Best Laid Plans

"There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature."

~Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

"That was quick; I thought you had a stop to – oh!" Riza gasped as her door swung open to reveal Roy Mustang rather than the expected Rebecca. "I beg your pardon; I thought you were someone else," she added, flustered.

"Perhaps I should have called first, after all," Mustang said, a little stiffly. "I'm not interfering with your evening plans, I hope?"

But Hawkeye was already moving aside to let him in.

"Not at all, please come in," she replied. "I'm afraid I can only offer you a choice between the very uncomfortable armchair and the equally uncomfortable bed," she added apologetically as he stepped inside the room.

"I see these single rooms are just as cozy as I remembered," he chuckled, opting for the armchair.

"At least it's only temporary," Hawkeye replied, perching primly on the edge of her bed as Mustang shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. "And it's sufficiently lowered my expectations in regards to any military-subsidized accommodations I may occupy in the future."

Although she was fairly certain her grandfather would find a way to get involved in her housing arrangements, as well. He'd probably end up slipping rental apartment information under her door in the next few days.

"Right. Well," Roy cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. "I came by to make a request - but if you're expecting someone, I could call again when it's more convenient. That is, if I wouldn't be imposing…?"

Riza was mildly amused by his uncharacteristic discomfort.

"No, not at all," she said, hiding a smile. "Catalina shouldn't be here for another hour or so; she told me this morning she had some errands to run after work."

"Catalina?" Mustang repeated, raising an eyebrow in query.

Hawkeye's use of the feminine pronoun had not escaped his notice. And the way Mustang's stiff formality melted away in the same moment had not escaped hers.

"Sergeant Major Rebecca Catalina. We were at Academy together," Hawkeye elaborated.

"She's not just any old schoolmate, though, is she?" Roy mused, studying Riza's face. She looked genuinely pleased at the prospect of meeting up with this person. "You're close," he guessed.

"She's my best friend," Riza confirmed quietly.

"Ah, I see."

"I haven't told her the whole story…" Riza touched her left shoulder with a slight grimace as she spoke. "I ended up feigning illness to buy myself some recovery time," she explained. "So naturally, Catalina made it her personal mission to ensure that I was properly fed, hydrated, and entertained until I got back on my feet."

Roy smiled at the warmth and obvious fondness in her voice.

"Sounds like she's taken good care of you," he noted.

"She's been a tremendous comfort. I don't know what I'd have done without her," Riza admitted.

Roy shifted in his chair, obviously uneasy.

"How…how are they healing? The burns?" he clarified unnecessarily.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Riza replied. "No signs of infection, as far as I can tell, and the fever hasn't returned."

"And…the pain?"

She hated it when he used that subdued, guilt-ridden tone.

"They still hurt," she acknowledged, biting back a sigh when he flinched ever so slightly. "It's getting easier, though, less painful each day," she hastened to add. "That salve has been really helpful, by the way; I didn't get a chance to thank you for that."

Roy flushed, faintly embarrassed, and waved off her thanks.

"Least I could do," he mumbled. He fell silent, then, and seemed to find the ancient gray carpeting under his feet utterly fascinating.

"What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Riza finally prompted gently. "You mentioned a request?"

"Ah, right," Mustang cleared his throat. "I, uh, I hear congratulations are in order, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, smiling faintly.

"Likewise, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang," Hawkeye returned, with a significant glance at the shiny new rank pips on his shoulders. He flashed her one of those self-assured grins – oh, how she'd missed those!

"Youngest Lieutenant Colonel in over a decade," he boasted. "And as such, I've been offered the opportunity to choose my own subordinates. Eventually I'll have a full team under my command, but to begin with, I'll need an adjutant – one who's at least a Second Lieutenant in rank."

"Oh?" Riza perked up.

Was he–?

Roy lifted bright, hopeful eyes to meet hers, and Riza's heart began to race.

Naturally, Riza hadn't been able to keep her plans from Rebecca for very long. But to Riza's surprise (and suspicion), Rebecca accepted the news with no more than an amused smile.

"Oh, really?" she'd said. "You're not nervous, are you? I mean, it's not like he'd be dumb enough to refuse your application. You already saved his sorry ass once; you're obviously perfect for the job!"

Of course, Rebecca had then rushed to work and relentlessly badgered her fellow office workers until she found out when and where the infamous Hero of Ishval would be holding his interviews.

Hawkeye could deny it all she wanted, and maybe she really wasn't fully conscious of it herself, but Rebecca was absolutely certain that Riza still harbored some serious feelings for that man. And if Mustang thought he could somehow take advantage of those feelings…well! He'd be re-evaluating those plans immediately, if Rebecca had anything to say about it.

Lurking in the hallway near the office Mustang had been allocated, Rebecca waited until the private who'd been acting as his secretary slipped away for a coffee break. And then she made her move.

"Wow, he's SO much better-looking than his official ID photos!" she thought fleetingly as she flung open the office door. "Not that it matters! And it sure as hell doesn't give the bastard license to mess Riza around!"

