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Home Cooking

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"Do you cook much at home, lieutenant?"

Hawkeye lifted her eyes from the paperwork. "What?"

"I asked if you cook much."

"And why, Lieutenant Havoc, would you ask that?" Havoc shrugged, the cigarette bobbing up and down in his teeth. "I don't know. I was thinking, and one thing led to another, and then for some reason I thought of cooking, then I thought of one of my girlfriends a while back who cooked, and I thought of other women's cooking, and I thought of you, and I asked if you cooked much at all."

Hawkeye lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps your stream of consciousness should be kept on your work, Lieutenant."

"You're avoiding the question, Hawkeye."

There was a snort across the room. "She doesn't cook."

Hawkeye turned an indignant glare at her superior. "And how would you know that, sir?"

Mustang lifted his eyes from a report he had supposedly been scanning. "You always buy from the cafeteria, and every time I've stopped by at your apartment to drop off work that I finished, you've been eating take out."

"That, sir, would be because every day you do not finish things and have to bring them to me, I am busier than normal filing out reports that you did not. And other times, I enjoy having take-out. I don't have time to bring lunches or cook very often, between you and the puppy. I will, however, have you know I can and do cook. I've entertained plenty of people in my time."

Havoc grinned. "Entertaining gentleman callers?" He said loud enough to irk his superiors. Hawkeye returned her glare to him. "Is there a specific reason you two are so insistent on knowing about my personal life?"

"Curiosity is all." Havoc shrugged.

Hawkeye stood up, straightened her papers, and placed them on Mustang's desk. "I'll be leaving for today. Those go to accounting, sir, and the ones highlighted in yellow go to the PR office. And if you are curious, I will be going home and making myself a home cooked meal. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, she walked calmly out of the office. As soon as her footsteps had faded, Havoc rounded on Roy. "What you have to do that for?"

"Me? You're the one who asked."

"Yeah, but you're the one who said she couldn't cook."

"Ah—no. You're the one who was curious."

Breda, who had remained silently ginning until now, broke in. "Maybe one of you should go apologize, and see what she's cooking."

"I'll go." The two said simultaneously. Roy glared, and Havoc backed down. "Fine." He said, raising his hands in mock defeat. He walked over and took his seat next to Breda. "Five hundred cens says she invites him in."

"Six hundred says she doesn't even answer the door."

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Riza turned around as a soft rapping was heard on her apartment door. Hayate ran over and began barking. Riza gabbed her plate of half-finished lasagna and strode over to the door.

"What is it, sir?"

Roy rubbed the back of his head. "Um, I just wanted to apologize for Havoc and myself."

"Thank you. You're forgiven. Next time you want to know something about me, ask when you're not supposed to be working."

"Yeah, sure."

"Thank you, sir."

"… by the way, lieutenant, did you cook dinner tonight?"

He was answered by a plate of lasagna in the face.

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When Roy Mustang walked back into the office, stray noodles hanging from his hair, Breda and Havoc each passed a thousand cens bill to a grinning Feury.

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A/N- Le gasp, an update? I've been such a slacker with these. Hopefully they'll be coming our more often.