My continued apologies for my continued absence and the longish delays between posts. Here is a longish chapter.
Chapter Ten - Bennet's Ball
Maes Hughes was having an excellent evening, and he could tell it was only going to get better. His darling baby girl was at home playing sock puppets with the babysitter, his wife was a vision in black chiffon, and he was on his way to General Bennet's promotional ball with his best friend and his best friend's future wife. Though, admittedly, Roy hadn't realized that last part yet.
He had been shocked and overjoyed when Roy had phoned him to ask if he and his Lieutenant could share a cab with Gracia and him on the night of the ball. With further prodding, Roy had conceded that he and Riza Hawkeye were indeed going together, but it was purely as platonic friends and coworkers who didn't want to go dateless to an obligatory ball. When he had innocently tried to insinuate that something more was going on, Roy had growled something about setting his office on fire if he made any wisecracks, proving without a doubt that something more was unquestionably going on.
Yes, his evening was shaping up quite nicely, and this cab ride was the icing on the cake. Sitting across from the pair and watching Roy struggle not to stare at his subordinate was very gratifying. He knew he could not share a glance with Gracia or he would start openly chuckling.
Of course, Maes had known when they stopped to pick up Lieutenant Hawkeye that Roy Mustang was a dead man. They sent him up to her apartment to fetch her while they waited with the cab, and when he returned ten minutes later with his subordinate in tow, he looked impossibly agonized and elated at the same time. At first Roy's behavior seemed rather puzzling, but when Maes caught sight of Hawkeye moments later, it all made sense.
Any idiot could have seen that Riza was very attractive, in every sense of the word. Even when she was the straight-laced Lieutenant Hawkeye at work, her charm was undeniable, but the powder blue gown she was wearing tonight put a few things into perspective.
The first was that military uniforms could hide many, many sinfully sublime secrets, and the second was that it was a very, very good thing they did, or Roy would never get any work done. Maes had seen them work together smoothly on and off the battlefield, and he had seen the depths of their devotion demonstrated enough times to know that blossoming romance was inevitable, but he had always thought of them as the equivalent of an old married couple, at ease and intimately familiar with each other's mannerisms and oddities, and settled into a stagnant routine. This was an eye-opening reminder that they were not old, they were not married, and there was nothing stagnant about the way they were looking at each other.
He remembered what it was like with Gracia in the beginning of their relationship, the pins-and-needles anticipation, the doubt, the curiosity, things he used to want—still wanted just as much actually, but not with the same urgency of unfulfilled hunger. He could at least behave himself in public places now, which, he was beginning to think, would be rather difficult for the pair across from them to manage for an entire night if this cab ride was any indication.
It was this powerful undercurrent of attraction that would ruin their carefully constructed routine one way or another. After all, one could survive loving someone at a distance for their spirit, their mind, and even their aesthetic beauty to a certain extent. Desire would be the final leak in the dam, and once that was loose, all other things would burst free from the floodgates.
For her part, Hawkeye kept a graceful cool even though she knew the Colonel was staring. She complimented Gracia's dress, and Hughes's wife responded in kind. Since Mustang didn't seem particularly chatty, and Hughes was content to sit and smile smugly, they did most of the talking for the rest of the ride. Only when the conversation turned to Elysia would Maes pipe in with a choice remark or two.
The streets of central blurred by the windows in various shades of watery grey and white. There was still snow on the ground and the gloomy precipitation was never ending, but now it had turned from flurries to freezing rain. All in all, it was a very dreary day for a party, but Hughes wasn't about to let that stop his excellent evening. And, he decided as an afterthought, Roy was going to have an excellent evening as well, even if he didn't know it yet.
They entered the ballroom fashionably late, as the famed Flame Alchemist of Central was wont to do. A few eyes widened at the sight of Lieutenant Hawkeye on his arm, but surprisingly, a great portion of the ball's patrons didn't seem at all surprised. Whether this was because they didn't recognize her as his 'gun arm,' or because they'd simply grown accustomed to seeing her always at his side, he wasn't entirely certain. He was certain that he did not like the way some of the men were watching her, which was odd when he thought about it. He used to enjoy having dates that made other men gawk.