Startled by Rebecca's abrupt entrance, Mustang glanced up from the personnel files he'd been thumbing through. Rebecca closed the door firmly behind herself, suddenly aware that she hadn't exactly thought this whole confrontation thing through.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang?" she demanded, with more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yes?" he replied, politely curious. "How may I help you, er...Sergeant Major?" he added, with a discreet glance at her epaulets.

"What are your intentions towards Riza?" Rebecca blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?" Mustang asked, raising one eyebrow. Catalina stood her ground.

"I said: what are your intentions towards my friend?" she repeated, glaring at him. To her surprise, his haughty expression softened into one of pleased recognition.

"Ah, so you must be Rebecca Catalina," he said smoothly, rising from his desk and advancing with an outstretched hand. Nonplussed, Rebecca allowed him to shake her hand. "I've heard quite a lot about you," he explained, as he offered her a charming smile. "Hawkeye told me what a help and comfort you've been to her these past few weeks."

"That's what friends are for," Rebecca retorted, reminding herself not to fall for his charisma even as a pleased flush spread over her cheeks.

"Implying that I haven't been much of a friend to her," Mustang said, with a self-deprecating little laugh. "Well, I suppose I deserve that." He settled back behind the desk and gestured at the visitor's chair, wordlessly offering her a seat.

Rebecca ignored him, planting her feet and crossing her arms and generally radiating defiance with every fiber of her being.

"You still haven't answered my question," she reminded him, sharply. If Mustang was surprised by the level of hostility, he didn't let it show.

"You mean about my intentions?" he smirked. "Well, I intend to accept Hawkeye's application to join my team as my adjutant. Especially since I was the one who suggested that she apply for the position in the first place," he said conversationally.

"You mean...you asked her?" Rebecca said, confused. Riza hadn't mentioned that bit.

"Oh, yes," Mustang replied, studying her with those shrewd dark eyes.

The sudden arrival of a middle-aged Second Lieutenant spared Rebecca the trouble of coming up with a witty reply. The man was short, stocky, and blonde, and looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him.

"Er, sorry, I was looking for a Lieutenant Colonel Mustang?" the lieutenant explained, glancing between Catalina and Mustang doubtfully.

"And you've found him," Mustang said smoothly, sparing a quick glance at the clock above the door. "Ah, you must be my three o'clock. If you'll excuse me, Sergeant Major," he added, turning to Rebecca with an apologetic smile. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion some other time?"

But before Rebecca could so much as sneer at him, the new arrival cleared his throat and slowly backed out of the office.

"No, no, that's all right," he frowned. "There...seems to have been a misunderstanding. And, uh, well. I don't think I'm a good fit for the open position after all, so I'll go ahead and just withdraw my application. Excuse me, sir," he added, almost sarcastically. "Miss," he nodded in Rebecca's general direction, turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat, letting the door close heavily behind him.

Mustang sighed and allowed his shoulders to slump a bit as he slowly rubbed a hand over his face. Rebecca was stricken by remorse: had her little stunt just cost him a good potential teammate?

"I—I didn't..." she started to stammer. Mustang straightened at once, charming smile slipping back into place.

"No, you didn't," he agreed. "In fact, Sergeant Major, you've just done me a favor."

"Huh?"

Mustang chuckled at her confusion and leaned back a bit in his chair.

"His reaction to your presence, the way he addressed you – that tells me he has no respect for women in the military, and would likely object to working with a woman of equal or greater rank. So you've just saved me the time and effort it would normally have taken to see that he was not, as he put it, a good fit for my team."

"Sexist pig," Rebecca huffed.

"If it makes you feel any better, his primary problem was actually my age," Mustang assured her.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Oh, he's not the first. Most of them hide it a bit better, of course," he scoffed. "And he may be in for a bumpy career, if he can't accept the idea of a younger man – or a woman – outranking him. I certainly have no use for a subordinate who would question my qualifications or my authority based on my looks alone."

"He-he only left because of your age?" Rebecca sputtered, indignant. "What on earth does that have to do with your leadership skills?"

Mustang grinned.

"Rushing to defend my honor, Catalina? Weren't you just about to give me the 'break her heart and I'll break your legs,' speech?"

Rebecca flushed crimson, and Mustang chuckled again.

"She certainly wouldn't need to rely on ME to break your legs," she mumbled.

"Of course not; she could shoot out my kneecaps from a rooftop 2000 yards away, if the occasion called for it. In any event, Sergeant Major," he emphasized her rank with a quirked brow, reminding her that he was still a superior. "Perhaps now you can see why I'd want to work with someone I already know and trust."

"Even if it puts her in an awkward position?" Rebecca demanded.

"How so?"

"Do you know how much she cares about you?" she cried, frustrated.

Mustang leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

"Do you?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Shocked into silence by the ferocity of his glare, Rebecca could only stare at him.

"Regardless of any previous relationship we may or may not have had," Mustang growled, still in that low, dark tone. "Hawkeye and I agree that we'd accomplish our goals much more easily by working together. Those feelings, leading up to that decision: those are the only feelings that anyone should take into account when they consider our professional association. Do I make myself clear?"

