A/N: Sometimes, I just get the urge to write the two of them doing something sneaky other than being together.

I do not own FMA.

Sneaky People

They entered the room with the perfect air of nonchalance, like it was the most comfortable thing in the world to be doing. For the two of them, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, his fingers resting gently atop it, they really were as comfortable around each other as was humanly possible.

Hair combed back from his eyes, Roy had to make sure not to advertise the fact that he was paying keen attention to his surroundings. He was without the usual half-curtain of bangs that — while suiting his laid-back, playboy personal — were completely out of place in a high-class situation like this. Thus, he kept an aloof, almost bored, expression on his face, pretending to survey the other guests for a face that was even remotely familiar.

And after only a few moments of searching, he found one.

Guiding Riza in that direction, he tightened his fingers briefly around hers in a warning: it was about to begin. Her fingers twitched once against his: she was ready.

"Excuse me; General Fescue?" The white-haired man seated at the table turned at their approach, bushy eyebrows lifted in polite, silent inquiry. Roy flashed a smile of the same level of politeness. "Colonel Roy Mustang, sir, out of Central."

Levering himself out of his seat, the rotund General grasped hands with the younger man, shaking firmly. "Pleased to meet you, young man. I've heard quite a few stories of your exploits; I have to say, I'm impressed." His eyes went to Riza, and he broke into a smile. "And who's this lovely young thing?"

"This is Callie Paulsen; an . . . admirer, I suppose you could say."

Riza smiled modestly. "I'm something of an amateur historian," she explained. "In chronicling the different battle regions of the Ishvalan Civil War, I came across the Colonel's name, and . . . ." Giving him a side-long glance, she seemed to blush on cue. "Well, I couldn't help but be impressed by what I read."

"Well, we must have been reading the same stories," Fescue chortled. Taking a half-step back, he gestured to a pair of empty seats at the table. "Please; why don't you to join me."

"I was prepared to ask if we might." Turning slightly, Roy murmured, "Callie, sweetheart, would you mind getting drinks for the General and I?" She gave him a smile, then moved off, slipping among the people with easy grace. He watched her go as he settled into a chair, earning a smirk from Fescue.

"Quite a pretty woman that's attached herself to you, Colonel." The older man's eyes twinkled, making him seem for all the world like someone's mischievous, jolly grandfather. "I'd keep her around, if I were you."

"I fully intend to, sir." Riza disappeared into the crowd, and Roy turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "I hate to talk business on such short notice, General, but I believe it's better to get it out of the way."

"Absolutely; a very healthy attitude." Fescue folded meaty hands on the tablecloth. "What sort of business are we talking about?"

Leaning in slightly, keeping his voice low, Roy smirked. "If you've heard the stories about me, sir, then you know I'm the ambitious type. You also know that I'm very good at what I do." He spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "If you were to find out about any . . . circumstances out in your area that could benefit from the involvement of someone like myself . . . . Well, I hope you wouldn't hesitate to give me a call."

Fescue's grandfatherly eyes took on a sly gleam. "Ahhh, I see . . . . Well, there's certainly no shortage of 'circumstances' out in West City, considering the occasional skirmish with Creta. This is, of course, barring any operations you get tangled up with here in Central."

Roy grinned. "Of course."

He wasn't concerned about having to follow through with any of this. This man was simply a mark, someone to provide him with an excuse to wait around without Riza while she got into position. Should Fescue actually come across a situation he thought warranted the attention of the Flame Alchemist, and try to have him summoned or transferred to West City, Riza had already placed several administrative roadblocks in his way that were neither destructible nor traversable.

Speaking of Riza, she should be nearly to their target by now, clearing the way for him. It was too soon, however. She would need a little while yet, with her skills; for him to arrive slightly late was no issue, but arriving early could jeopardize their entire presence at this gala.

"So, tell me, Colonel," Fescue was saying. "You've been active in the investigation into that serial killer . . . the man known as Scar. We got word of it in West City; I was told to alert all State Alchemists in the area. Some political hardliner, you think, opposed to the State Alchemist program?"

Roy shook his head. "It's hard to say, sir, but I find it unlikely. I've faced off with the man personally, and he seemed to take a more religious stance, calling alchemists an abomination in the eyes of his god." He shrugged, sitting back in his chair. "I suppose he objects to State Alchemists in particular because we're said to have sold our souls to the military in exchange for power." A slight smirk. "Though last I checked, my soul was still in my possession."