The tight press of people seemed to part all around them. He allowed her to lead him because she appeared to know where she was going and focused his attention on scanning the crowds. Hakuro was not in the immediate vicinity. The immediate vicinity was a jumble of suits and long silk dresses. The high, cake-mold ceiling glowed in the light of three gargantuan chandeliers, and somewhere to his left, it sounded like a live orchestra was playing. He couldn't see past the multitude of heads or hear anything but the softest hiss of a melody, but it added a backdrop of elegance that transcended the strangeness of the scene. He'd seen many of these same people crammed into foxholes and dugouts, caked in dirt, blood, and other unknown and unsavory substances. Hawkeye as well, but she was different.
They split up with Maes and Gracia when the Lieutenant Colonel spotted one of the junior officers in his department. Evidentially, the hapless man was in need of an Elysia update, but Hughes promised to reconvene with them later in the evening. Roy could swear he saw Gracia shake her head wearily as she followed after her husband, but she was smiling fondly even as she did so.
They kept looking for any of Roy's own subordinates, and at last, they found Havoc loitering around the refreshment table trying to intercept anything female. He was in the middle of saying something he probably thought was very witty to a girl who was trying to escape with her glass of punch when he caught sight of them. His words tapered off. The girl snuck away.
"Good Lord, Hawkeye." He gulped and struggled to fix his thunderstruck expression. "I-I mean, good evening Colonel, and Lieutenant . . . er—uh, sogoodofyoutoshowup."
Roy smirked. "Yes, seeing as it is my obligation to attend such events, I have come. What about you, Havoc? You are looking a little peaked. Is everything alright?"
"Yes," he squeaked. "So she's your date then?"
"Of course." He smiled lazily, as if this fact was a given and concerned him very little. "Beautiful, isn't she?"
As if she was a particularly nice painting he'd happened to stumble upon. As if he could take his eyes off her any time he chose to. As if beauty wasn't an understatement. Hawkeye just rolled her eyes as if she didn't care what he called her.
"Yes, Sir." Havoc gave her a daring once-over before turning desperately to address the punch bowl. "Very nice."
Roy continued to smirk. "So, have you seen the good General?"
"Which one?" Havoc said still looking helplessly at the punch. "Grumman? Bennet? Hak—"
"Bennet. He is the honored party after all. I thought I'd offer my congratulations."
"Oh," Havoc replied. "I don't know. I did see him when I walked in, but then I saw Fury, and I had to talk to him. Did you know he has a date?"
"Really?" Hawkeye actually smiled a bit at that.
"Oh yes," Havoc nodded. "Cute little thing too. Mindy or Molly or something like that. Anyway, they're probably somewhere on the dance floor right now."
He gestured toward the center of the room where the crowd had thinned away, leaving a large space in front of the musicians for countless couples to dance. As people said their greetings and warmed up to the party, the crowds were shrinking and the ranks of dancers continued to expand.
"You know," Roy exchanged an amused glance with Hawkeye. " Breda, Falman, and you really might consider taking a leaf or two out of Fury's book occasionally. He's not all that bad with the ladies."
"That's only because he's got that whole 'sensitive' thing going on," Havoc snorted in a tone that clearly conveyed his disgust. "Besides, I had a girlfriend, until a certain Colonel made us all transfer to Central."
"Hmm," Roy was already scanning the dance floor with interest. "Yes, that is unfortunate. However, I think you can recover from the incident. Lieutenant Hawkeye, perhaps we should try to find the Master Sergeant on the dance floor."
"If that was your way of asking me to dance with you, Sir, I feel obligated to tell you that your line needs work," Hawkeye deadpanned. "Lots of work."
"Would you prefer me to say, dance with me or I shall die of longing?"
He put a hand dramatically to his heart, and a faint shade of pink stole across her face. But she was quick to regain her composure, and tell him to knock it off before someone saw him behaving that way. He repeated his request for a dance, and Havoc had to admit he was nothing if not persistent. It was also mildly disconcerting to watch his superior officers flirting so openly.
