HAHA. I posted this fic on ffnet and I got ONE review! I wasn't expecting that! Wahahah! -displays signs of a n00b fic writer- ah well. there you go.

Genkai-chan: Thanks a lot!

Please...Roy

Chapter two:
(refer to previous chapter for warnings and what not)

Roy sighed wearily and ran his fingers though already ruffled hair. Paperwork. What sort of sick fellow gave him all this work to begin with? The beginnings of a smirk ghosted his lips as he realised exactly who he was talking about - the man he dreamt to be. The pure irony of everything amused him to no end. Here he was sitting in his office mentally bitching about the very person he aspired with all his soul to be... Change. There needed to be change around here - a lot of it too.

Hawkeye's characteristic tap-thud-tap knock on the door alerted him to his surroundings. Morse code for "R". Riza had always been one for order, organisation and neatness. To her, everything was down to the specifics and technicalities. Roy half-suspected his subordinate had a kind of obssessive compulsive disorder. After all, didn't everyone have some kind of disorder? They did. He smiled grimly to himself.

"Enter."

Riza strode purposefully through the door carrying a small parcel. She saluted smartly before placing the parcel firmly in front of her commanding officer. She read Roy's thoughts off his eyebrow gymnastics.

"It's not a bomb, sir."

Roy's eyebrows jumped once more.

"Now why would I think that?"

"Sir, you are eyeing the parcel as though it's about to kill you."

Riza was dead serious. She always was. Roy's eyebrows danced upon his forehead. Before he could even open his mouth, Riza interrupted.

"It's from Lt. Col. Hughes, Sir. He instructed me to bring this to you."

"Thank you Riza. You're dismissed."

THe blonde hesistated slightly before nodding curtly and leaving the room. The worry that flashed in her eyes for that split-second had not been lost on Roy. He saw what she felt, but he did not understand. Roy shrugged off his confusion and turned his attention to the parcel.

A pile of brown paper and twine later, Roy unwrapped a container of what resembled worms. He removed the lid. Ahh, pasta. Roy frowned. He had known Hughes for a day and a half and he was already sending him food? Suspicious. Visions of assasination attempts flashed through his head. Poison could be all too easily concealed in such foods, powdered glass that would wear away at his stomach lining, killing him slowly; or perhaps a metal shard cunningly concealed to maim him for life, rendering him speechless, literally. Roy pushed the container away, suddenly sick to his stomach. He buried his head in his hands, willing that familiar feeling that was creeping up his spine to go away and leave him alone. No such luck, the voices were back again.

They reminded him of the 40 inch stack of paperwork on his table, the desperate need to become Fuhrer, the murder case he hadn't solved yet, the mission he had yet to go for, the lack of a girlfriend, his shoddy appearance and now a new addition - Lt. Col. Hughes. They taunted him. They hurt him inside.

Roy drew several shuddering breaths, trying to compose himself. Emotions should not get in the way of the Fuhrer-to-be. I will be no such weakling. Bony fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, fingertips white. In struggling to contain himself, he failed to notice the door slowly inch open.

you know, it 2.12 am now and i'm darn tired. i shall go to sleep.

GOODNIGHT. (please review thanks).