Fescue chortled again. "Always in one's best interest to keep track of where their soul is, I suppose. It certainly wouldn't do to lose it. But I can certainly sympathize with your side of things; I remember, we had one case involving a serial killer out in West City . . . ."

There it was: a chance to simply sit back and let Fescue take the conversation where it would. Hopefully, he wasn't one of those long-winded types; in four minutes and thirty seconds, Roy needed to be up off this chair and heading for the door. For now, he simply smiled politely, kept his hands folded in his lap, and waited, counting out the time in his head.

Nope. This story was apparently going to take too long.

"So when we finally caught up to the bastard, he'd holed himself up in an abandoned warehouse with about five different automatic weapons. We couldn't get near the place, so we figured the safest course of action was to let him run himself out of ammunition until —"

Clearing his throat quietly, Roy eased out of his seat. "I'm extremely sorry to interrupt, sir, but Callie has been gone far too long. She's bright, to be sure, but what she has in brains she occasionally lacks in common sense; I should go retrieve her from wherever she's gotten to."

Chuckling again, Fescue waved in dismissal. "Right you are, Colonel. You said you intended to hold onto that young lady; go get her." He watched as the dark-haired young man wove his way through the crowd and out of sight, smiling to himself. "Ah, young love. I was too old for such a thing years ago."

Held in the massive home of the local governor, the gala was confined to the front lawns and the spacious ballroom, leaving the rest of the house in darkness. Slipping into a hallway, mentally following the route he and Riza had plotted beforehand, Roy ducked into an alcove and began shrugging out of his jacket, vest, and shirt. Underneath was a close-fitting, long-sleeved shirt in black, one that Riza had practically forced him into.

"You can't move as well in a full suit, and if we have to make a break for it, you'll slow us down. So wear it, be comfortable, and we'll get away faster," she'd said, holding the shirt out to him the entire time. That look she'd given him had brooked no argument.

Crouching, he untied the folded drawstring bag from its hiding place under his pantleg, folding and placing his discarded clothes inside. Taking a quick glance around to make sure he was unobserved, he slid his arms through the strings like the bag was a backpack and set off along the hallway at a jog.

Caution was still a good idea, though he encountered no one as he made his way through the maze of halls and rooms; all the governor's staff were on hand to assist with the gala, leaving these areas deserted. Security guards were deployed around the exterior, not the interior, meaning he wouldn't have to slip past them until later.

A white door with gold-painted edges loomed out of the darkness just ahead, and Roy slowed to a walk. Stopping just beside it, he looked around one last time for observers, before tapping his fingertips twice against the wood. Barely a second's pause, and two taps answered. He smirked, turned the handle, and slipped inside.

"Playing spy is pretty exciting," he murmured. "All the rumours are true. Huge parties, high society . . . ." He shot Riza a sideways glance and a grin. ". . . Beautiful women . . . ."

She carried a bag like his, her dress from earlier hidden inside it; she now wore her customary black shirt, and loose black pants. She gave him a look of mild exasperation before starting for the polished desk across the room. "Did the General put up a fuss about you leaving?"

"No, my excuse was good enough." He winced slightly. "Sorry, but I may have implied you tend to go off your rocker every now and then."

"Charming."

The desk was a thing of beauty, a testament to the level of the craftman's skill. Made from high-quality mahogany with vines carved around the edges and a granite top polished to shiny perfection, it was very clearly a desk meant for business. Riza circled behind it, checking the different drawers: locked, every single one of them.

Her lip twisted in annoyance. "It'll take too long to pick the lock on every one of these," she muttered. "What's your best guess?"

Rubbing thoughtfully at his chin, Roy's eyes flicked from lock to lock. ". . . . If I were going to steal top-secret documents from Central Command and bring them here . . . . I wouldn't put them in an ordinary drawer." He pushed the desk chair out of the way, squirming backward into the leg space. "Think about it: Jordanson is the paranoid sort, right?"

Riza's eyebrows lifted as she caught on. "Paranoid enough to have had a secret compartment installed in his desk to hide things he doesn't want anyone to know about."

