Belated Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
oo
"It's a shame about the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy," Fuery remarked.
"Yeah, but I'm sure Armstrong had better things to do anyway," Breda contended.
Hawkeye buried the impulse to strike the desk. She didn't have to look at the clock or the sagging sun to know it was the late afternoon. Even while working she had been helpless to ignore the shadows as they grew longer, reaching across her desk and the office to mute every color in the modestly decorated space.
She also knew inherently that they were way behind, suspicions that were confirmed simply by the amount of empty chatter that far exceeded the rustle of papers and scratch of pens.
She wondered if she would be less frustrated if the conversation didn't always stray to the events of the previous night. You'd think it was the highlight of their lives, not a trip to the bar.
She should never have let Fuery talk her into accompanying them. He'd had so much youthful enthusiasm she had momentarily caved and forgotten there was a reason she didn't socialize with her coworkers. I barely socialize at all.
Of course her fate was sealed when Mustang entered the conversation, good-naturedly encouraging her to come along. 'After all,' he had said, 'we just wrapped up a big report.'
It was undeniable, even to her, that she had attended more for the Colonel than anyone else. Curiosity killed the cat.
Someone observing her closely might have caught her eye twitch briefly.
"Something wrong, Lieutenant?" inquired Mustang.
Meanwhile Falman continued, "Actually the Colonel probably enjoyed himself enough for all of us."
Before Mustang could so much as shoot a glare in their direction or threaten to demote them Hawkeye was up and shouting.
"Would you all focus. We haven't met any of our deadlines." She whipped around to take aim at Mustang. "Especially you, sir- get to work."
He noticed the intensity in her voice was a little greater than normal, but began in his usual manner nonetheless, "But we just finished a case-"
"-and we all know you celebrated yesterday," Riza finished abruptly.
Havoc's eyebrows rose. "Jealous, Lieutenant?"
She wished she could brush off the gazes she felt on her; she didn't dare meet Roy's eyes. -Now- they listen to me.
"That's ridiculous," she said calmly, always possessing impressive mastery of her tone, "Although I'm sure you're well acquainted with the emotion, given your track record of losing women to the Colonel."
A chorus of agreement went up around the room but Hawkeye cut short any new discussion by screaming, "Do your paperwork!" and firing three shots into the ceiling.
They could argue with Riza but her gun was less tolerant.
o
"Don't tell me you're not done yet, sir," asked Riza in a thin voice.
"Ok, I won't tell you," Roy responded with a cheerfulness neither of them was feeling.
The night outside was clear, but the city lights washed out any stars making it appear like a heavy curtain had been drawn over the true sky. Distantly cars still rumbled low in the streets and Hawkeye fancied she could hear one stop. She enviously imagined the driver entering a warm home and falling into a welcome bed.
"Sir, if you had just started this earlier-"
He put his pen down before addressing her more seriously. "You can leave, Lieutenant."
She tried hard not to laugh, although if she had it would not have contained any humor. "Sir, we both know you're not finishing unless I'm here to threaten you through it."
Roy didn't reply for a moment. She had been up practically every night this week and had been less than cheery this morning. Looking at her now she looked pale and fragile in the yellow light emitted from his desk lamp. For the good of the office, she needs some rest.
Satisfied with this explanation for his concern, he settled on a solution. Despite seeming worn and exhausted she would never consent to go home, for whatever reason. The illumination may have briefly painted a picture of a delicate woman but he knew her to possess a determination that would not be eroded by sleep deprivation.
"Lie down on the couch, Lieutenant."
She didn't attempt to mask her opinion of the idea. "Sir, I don't think-"
"That's an order. Lie down, or go home and rest."
Faced with that choice she crossed the room and sat on the couch.
Roy didn't look up from his task. "Lie down, Lieutenant."
She studied the fabric of the couch. She tested it for softness and ran her hand over the arm to give herself time to think. Despite her opposition her lower back was agreeing whole heartedly to the plan.
"I didn't say you had to sleep, just lie down," he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.