In the end, she was persuaded. The pair drifted away from the refreshment table with a, "See you later, Havoc," from the Colonel. Havoc even thought he heard the Lieutenant mutter to him under her breath, "Please dispense with the theatrics, Sir," before they were out of earshot.
"Good grief." Suddenly, he desperately wanted a smoke.
"Who knew that putting you in a dress would tongue tie our poor Lieutenant Havoc," Roy said as they swept across the dance floor in time with the other couples. "If I had known that, I would have arranged for such a thing earlier to repay him for his little mistletoe stunt."
"Very funny." She scowled at him. "You do know that as a Lieutenant in the Amestrian military, I am allowed to carry a concealed weapon on my person. At all times."
"I hadn't forgotten." He grinned mischievously. "Maybe it'd be worth a few bullets just to see where you've stashed it this evening."
"Ever the gentleman," she sighed. "I should have known."
He could only chuckle.
So far, they hadn't seen Fury, or anyone else they knew for that matter. Not that either of them was looking especially hard. They had already danced two songs, and Hawkeye was pleasantly surprised to find that she was actually enjoying herself. She danced well enough, and the Colonel more than made up for any of her stumbling. That they were hardly the most coordinated or talented couple on the floor was inconsequential. The Colonel had done nothing but smile since they first started, and that was more enough.
"So are you—oops, I'm sorry ma'am," Roy quickly apologized when they nearly collided with another couple.
And before he knew what was happening, they were face to face with General Hakuro and his wife. Recognition snapped across every face, and all four of them halted mid-step. This didn't seem to form much of an obstruction for the other dancers. They just glided on around them without pause. Roy felt Hawkeye go stiff beside him and reflexively moved to place himself slightly in front of her, but he didn't take his eyes off Hakuro.
It was incredibly easy to picture the man as a singed pile of ashes. He wondered why he never had before. He wondered if he could possibly manage to remove his gloves from his pocket before Hawkeye noticed what he was doing. As it was, she was gripping his arm with bone-crushing intensity and already beginning to pull back. He wouldn't move.
"Colonel Mustang," Hakuro's upper lip twitched into a condescending sneer, the same sneer he always used to great lower ranking officers. "Good evening."
"Evening, General." He nodded curtly.
The palpable undercurrent of menace in the Colonel's pleasant tone made the hairs on the back of Riza's neck stand on end. She had never heard him sound like that before. One glance at the general's fluttery wife told her she wasn't the only one who had felt it. The other woman's eyes widened, but her brows drew together in confusion. She wasn't sure what she was sensing.
Riza was very aware. She was aware of the Colonel's muscles tensing up under her vice-like grip. She could feel him looking for a reason to strike. She didn't care at all about Hakuro. She'd seen him in public before, plenty of times, and he could be relied upon to act the part of a disinterested General. All she knew was she wanted her Colonel far away from him before he did something he would regret. She didn't want her honor defended. She didn't want a confrontation. She wanted to play along with Hakuro, and pretend. It was so much easier that way.
Unfortunately, Roy was new to the game.
"Tabitha, this is Colonel Mustang and his Lieutenant. Hawkeye, I believe." Hakuro appeared to puzzle over her name, as if she was only an insignificant underling. "Officers, this is my wife, Tabitha."
"Pleased to meet you." His wife smiled nervously, like a mouse being politely presented to a pair of cats.
Riza murmured a proper reply and glanced furtively at the Colonel. He hadn't said a word. The ballroom felt insufferably hot, and dread formed a writhing lump in her stomach.
"My, my, you and your subordinates do clean up nicely, Colonel," Hakuro's eyes crinkled good-naturedly, and he was careful not to show his teeth as he spoke. "But seeing this one on your arm is hardly surprising, really. All the men of Central must be—"
"Enough!" Roy snarled through his teeth. "She is none of your concern."
And she couldn't breathe. Could horror suffocate a person? Dimly, she registered Hakuro closing his mouth into a frown, and his wife shrinking behind him in terror, but it was all too brief. Roy moved faster than she would have thought possible. Before she had time to react, she felt the fabric of his glove against the bare skin of her shoulder, and she was being softly but instantly pushed away.