"Get under here; give me a hand."

The desk was huge, the leg space over-sized, but even for the two of them, it was a tight fit. Both of them on their backs, staring up at a wooden underside, were still in extreme proximity. Roy smirked again.

"Do you see what I see?"

"I see wood, when there's no drawer directly above us." Riza smiled tightly, reaching up. "That should be the bottom of the stone top." Her fingernails scratched lightly against the mahogany surface, producing a distinctly hollow sound. "There should be a release somewhere."

Roy shook his head, as much as the limited space would allow. "Not enough time. Pry it off?"

"Could trigger an alarm, or a self-destruct."

"Not enough room for a self-destruct. We can outrun any guards an alarm brings."

Riza was already digging in her pocket for the lockpicks she'd used to gain access to the room in the first place. "Prying it is." She passed him a piece with an end bent into an L-shape, taking a second one for herself. "Carefully; don't damage the wood."

"Right."

Easing the slender bits of metal into the seams at either side, both of them worked along the edges. There was a click from Riza's side first; she immediately stopped moving. Roy glanced her way, then continued easing along the edge until he hit the second catch. Riza braced the wooden panel with one hand as they withdrew the picks . . . then let it down gently. No alarm split the air with a warning wail.

They eased out from under the desk, bringing the hidden drawer with them. Roy stood first, drawing Riza to her feet. She smiled as she caught sight of the white folder inside the hidden drawer, stamped with the Amestrian military crest. "Just a little light reading for the governor, I assume. But the file number matches the one that turned up missing."

"At least he hasn't had time to sell the information, yet," Roy replied. "Come on; let's get out of here, in case that alarm was silent."

"Unfortunately for you, Colonel, it was." Two heads whipped toward the door at the new voice, finding a lean, well-dressed man just inside the room. Light from the window glinted dully off the revolver in his hand. "However, the alarm was on the door, not my desk."

Roy rolled his eyes skyward. "Dammit, Hawkeye. You didn't check the door?"

"I checked the door," she answered calmly. "Though obviously not well enough. My mistake."

"It's a simple mechanism inside the door itself," Jordanson explained patiently. "When the lock is disengaged, it completes a circuit that sends out a radio signal to my chief of security. Once inside, you must lock the door again to break the circuit. You didn't lock the door behind yourselves, and that was your mistake."

Folding his arms, Roy leaned back against the desk. "Doesn't sound like such a simple mechanism when you get into the science of it, but then again, that's not really my department." He lifted an eyebrow. "But speaking of mistakes . . . wouldn't it be considered one to shoot two prominent military officials in your own house?"

"Not when we're the ones he caught sneaking around, sir," Riza put in. "And he's obviously thought this out well enough to use a revolver."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"A revolver doesn't leave shell casings behind, meaning unless the weapon was found by the police, Mr. Jordanson could claim we were shot by someone else." Riza canted her head to one side, brown eyes focussed on the gun. "However, the particular model he has doesn't allow for a silencer, meaning any of the guests or guards within range will hear the shots."

Roy grimaced. "His guards; they'll take his side. Might even get one to take the fall. No mistake at all, then."

Clearly irritated by the exchange, Jordanson took a few paces forward. "Exactly, so if you wouldn't mind passing that file back over to me before I'm forced to shoot you and get it covered in blood?"

Riza tsked quietly. "We try so hard not to get blood on official files. Or at least I do." She looked to her partner. "You spend your time just avoiding files altogether."

He shrugged. "So I don't like paperwork. I'm a man of action, not a man of sit-behind-a-desk-all-day."

"More like fall-asleep-on-your-desk," Riza muttered, only half under her breath.

Jordanson was following the conversation with an expression of growing bafflement, glancing back and forth between Colonel and Lieutenant. ". . . The two of you are insane, aren't you."

Grinning, Roy shrugged, shifting to stand straight. "We've been told that before. We've always denied it, but I suppose there is a chance. Then again, there are worse people to be than a crazy person."

Her superior's smile echoed on her own face, Riza lifted her gaze from the revolver to the man holding it. "Such as a governor who walked into a room with a State Alchemist and a sharpshooter when he doesn't know how to really work a gun."

Visibly gritting his teeth, Jordanson stalked forward, holding out his free hand with a scowl. "Enough stalling! Give me that file!"