Bastard, Rebecca thought, scowling. Why did he have to have such a good point?

"Does Hawkeye even know you're here?" Mustang went on, studying her face with disconcerting intensity. "I doubt she'd be pleased to learn about our little conversation. Particularly considering that I do, in fact, outrank you, and that I might be moved to speak with your superior officer about this little display of insubordinate behavior."

"Are you seriously threatening me right now?" Rebecca snapped, even as the blood drained from her face.

"Well, come on, you started it," Mustang retorted, with a disarming grin.

A startled laugh escaped Rebecca's lips, and she finally sank heavily into the visitor's chair he'd offered her earlier.

"Okay. Look," she said slowly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not trying to threaten you. Sir," she quickly amended. "But, I—Riza is my friend. And I don't want her to get hurt."

"Neither do I," Mustang returned.

They watched at each other for a long moment, across the battered expanse of the desk that separated them.

"Obviously you know something of our complicated history, if you felt the need to come talk to me like this," Mustang finally said. "But I must admit I'm disappointed in you. I'd have thought that Hawkeye's so-called best friend would guard her secrets more carefully."

"The fact that she once had feelings for you is no secret," Rebecca countered, stung. "I just…I want to make sure you're not going to use that against her, somehow," she blurted out.

"I suppose that's not entirely unreasonable," he sighed.

Rebecca blinked. Did he…was he agreeing with her?

"I still care for her a great deal," Mustang confessed quietly. "I consider her a friend. And while I can appreciate your concern, I most certainly didn't ask Hawkeye to join my team so I could… seduce her," he spat the words out, as if disgusted by the very idea.

"Wouldn't be the first time an officer got involved in an inappropriate relationship with a lower-ranking solider," Rebecca argued, regaining some of her bravado.

"I won't even try to pretend that men in positions of power never make unwanted advances towards those under their command, or that they don't pull rank to avoid disciplinary action or prevent official complaints from being filed. But I find such repulsive abuses of power utterly reprehensible, and I wouldn't– I would never—" Mustang cut himself short, clenching his jaw tightly as he struggled to master some strong emotion.

Rebecca was astonished to find that she believed him. Wholeheartedly.

"All right," she said softly. "So you're saying that you don't have designs on Riza's virtue, correct?"

Mustang snorted.

"The only designs I have towards Hawkeye involve her particular skill set," he insisted. "And my desire to have the very intelligent, loyal, and trustworthy person possessing those skills under my command and at my service. Besides, she's already saved my life, once," he added, with a quirk of his lips. "Who else would I want watching my back?"

"You couldn't ask for a better," Rebecca agreed, cheerfully. Mustang glared at her again, but with far less heat.

"I know. That's the whole – you know, it really shouldn't come as a surprise to you that I would value Hawkeye for more than just her pretty face," Mustang complained. "I've seen her in action; I've more reason than most to appreciate her considerable skills."

"I already know why you'd want her," Rebecca sniffed. "But what you've yet to demonstrate is why on earth she would want you as her C.O.?"

Mustang made an affronted little noise, but decided to humor her anyway.

"Hawkeye is…she's a talented solider with tremendous potential for growth," he said thoughtfully. "Sure, she could sign on under some paper pusher. Have a nice, secure, boring job, trapped behind a desk. Be one of many, indistinguishable from her teammates. Perform the same menial tasks, day in and day out."

Rebecca nodded, to show she was listening.

"Whereas, were she a member of my team," Mustang went on, in a warmer voice. "I would ensure that her talents were put to their best use. As the right-hand woman of a Lieutenant Colonel, she'd have more responsibilities, more challenges to overcome. But she'd also gain the field experience necessary to hone her skills. And she'd have far more opportunities to further her career – maybe end up as a Colonel or a General herself, rather than squander her abilities as a glorified secretary to the end of her days."

Rebecca pursed her lips, pretended to consider his words. He'd clearly put some thought into the sales pitch. Even with their previous friendship taken out of the equation, it was a good offer. Was it any wonder Riza had been swayed?

"Well, you certainly talk a good game," she said. "Bottom line – you want what's best for Riza. Yes?"

"Of course," he replied, clearly offended by the question.

"Excellent! On that, at least, we're in agreement," Rebecca beamed and leapt to her feet as Mustang blinked at her, slightly bemused. "You should know that I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang. So you'd best treat Riza the way that she deserves to be treated. She's not the only one who can shoot out a man's kneecaps from a considerable distance, you hear?"

Mustang's face was a mask of cool indifference, but his eyes were sparkling.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Sergeant Major," he said. "Now get the hell out of my office."

"Pleased to meet you, sir!" Rebecca chirped, and blew him an exaggerated kiss over her shoulder as she left.

His low chuckle followed her out the door, and Rebecca's lips quirked into a small, mischievous smile.

This had the potential to be vastly entertaining.

A.N. She lives! I am so, so sorry for the long delay, dear ones, but real life will continue to intrude whether I like it or not. As always, thank you all so much for your patience and support!

xoxo Janieshi