrassed was he. He had screamed like a girl (not that he'd ever describe it that way to her) and (hopefully she hadn't known this part) had nearly wet his pants. A few seconds later, he heard her bedroom door close. And, just in case he hadn't had the brains to figure it out, there was this:

"What's for dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Just a little something I caught in the field." Face as grave as ever.

It turned out to be rabbit, but his skin had crawled throughout the meal. However, it had been a breakthrough, and, after that, they talked every day.

She had tormented him with surprisingly creative tricks at semi-regular intervals, and under Master Hawkeye's strict watch, he could never prank her back. He took to exaggerating his responses to her surprises, because the sillier he behaved, the more she smiled that smile that was more in her eyes than on her lips. The kind of smile one could easily not notice.

Neither Riza nor he had the stomach to goof around in Ishval. Even the high-spirited Maes could only be cheered by letters from his Gracia. Roy was envious of the lucky few who could escape the harsh reality through humor. There were so many things to hate about the war, but near the top of the list were her dull, smile-less eyes.

When he was promoted and stationed at Eastern Headquarters, none of the high officers seemed to take his new rank seriously. He lamented his baby face and limited ability to grow facial hair, though he knew there were many reasons for their scorn. He must have dozed off that day, and when he awoke, it was after 5:00. Hawkeye was the only one left in the office with him. He dismissed her, and on his way home, he stopped at a Xingese restaurant for takeout. As soon as he got home, he went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and he noticed the cat's whiskers. Once the wave of humiliation had passed, he began to laugh hysterically. He managed to dial her, but he could not speak when she answered. When he heard her laugh, he felt light enough to float.

He began to keep a log of her pranks, and he actually once tried to convince Havoc and Breda that the Lieutenant was responsible for some of his most mortifying episodes. They merely rolled their eyes, so he shrugged and surrendered to the reputation that was Riza Hawkeye.

Just like when he'd been a teen, he craved her attention. He was a natural procrastinator, but he refined his skills. There were dozens of ways to put off his paperwork. If he ran out of excuses, there was always the window to stare out of. He had totally mastered the art of aggravating Riza Hawkeye. He almost enjoyed her scorn more than any praise he earned from her. Her pursed lips and narrowed eyes made him weak in the knees and only partially from fear. She was so sexy when she was irked. He wondered if he had a bit of a masochistic streak. He wondered if it delighted her to be bossy… outside of the office.

And, just like when he had been her father's apprentice, she had impeccable timing. She didn't draw the goofy mustache on him until he was least expecting it, but that brought on an epiphany. He realized that there was nothing to keep him from pranking her back, now. But how? That would require careful planning. He knew of nothing that frightened Hawkeye. (Not even snakes!) He might not be able to go for the visceral scare, but he could mess with her. With what? Guns? Hayate? Underwear? Mmm underwear. He tried to picture what she might be wearing under her immaculate uniform. Underwear was not regulated by the Amestrian Army. They each kept changes of clothes in their desks, so could there be delicate, black, lacey unmentionables in hers? He was startled out of his reverie by the slap of papers on his desk.

"Sir! I repeat that these documents need your signature immediately."

Oh, he would have to get her but good!

He started small, but it took panache. He'd arranged a stack of papers to fall in different directions causing her to bend to her right and to allow him to ostensibly go for the papers on her blind side. A quick transmutation under her boot went unnoticed. He took the papers from her and graciously thanked her for helping him retrieve them. Back behind his desk, he began to work diligently. She took his completed pile and turned on her heel. Squeak. Every time her left boot hit the floor, another high-pitched little groan sounded. Hawkeye looked puzzled. She flexed her ankle and pointed her toe. Even with the black boot on, it was alluring. She stepped. Creak. Roy looked up covertly and saw that the others were doing the same. The noise grew softer as the lieutenant left to deliver the colonel's work and then grew louder as she returned. With her usual aplomb, she sat at her desk and removed her left boot, bent it a few times, and inserted her foot back inside. Unfortunately, most of this was hidden from Roy's view. He knew that he'd have to come up with a squeakquel. Of course, his little private joke would have been funnier if the noises weren't more annoying to him than to her. She seemed to be able to ignore them after a couple of minutes while they continued to drive him crazy.

One day, he was the last to leave for a meeting, so he was alone for a couple of minutes. It was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. He transmuted her typewriter so that none of the keys would type the labeled letter. He stayed to talk to Grumman after the meeting and then returned to the office. His lieutenant had the cutest confused expression on her face. He wished that he had Hughes' camera. She bit her lip and almost crossed her eyes. She glanced over at Fuery's desk, but the Sergeant Major had just run out to do an errand. She returned to examining the machine. Suddenly a look of surprise flitted across her face, and her eyes narrowed. That look on her face made him nervous, and he excused himself from the office. He returned about 15 minutes later to find a pile of documents on his desk labeled "Signature needed." Every document was gibberish. He noticed that there was writing on the back of the label: "You will retype each of these forms YOURSELF." As soon as he read the message on the reverse, Hawkeye walked over and placed the typewriter firmly on his desk.

When his team got broken up, it was one of the worst periods of his life. He hardly ever got to see her, and when he did, they needed to be careful and distant. Maybe, what he missed most of all, was having to check in the mirror before leaving his inner sanctum. There was a new normal where he did his work (and plotted), ate take out alone (and planned), and dropped off and picked up his laundry (and schemed). He was halfway through "filing" his starched white shirts in the drawer when the "snake" smacked him on the nose. That sneaky lieutenant of his! Well, former lieutenant. Knowing that their lines were tapped, he dialed.

"Hawkeye here." Business-like.

"Hissssss," he replied and hung up.

The day of reckoning came and went. He was not Fuhrer, but their new leader was human, a friend, and (semi?) sane. There were plenty of changes for the better, and his mostly reunited team went to Ishval. For once he felt brave. He was willing to face the consequences of his past actions to do what he knew was right despite the difficulty. Enough of the survivors of his sins were willing- much to his surprise- to let him live. He and his people settled in the desert. It was a bit more inviting when they were building instead of destroying. But, still, there were those little sand snakes that wriggled into the soldiers' Quonset huts. They were all careful to shake out their bedding before going to sleep each night.

It had been an exhausting day. A meeting with some of his less enthusiastic supporters had been contentious. Afterwards, the jeep had broken down, and they had walked nearly five miles back to base. He ate a small meal with his team and managed to stay awake long enough to sign some important authorizations. A surprising number of fruit trees were supposed to be suitable for desert climes, and he did not want to waste any time in acquiring as many as possible. He left his office for the hut where he slept. He left the door open to avail himself of cross ventilation. Too wiped out to be aware of what he was doing, he plopped down on the bed, and bounced up like a ball when he heard the rattle and felt something move under the covers. The sweat running down his face was the cold sweat of fear instead of the hot sweat of the desert. A rustle behind him startled him yet again.

"Is everything okay, Sir? Do you need protection?" She shut the door behind her.

"Riza!" he gasped.

"I've brought protection, Sir," she said, holding up her gun. Then, she shed her overcoat, revealing her nude form. "And I've brought more protection," she whispered, holding up the small package in her other hand. She carefully placed the gun on the stand by the bed.

"I'm glad that you aren't afraid of snakes," he replied. (That earned him a smack on his behind and a very nice kiss and …

A/N- I hope that no one was bored to death by re-reading this fic, and I hope everyone liked it better this time. I promise that I will not prank anyone who reviews. Thanks for reading, and take care.