In the next instant, Roy dropped his playfully amused manner for one of pure seriousness; dark eyes narrowed slightly as they fixed intently on the governor. "Watch your manners. We're leaving here with it whether you like it or not; one man who's too scared to pull the trigger isn't going to stand in our way."

Inching forward another few steps, Jordanson's eyes darted between the two soldiers. "Did you consider that perhaps I'm just deciding which of you to shoot first?" he snapped. "I know that shooting either one of you will seriously affect the other . . . it's simply a matter of how strong I want that effect to be."

Riza sighed quietly. "Then you should have shot when you had the element of surprise."

In the next instant, she pivoted slightly, her right foot lashing out connect with Jordanson's gun hand. The weapon flew from his fingers, skittering off across the floor; miraculously, it didn't go off. Roy was already at the tall window behind the governor's desk, unlatching it when she caught up; a moment later, their exit was wide open.

He went first, dropping to the ground ten metres below and continuing the fall to his knees to lessen the impact. Dark eyes darted around the area, before he straightened, beckoning Riza to join him. Her boots hit the ground seconds later, the two of them sprinting off into the dark.

Dark that only remained that way for another second more. Floodlights blazed on from the walls surrounding the estate, zeroing in on the two would-be escapees, bringing them to an abrupt halt in the centre of the wide-open yard. Riza immediately spun, her back pressing against Roy's as her eyes tracked the security personnel approaching from the direction of the house, inching their way forward with guns drawn, aimed, and primed to fire.

"All right, you two, take it easy," one man called, his voice and expression grim. "Get down on the ground, face-first."

The pressure left Riza's back as Roy moved a step forward. "You heard the man, Lieutenant," he murmured. "Hit the dirt."

Both of them stretched out prone on the ground, security personnel continuing to advance cautiously. Their spokesman's voice carried over the open space. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, any weapon you're carrying needs to be handed over. Toss it on the ground, two metres away."

She lifted her head to look back at him. "I'm not armed, sir. I was wearing a dress before this, with nowhere to hide a gun." A few snickers were quickly smothered.

"Yeah, it's a real shame," the guard said dryly. "Pretty lady like you getting mixed up in something like this? We might have to take you aside for 'special questioning.'" He grinned at his own joke, looking around at the others. "Am I right, boys?"

Riza looked toward the edge of the estate, a smile of her own playing around her lips. "Well, you're just bent on wreaking all sorts of havoc with our plans, aren't you."

Before the guard could answer, a multitude of shots cracked through the night air from the perimeter walls. The security men immediately dove for the ground, scrambling to get their weapons aimed at this new threat; at the same time, both Roy and Riza picked themselves up and resumed their previously interrupted sprint for safety.

A blue flash sent jagged tendrils of light across the grass as they ran, before the ground bucked beneath their feet, rising in front of them in a sudden ramp to the top of the wall. Both soldiers ran right to the edge, dropping over without hesitation and landing with a double thump on the opposite side.

Edward looked over from where his palms were still pressed to the earth. "Ass need saving, Colonel?" he quipped, smirking in self-satisfaction.

"That's why I keep Hawkeye around," was the unconcerned answer. Getting to his feet, Roy dusted himself off before turning to check on the situation. Havoc, Falman, and Breda were standing atop dirt pillars, just high enough to allow them to fire over the wall at the grounds within. Non-lethal shots, of course, simply enough to provide a distraction. "Pack it in," he called. "Time we were on our way."

Dropping to the ground beside Riza, Havoc slung his rifle over one shoulder. "You've gotta speak up more, Lieutenant," he said casually as the group started along a dirt path leading away from the estate. "I could barely hear you when you were giving the signal. If Fuery hadn't been listening in, I might not have caught it."

"Sorry; I'll remember to shout it for the world to hear next time," she answered, just as nonchalantly.

Following from the rear of their little pack, Edward watched the exchange between the two officers before muttering to Fuery, "She just finished infiltrating a mansion, getting caught with a file, and nearly getting arrested. How can she talk like that?"

Smiling, the bespectacled young man tugged on the carrying straps of the portable radio receiver over his shoulders. "Sarcasm is just how the Lieutenant deals with stress like that; the Colonel too. It's either that, or they get mad, and that's just dangerous."