He propelled her through the crowd, keeping his fingertips on her shoulder, and she acquiesced to the treatment because it really would be better for everyone if they were both as far as humanly possible from Hakuro. Her Colonel could not afford to make a scene for her sake. As it was, there was already a great deal of damage.
When they had crossed to the other side of the floor, she spun around. "Why did he say that?"
"Because he's an asshole," Roy growled.
They had stopped in front of a row of windows on the wall furthest from the entrance. The night was inky, and its cold breath was fogging the edges of every pane. No stars. Just tiny freckles of reflected lights that seemed to glimmer and wink in the raindrops clinging to the glass. The festivities continued all around them, loud, lyrical and muffling. Nobody was looking in their direction.
"No," she hissed. "He wouldn't pull something like that . . . unless he knows."
"What?"
"He wants to make it public knowledge that you and I . . ." She shook her head, stopping herself. "Colonel, General Hakuro is discreet about these things unless he has a reason to pull strings. Of course, he expects you to think he was only saying it to provoke you, but I think he's covering. Somehow he knows—"
"That you're preg—"
"Yes!" She put a hand to her temples, furious with herself. "He always finds out these things! And now . . . Oh God, how could I have been so stupid?"
"Are you sure he wasn't just trying to make me angry?" Roy muttered. "Because he did a hell of a job."
"More than angry, Sir," she whispered. "If Hakuro is trying to throw the nature of our relationship into question, not only will he wash his own hands, but he will drag your career through the mud."
"My career?" Roy clenched his fists. "Jesus, Hawkeye, don't you ever think about yourself?"
But she didn't seem to be listening to him. She was calculating. "We should never have come to this ball together. We're too close as it is."
"Don't say that." Roy was surprised to find himself using a softer tone. "Nothing he can do would ever keep me from you. Closeness be damned, Hawkeye. Why does everyone else get to decide what we are allowed?"
"You made your choice when you chose to walk this path," she said. "I made my choice when I decided to follow you. Neither of us can decide to play the victim of circumstance now, and I know you. You will continue to play by their rules because you must. You've come too far to throw it all away, and you would never be happy if you did."
He looked at her for a long time. She was right, of course. The quest was everything, but she wouldn't want to hear that he couldn't go on without her by his side. She'd tell him to stop being so ridiculous. Because loving her really was ridiculous. By all accounts, it would be so much easier to accomplish his goals if he could simply stop having such feelings immediately. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to choose between everything he ever wanted, and her. She was part of that package.
"Sir?"
Her inquiry brought him out of his thoughts and back into the ballroom, back into her bourbon eyes looking at him with concern. She really was more alluring than anyone had any right to be. He didn't want to think about anything else. Not tonight. Tonight she wasn't pregnant.
"You know what, Lieutenant?" He gave her the lopsided smirk. "I like this song."
"Wha—" She stared at him like he'd just confessed his undying love for paperwork, but he took her hand anyway.
"I don't want him to come between us tonight. I don't care what he tells people, and I don't care what they say. Tomorrow we can do all the necessary damage control, but tonight . . ." He laced their fingers together. "Just dance with me."
Later in the night, after they'd made several turns around the dance floor, Roy finally found General Bennet. Hawkeye muttered a thin lie about sitting down for a bit, and they parted company. He knew very well that she didn't want to be guided through prescribed introductions and niceties with the brass that he shamelessly flattered for his own manipulative reasons.
As it turned out, Bennet and his wife were gathered with another Colonel and his wife, and the men and women were holding two simultaneous conversations, one about his recent election, and one about the decoration committee's choice of flowers for the evening. The deeper tones of, "Probably was all Michael's doing," and the lilting "Roses would have be much prettier," crossed each other at competing volumes with occasional spillover if someone's spouse had anything to contribute to the other discussion.
All eyes went to him as he approached.
"Colonel Mustang," Bennet's grin already spoke of a few glasses of celebratory champagne. "I was wondering when we'd get the chance to talk to you."
"Really," he said laconically.