She reclined, shot one last despairing look at the Colonel, and watched the clock, trying to ignore how inappropriate the situation was and desperately willing herself to stay awake.
o
About an hour later Roy placed the final paper in the final pile, yawned, and stretched lazily.
"What time is it?" he mumbled.
No one answered. He pushed back his chair and approached the couch. He smirked to no one in particular because Hawkeye was fast asleep.
A few whips of blond hair had fallen lightly in her eyes. Mustang had to flex his hand because he had been writing so much and definitely not to refrain from brushing it gently out of the way.
Any severity in her countenance had vanished; she looked entirely peaceful. He recalled his own sleeping issues and was satisfied with knowing she didn't suffer similarly.
He also admitted that the uniform looked less than official with her curled up on the sofa. She'll probably have to iron it.
It took an awful amount of self control to keep from laughing at the vision of his first Lieutenant ironing. Don't be an idiot, of course she irons. Did you think she threatened out wrinkles with her gun?
He slowly walked back to his desk and sat down before he could make any observations about her soft lips or the slope of her legs. Riza Hawkeye was a woman who did not deserve such treatment, especially from the likes of him.
Taking one last glance in the direction where he knew her to be dozing tranquilly, he opened a desk drawer.
He then slammed it shut loudly. He pretended not to notice her start.
She awoke, instantly on alert.
Well, partially so. I am on a couch.
She touched the fabric, a familiar action. The office couch.
She groaned; she had fallen asleep at work. She cursed her weakness and watched Mustang closely. For some reason she would be ashamed if he knew she had submitted so easily to the temptation of sleep. She always felt a particular duty to present at least an illusion of togetherness at work, and so far had been relatively successful. She breathed a sigh of relief. I don't think he's noticed.
She took a shot in the dark. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?"
"What time is it?" he repeated. As usual she had excellent aim.
"It's close to 10:00, sir." She couldn't be bothered with converting into military time after just awakening; she felt the beginnings of a headache. "Are you all finished?"
"Yeah, let's go."
She rose and brushed off her uniform, straightening the collar. Mustang coughed a little and Riza became slightly wary.
"Colonel?"
"Oh, it's nothing." She had neglected to check her hair, half of which had come halfway out of its clip to fan awkwardly in the back of her head.
Mustang sorted the stacks of files and haphazardly organized his workspace. Riza felt her back and desperately wanted to stretch, but thought it would attract an unwanted amount of attention.
"We have reports that the Elric brothers will be returning here tomorrow," Mustang commented.
"They haven't visited in a while," she responded, her voice conveying surprise despite her monotone range.
Mustang locked his drawers and stepped out from behind the desk. They moved to the coat rack and she plucked her jacket off the hook.
He calmly voiced a question he knew would make her squirm, "Do you dream, Lieutenant?"
She tried to suppress any outward indications of her discomfort. She felt foolish; she should've known he would notice.
He grinned in response to her obvious embarrassment. She lost herself in thought momentarily.
The mortification was there, surely, but had passed quickly; Mustang was different. The need to constantly be a beacon of strength was a charade she had lapsed out of too often in his presence. They had been through so much she really didn't need to keep raising a barrier he had so often surpassed. What was it there for, then? What was she protecting?
She shrugged on her coat and he followed suit, waiting. Finally realizing she was actually intended to answer the question she stopped dressing momentarily.
"My dreams are mundane, sir." She took his blank expression as an indication to continue. "In them I do paperwork, or brush my teeth, or-"
"Iron?" Mustang finished, amused.
She sighed. He is just so weird sometimes.
"I suppose."
They moved out into the hallway and he waited while she shut the door. While her hands accomplished a familiar task she tried to ease her mind. It hadn't exactly been a lie, her dreams used to be ordinary.
oo
Here's a lighter chapter. Next week: feelings (partially) in the open. And the Elrics!
Sorry for the delay, but I figured I should stop and map out where this is going before I continue. It should be 9 or 10 chapters each of which now has a plan.
Thanks to those of you who bothered to review! Please R&R!