oo
o
Mustang was actually a little thankful for the stacks of untouched paperwork that isolated him from the rest of the office. Although daunting, they were providing an excellent shield; if Hawkeye knew his "working" consisted of tic-tac-toe against himself she would probably skip the warning shots. He flipped his game under some more official papers and shifted the piles to be able to see over his desk.
Surprisingly, he saw only Havoc. Havoc was smoking leisurely, feet propped up on the latest reports. Mustang frowned slightly and was about to tell him to take it outside, but Havoc took a long drag and exhaled. Smoke filled the room until Mustang couldn't see two feet in front of his face. Gloved hands pushed him towards the door.
He opened it and in the threshold Ishbal was before him in flames. He tried to retreat but there was no evidence of there ever having been a door.
The landscape around him was desolate, nothing remained untouched by destruction. The thick oppressive heat radiated in waves and Roy struggled to breathe. He heard screams slice through the heavy plumes of smoke. His eyes stung but he forced them open.
The outline of a figure approached through the haze and moved to strike, Mustang countered and the figure collapsed. The smoke cleared and he saw a phone booth; his gut plummeted. Maes Hughes lay dead, only covered in burns.
"Hughes!" he called hoarsely and had to look away, horrified.
He saw Hawkeye, who stood immobile. He started towards her but her face was held rigid and cold. Her words were clear.
"You're useless."
It was as if she shot him. He recoiled and stumbled backwards, the landscaped plunging into darkness. Something crunched beneath his feet and he look down to discover everything was covered in ash…
o
He jerked back into consciousness and shot bolt upright breathing hard. The interior of his room greeted him. Quickly sliding his impassive features back into place, it took him a moment to discern the voice that came from beside him. The woman from the bar was in his bed, and understandably very concerned.
She touched his bare arm hesitantly, and he resisted the urge to pull away. Instead he raked a hand through his hair to loosen the bangs plastered to his face.
"Good morning," she said softly and then added, as if trying to disguise it as an afterthought, "Who is 'Hughes'?"
Mustang paused, even if he had wanted to tell her, you couldn't just summarize a person. No, you couldn't describe them in bullet points, or casual conversation, or pillow talk.
"A friend of mine." He cringed at the standardized reply that seemed unjustly inadequate. Maes Hughes deserves more than that.
She nodded earnestly and he didn't know whether to resent or envy her ignorance.
He glanced at the clock, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom, ducking back out to explain that he was 'very late'. Truthfully he'd been much later, almost routinely, but he was plagued with a desire to escape from this woman and her innocent inquiries.
o
Riza groaned a little and shifted her shoulder before finally bothering to open her eyes. She was confronted with the angry fluorescent numbers of her alarm clock. Immediately after she faced the device, however, the alarm sounded. The buzzing powered through the peace and silence of her morning. She hurriedly fumbled with the buttons to turn it off.
Left with no time to ponder the phenomenon of waking up before her alarm, she stretched liberally, limbs reaching to the four corners of her bed. A luxury that comes with sleeping alone.
Unsolicited thoughts of Mustang wormed their way through her mental barriers. I bet the Colonel can't stretch most mornings.
Bracing herself for the chill and throwing off her covers decisively, she stood up, almost tripping over Black Hayate who had been waiting at the side of her bed since her first sign of movement.
She recovered quickly but shot the creature a reproving look, which was met by an expression that most likely translates roughly to "feed me" in dog.
She smoothed out her crumpled blue cotton pajamas and strode over to the window. The dim night of early morning allowed her to register the faint silhouettes of structures in the landscape. Her room faced the wrong direction to see the streaks of orange inch across the sky at dawn but she preferred the unpretentious grey.
o
Riza stood in a similar position at the office, observing the minimal activity on the grounds through the cloudy windowpane. She didn't stir when she heard the door open but listened as a string of greetings came for the Colonel.
"Good morning, sir."
"Hello, sir."
"How was your night, sir?" a voice Riza identified as Havoc drawled. She assumed it was accompanied by some sort of suggestive facial expression.
Mustang made some degree of lame noncommittal response.
Riza got no satisfaction from this unfeeling answer. She couldn't pinpoint the sensation but it was disheartening.
It was certainly mixed with pity for the woman. This was another poor girl who fell under the spell of the handsome Colonel and he gave her no second thought. With it, however, came something much stronger and more undefined. There was a large part of her that could accept any of his practices, however unpleasant, if it brought him any peace.
She had not yet realized the extent of what she would sacrifice for Roy far exceeded the bounds of military ties or even friendship.
Dismissing these emotions she struggled to resurrect her usual stern and emotionless demeanor. Perhaps she did it a little too well.
She stood a little ways away from the group and interrupted their conversation by remarking loudly, "You're late, sir."
Mustang turned to her and a look of intense shock flitted across his face.
o
Her words were clear.
"You're useless."
o
Hawkeye took a step forward; he had recovered so quickly she was beginning to doubt her own observations. Apparently she wasn't alone.
"You OK, sir?" Breda asked hesitantly.
"Never better," he proclaimed with a sweeping gesture.
Riza was not fooled.
He walked back towards his desk, already covered in work demanding his attention, and sunk in his chair. Hawkeye was surprised to hear him mutter something about prophetic dreams. She watched curiously as he slid open his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, paused momentarily with the tip hovering over the page, and proceeded to carefully begin to play tic-tac-toe.
oo
28/4/06: Again, minor grammatical error fixed.
(Says sweetly and non-threateningly) Please review!