"Yes," one of the wives (he couldn't tell which) declared. "We want to know about the Fullmetal Alchemist. There have been so many rumors, but the boy is always out and about, so nobody knows for certain."
"Fullmetal?" Roy had to fight to smother a scowl. "What's so important about him?"
"Is it true he's only twelve?"
"Twelve?" He had to laugh at that one. "Well, he did get his license then, but that was about three years ago, I believe. Kid's got real talent."
"I see," the other Colonel said. "And I understand from the reports that you discovered this prodigy in some backwater village out East."
"It's not exactly backwater . . ." he began.
"Colonel Mustang?" Roy turned at the sound of a voice behind him.
The interrupter was a man he had never met before, but he wasn't altogether surprised that someone he didn't know recognized him. Many people knew of the Flame Alchemist by reputation. This man looked to be about his age, perhaps older. His most notable features were the long black cornrows he had neatly tied back at the nape of his neck, and the impressively broad shoulders that seemed to strain against his constricting suit jacket. He carried himself like a soldier, clearly an officer and not somebody's guest, but his stance visibly faltered when Roy turned to acknowledge him.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, that's me."
"Of course." The other man laughed nervously. "I am Second Lieutenant Elijah Stanton. I recently transferred from Western Headquarters. You've probably never heard of me."
Roy wondered if this Lieutenant Stanton had a point. Usually only very small children and moonstruck old ladies asked him for autographs.
"Anyway . . ." The other man cleared his throat. "I came over here to ask you about the woman you came with."
Roy's look of pleasant interest turned into a frown of confusion. "Lieutenant Hawkeye?" He instinctively looked over at her to make sure she was still exactly where he had left her. She appeared to be quite fine, sitting at the table his little group had relegated to themselves and talking quietly to Breda.
"Yes." Stanton followed his gaze in her direction. His next question caught Roy completely by surprise. "Is it alright if I ask her to dance?"
"What?" Roy looked around at his present company uneasily. "Why are you asking my permission?"
Stanton shrugged, oblivious to the tension. "I just thought . . ."
"Well, whatever you think isn't correct," Roy said carefully, making sure his response was audible to all of those standing in the circle. "Ask her if you'd like. I'm not my Lieutenant's keeper."
Stanton beamed. "Thank you, Sir."
He gave him a small bow, and began to weave purposefully through the crowd in Hawkeye's direction. Roy watched curiously, while trying to appear involved in the conversation at hand. It was a difficult and frustrating undertaking. What sort of intentions did this Stanton guy have anyway? How come, of all the available ladies in the room, he had decided to become enamored with his Lieutenant? Couldn't he see that she was clearly, clearly, clearly already taken? Apart from a glowing neon sign, he didn't see how this could be more obvious. True, he had denounced any claim he had to her when Stanton had asked, but what else could he do surrounded by a group of spectators? And, it wasn't like he owned her, so of course he had to back down. He couldn't really forbid other men from asking her to dance.
Or could he?
Maybe there was an unexplored angle he could exploit to his own advantage. Maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe . . .
"Colonel Mustang?"
"Hmm . . . what?"
"I was just showing the ladies because they were curious," Bennet said. "That is your First Lieutenant, correct?"
He pointed over to where she sat with Breda. Roy nodded. That was Hawkeye.
"She's lovely," one of the wives simpered, and the other nodded in agreement.
He smiled thinly. "Is she?"
Stanton was standing before her now. His lips were moving, but it was too impossibly far away to tell what he was saying. Roy could tell it was effective though. Hawkeye's fingers went to her face. She smiled, brushed at a wayward lock of hair, and said something in response. Stanton bowed and extended a hand. She looked at Breda hesitantly. Roy supposed she was asking if it was alright if she left him sitting alone, but the Second Lieutenant only shrugged and pulled his plate of hors d'oeuvres closer. So she took Stanton's offered hand.
He was going to have to have a few words with Breda later.
"Bet the rumors must get tiring though, don't they Mustang?" the other Colonel was saying with a grin. "Pretty coworkers can be so problematic some times."
Roy watched her dancing with Stanton.
"You have no idea."
