A/N: Thank you to the anonymous person who suggested the 11 Gun Salute. It is the ceremonial salute given to Generals in the US Army. So, please enjoy. :) Sorry about so many delays. Day 12 should be up much faster.

It was a perfect day. Thunder rolled in the distance and the rain fell in fat droplets, but for once Roy Mustang did not feel useless. His Lieutenant – no his Captain now – waited for him outside their car with an umbrella and a look that was altogether unlike her. Her eyes were alight with anticipation, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. Her dress uniform looked even more crisp than usual, her breast gleaming with all the medals and pins she'd received over her career. It was almost as impressive as his collection now.

The drive over was quiet, thick with tension and so many words they didn't know how to convey. Hawkeye still drove for the both of them. His eyes hadn't fully recovered yet. Roy still had lingering migraines and his adjutant refused to let him operate heavy machinery while she was present. Since she never seemed to leave his side anymore (as if she had ever given him time alone before), he was resigned to the passenger seat. He couldn't really complain. After several months of darkness, he was pleased to have more time to reacquaint his memory with the curve of her jaw and the way her uniform brought out the brightness of her eyes. It was certainly more entertaining than squinting through the gray sheets of rain.

She seemed to sense his fixation on her, and he watched the color rise to her cheeks. He loved being able to see the way her eyebrows drew together and how her breath hitched in her chest. Her eyes flicked over to him before turning back to the road. Did he ever truly appreciate the natural grace that she carried? How had he forgotten the way her head tilted when she was in thought?

"Sir?"

Her tone had dropped considerably, something she did when she wanted to say something important. Sometimes he wondered if she knew exactly what he thought when her voice deepened like that. There wasn't a woman in all of Amestris who could get such a rise out of him with just one syllable. She didn't have to know alchemy to conjure the intense heat that gathered in his stomach like the rolling clouds overhead. They didn't have to say it. They both knew what today meant, for them and their dream. Then, whatever came after.

"Captain?"

She sat straighter in her seat, if that was even possible. She looked at him again, something electric passing between them. The car was suddenly too hot, too cramped, and the distance between them far too vast for Roy's liking. He couldn't tell if the rapid thrumming was the rain or his heart. He had to tell her. He had spent too much of his life silent. Too much time had already been wasted.

"We're here."

It took him a moment to realize that she had stopped the car already. Roy dropped the hand he hadn't noticed he'd risen (To grasp her hand? To cup her face? He guessed he'd never know). The moment passed, the words on his tongue wicked away as they stepped out of the car. The parade grounds were filled with military officials, all wearing their dress blues. He knew he should go greet them, to start the endless stream of pleasantries and congratulations. But there was only one officer he cared about at the moment.

"Sir?"

There it was again, his siren's call. He briefly wondered if it would ever stop sending those delicious chills down his spine. Roy looked back at her, feeling her undeniable pull. He had never quite figured out how to resist her. Maybe he didn't need to tell her. Maybe she already knew. She had to know.

"I'll meet you here afterwards."

"Understood. Thank you, Captain."

They looked at each other again, for much longer than was appropriate for a superior and his subordinate, before he headed to the stage. The rain beat against the tin roof, sounding very much like a war drum. It wasn't long until everyone filed into place and the ceremonies began. He had never really cared much for all the pomp and circumstance when someone was promoted to General. He was always prone to zoning out, but when he caught sight of his favorite blonde, he could focus on nothing else.

She was carrying her rifle along with ten other officers. As the ceremony progressed, they formed a line and mounted their guns. He stepped forward, receiving a new insignia from General Grumman. They fired - an 11-gun salute for a newly minted General. He watched her lower her rifle, as fluid as a dancer. He wondered if she had flinched, just the same as he did. He wondered if she knew how close they had come to hearing a squad of soldiers fire their guns simultaneously for an entirely different ceremonial purpose. As he stepped back into place, he thought about the way his blood would have smeared across the parade grounds, to atone for the lives they destroyed so many years ago. They came so close, but they had made it. Despite all odds, they had made it.

He waited until she met his gaze, her expression equal parts serious and proud. She was thrilled. She was grateful. She understood.

Roy suffered through the polite clapping, the jokes and the congratulations from what felt like every officer in all of Central. Soldier after soldier came up to applaud him (or in Olivier's case, gripe about how anyone could become General these days). All except for one. By the time he got back to the car, he half expected her to be frustrated with how long he had been delayed. She clicked her heels together and saluted him.

"Welcome back, General Mustang." Her voice was lilting. She was teasing him. He could kiss her right then. Her mouth curled into a small smile and it took all he had not to taste the tilt of her lips. The rain had eased, and a faint mist covered the grounds. They could still be seen, however, so he clamped his mouth shut and nodded, swallowing the desire that threatened to overcome him. There would be time, soon, to discuss the magnetic shift in their relationship. He would not rest until she understood the warmth that spread through his chest like a wildfire when she was near. He was a General now, with rumors of his running for presidency stirring in the city. He would need a wife, a first lady to support him during his campaign. There was only one woman who could fit the job description. She must know that. She had to know.

If she didn't, he would certainly fix that.