And so the rest of the evening went. Roy was shuttled around from group to group, until it seemed like there couldn't possibly be a single superior officer in attendance that he hadn't been introduced to. He exchanged brief words with Fury and his charming date, and spent some time at the table with Maes, Gracia, Breda, Falman, and Hawkeye. But to his supreme irritation, he never got another chance to dance with her. Every time he finally had an opportunity to escape the current conversation, Lieutenant Lovesick or another equally annoying interloper would already have her in his arms. It was as if once Stanton had gotten the okay from him, his date had become fair game.
He tried to content himself by dancing a few songs of his own with various fawning females, but he could never properly enjoy himself because Hawkeye never looked sufficiently jealous, which was the entire point if he was honest with himself. And this upset him even more because clearly he was far more bothered by her other dance partners than she was by his, and he didn't like this new development at all.
As the night wound down and he found himself watching her and Stanton from the sidelines for the third time, he finally resigned himself to his pettiness. He was going to have to cut in. Or at the very least, snag her before the next song. Besides Stanton had already claimed more than enough of her attention, and he didn't know how much more of that man he could stomach.
It seemed to take an eternity for the song to end, but at last the dancers slowed to a stop. Stanton bowed gallantly, and said something that was no doubt supposed to be flattering. To Roy's amazement, the line actually seemed to work. Reticent, gun-totting, ever-serious Riza Hawkeye blushed and lowered her eyes. It was maddening.
To his relief, she elected to excuse herself before the next dance started. He seized his opportunity.
She was just about to pour herself a glass of water when Roy caught up with her. Her face was still flushed, and her eyes were bright with the kind of excitement that comes from being wanted by a handsome stranger. Truly, she wasn't entirely certain what had come over her, but Lieutenant Stanton's bold and undisguised interest in her was exciting. If she didn't know any better she would say she was feeling giddy from it all.
"There you are, Sir." She flashed him a dazzling smile, oblivious to his stormy countenance. "I must say I think you were right about balls. I rather like them after all."
"Hawkeye," he said. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"
"About what?"
"Just come with me." His fingers curled around her arm.
"What are you—?" She didn't get to finish that sentence because he was already leading her across the floor.
There was a balcony off to the side of the ballroom with the doors thrown partway open against the chilly air. It was still drizzling, but the eaves shielded a small, shadowy section of the balcony from the downpour, and he pushed her into this spot. Away from any and all prying eyes and ears.
She shivered slightly at the cold, and he was quick to hold her against him, as tightly as pretense would allow. She didn't protest. It was nice to feel her back against his chest. Not charged at the moment. Just nice. She was real and warm, and no one was there to see him press his nose into her hair.
"Who was that guy?" he asked her. She didn't need to know he had sent Stanton over. He'd have absolutely no logical reason to be upset if she knew that. As it was, logical reasons were already beginning to desert him.
She bit her lip. "Lieutenant Elijah Stanton, transferred from Western Headquarters. I just met him, but he seemed very nice."
"Oh I see. Well you certainly looked pretty cozy with him on the dance floor."
She watched the water dribble from the roof just out of her reach and felt him sigh against her. "Is that what this is all about?"
He figured lying to her was useless at this point. "Yes. That's what this is all about."
She was silent. He could imagine the mixture of shock and confusion dancing across her face. He didn't want to be admitting these things. But he had to. It was far past time, and he was sick of the mistaken impressions that came from lying to each other.
"I wish I didn't care who you dance with," he whispered.
She drew in a sharp breath and consciously fought to keep all of her limbs still. Roy Mustang was admitting to jealousy, and while she should have been irritated at his possessiveness, she couldn't squash the thrill that ran through her, and her treacherous body was on the verge of a tremble at his closeness.
"I thought . . ." She gulped. Why was it so hard to form coherent sentences with his arms around her? "I thought it would be better if we danced with other people. You know we can't seem too attached."
"Do you like him?"
"I—well—I . . . He was very nice."
"Nice?"
"I don't know, Roy—I mean Sir," she stammered. "He was nice. But not . . . Wait a second! You were dancing with other women tonight! Should I be asking you about them?"
"So you did notice that?" He smiled to himself, glad that she couldn't see his amusement. "But if you really must change the subject, I'll tell you what you want to hear. They meant nothing to me, and I think you know exactly why."
She didn't respond. Her mouth was too dry. The rain seemed very loud in the silence, and the darkness beyond the balcony was formless and strange.
"It's not right," he continued in a voice that was barely a breath against her ear. "I shouldn't want . . . the things that I want."
She was shivering again, pulling away from him. "That makes two of us."
"I cannot ask you to wait for me," he said. "Other men are going to want you, and I have no right to hold you back. I think you know that I care for you, but we can't be closer until I know you wouldn't be in danger because of it. I just can't risk it." He sighed. "And the truth is, I don't know if it will ever be safe. My future is not exactly promising, and you could have so much more if you were with a guy like Stanton. He could give you . . ."
"But I don't want him," she interrupted. "I've already decided what I want, and I won't let you of all people tell me what you think is best for me. I'm with you because I want to be with you. In whatever capacity, I am needed. I don't care what that means. I've never cared."
"You'd throw it all away?"
"Throw all what away? Your dream is my dream," she reminded him. "To help you rise, to stand by your side, to be someone you can trust. I want all of those things. What am I throwing away?"
"Normalcy?" he suggested.
"You've got a lot to learn about me if you think I want that, Sir."
He spun her around to face him, and she didn't look away from his examining gaze. She smiled, giving him a small acknowledgement of the truth of what she'd said. She meant every word. He cupped her cheek in one hand and teased the light tufts of hair in front of her ear.
"You really would wait for me," he murmured almost to himself.
She nodded into his palm.
His face broke into a wide grin when he realized what she had just promised. In all honesty, she'd already made the promise to herself years before, but that made little difference. Now he knew, now he believed her, and now he understood. She belonged to him. And he looked as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.
Instead, he took her hand and spun her around in a wide arc that brought her out into the rain for a moment, but she didn't care. She continued the dance and took him with her until they were cavorting in circles around the balcony. Freezing droplets dotted every open patch of her skin; they were in her hair, on her eyelashes, and against her mouth. Anyone who passed by the balcony could have seen them, but there was only one thought of him, smiling like the world was a mad place. And for once, he didn't seem to mind the insanity.
Finally, he stopped mid-turn, and pulled her back under the eve, watching her as she used her free hand to stifle a giggle. He wasn't as cold as he thought he should be, and also very aware of what the rain had done to her dress. Her formidable combination of sex appeal and charm very nearly undid him.
"I could make it all the way to the top if I knew you'd be mine at the end of it all." He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed them into her palm, eliciting a startled gasp from her.
The action jerked an invisible hook below her navel. Something resonant purred within her, and a low, longing hum escaped her mouth.
This was different. Roy's lips against her skin were so achingly different from any other touch she had experienced. His mouth was soft against the map of lines on her palm, and heaven help her, she was feeling weak in the knees.
Roy felt her gasp and shudder when he kissed her. At first he thought it was the cold and the wet that were making her so quivery, but when she made that soft noise of pleasure and distress in her throat, he knew it was more than that. He knew it was more than that, and suddenly it was very hard to make himself stop. He wanted to press her against the wall and consume her. He wanted to touch her, and if her behavior was any indication, she wanted to be touched just as badly.
He tightened his grip on her waist and reluctantly released her hand to give her a small, cattish grin. She swallowed and brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead. They were far too close to be mistaken for a platonic pair of officers and his arms were shaking slightly, as if he was fighting to rein himself in. She didn't know if she wanted him to succeed or not.
"And the child?" she whispered. "Are you sure you want . . ."
"I don't care. You are the only woman I'll ever want, and I wouldn't care if you had five children and a camel." His lips twitched up again. "Kid might want a . . . uh . . . another adult figure of some sort in his or her life. I'm not trying to claim any rights I don't have, or trying to say you can't handle it or anything like that. But if you think you can trust me . . . I think I could help. I'll always be here for both of you."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you."
"And now that we are all nice and wet, you know what else?" He put a hand out experimentally. "I think the rain is finally stopping."
Maes raised an eyebrow when Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye piled into the cab across from Gracia and him. Both of them were rather damp, and they both looked rather pleased to be damp. After Havoc and the others had taken off, he and his wife had split up find the mysteriously absent Mustang and Hawkeye, so they could get home. Their babysitter was being paid by the hour, and they didn't want to keep her waiting all night. Finally, Gracia said she'd managed to find them on the balcony. Naturally, he'd just assumed they'd both be dry . . . but apparently, he'd been wrong.
"What the heck?" he cried. "Did you guys lose a fight with a sprinkler or something?"
Roy grinned like he'd just gotten away with something very devious and wordlessly flicked a few droplets from his bangs.
Maes looked at Gracia. She just shrugged.
"Contest of freaks," he muttered. "I've always said it, but nobody wants to believe me."
"So what does everyone think about General Bennet?" Gracia asked loudly.
"He was dull," Roy offered.
"Oh? He seemed alright too me."
"I didn't say he was bad," Roy amended. "Just dull."
They discussed the character of General Bennet until they came to Hawkeye's building because nobody had anything else to say. The cab waited on the curb while Roy went with her to escort her to her apartment.
They clambered up the stairs in silence. Hawkeye was beginning to feel quite exhausted by the evening's events, and she liked the thought of the warm, soft bed waiting for her. Her feet ached, but in a decidedly good way, and she wanted to brush out her wet hair. The only complication was the Colonel. When they finally got to her apartment, she wasn't entirely sure what to say to him.
"So . . ." She twisted her doorknob and looked at him uncertainly. "I guess this is where I say I had a nice night."
"Yeah, I, um . . ." Good Lord, was he actually stammering? "I'm glad."
"Hope you don't catch a cold after tonight," she offered lamely.
"Same goes for you."
Silence.
Roy cleared his throat. "You're not thinking about changing your mind about what you said earlier?"
"Never. You're stuck with me, Sir." She smiled ruefully. "But I guess this is it, for now I suppose."
"It's safer this way," he said.
But God if it wasn't harder. Safety seemed like a very distant concern when he was standing in front of her, and one lapse in control would be all it took . . . He was doing the noble thing, but she could see the truth in his eyes. If she closed the distance between them, he'd be the last person to fight her. It wasn't wise, but she was too tired to care, and it'd be so very easy.
No. She owed him more restraint than that. He had placed his trust in her. That was why she was his Lieutenant. She was allowed to shoot him in the back. And she was trusted not to tempt him.
"Goodnight, Sir." Somehow she made the words form on her lips.
"Goodnight, Lieutenant."
As soon as the door had closed behind her, Roy let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and raked a hand through his hair. Damn. He stood there lost in thought for a few moments longer, until he realized how silly he must look staring at her door. A quick glance around revealed nobody else in the hallway, but he left quickly anyway.
When he made it down the stairs, he found Hughes standing in the lobby.
"She forgot her purse in the car," he explained, holding a blue handbag out feebly. "Gracia sent me in here, but I wasn't sure if I'd be er—interrupting anything if I brought it up there. So I thought I'd wait until you came down."
"Oh," Roy took the purse absently. "I don't even remember her having it."
Hughes laughed. "No, you probably wouldn't Mr. Keeps-His-Eyes-To-Himself."
"I'll have you know, I didn't see the purse because I was purposely not looking at her," Roy hissed.
"Sure. Sure. We'll be waiting in the car, so try to be quick."
Roy gave him one last scowl before he climbed the stairs again.
She didn't answer her door when he knocked. He tried several more times, but every knock was met with the same silence. He heard no noises to indicate she was even there on the other side of the door. More knocks yielded similar results. Perhaps she was taking a shower or something. Maybe he could just slip inside and place her purse on the counter.
"Hawkeye?" He tried the door and it swung inward at the slightest push. Odd that she hadn't needed her keys to open the door earlier. "Hawkeye you forgot your—"
He couldn't breathe. His lungs refused to expand. His Lieutenant was on her knees, and General Hakuro was standing over her with a gun pressed to her temple.
"Colonel Mustang, so good of you to join us."