Roy thrummed his fingers against his desk, looking suspiciously around to his subordinates.
Some was going on right under his nose.
Sure! Everyone was acting normal, and everything seemed like it always seemed, but Roy Mustang didn't get to General without noticing things.
But he just wasn't sure 'what' he was noticing.
His eyes landed on his Lieu-Colonel-his Colonel Hawkeye. His Colonel Hawkeye that had been with him since Ishval (and before that, but he doesn't talk about that. Doesn't think about that). She moved between the desk, nose up, eyes down as she made sure each one of them was working. She didn't bother with Falman or Fuery- they were always diligent. She gave Breda-who was staring blankly at his small mound of paperwork-a small clearing of the throat and smack to the back of the head with a roll of paper she was carrying. She plucked the unlit cigarette from a day dreaming Havoc, who was leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. She leaned in close, whispering something-a death threat no doubt-into his ear. The General thought this because of the strange shade of pink the Lieutenant Colonel's ears went as he bent down and began to scribble ferociously on his paperwork. He frowned without looking up to the passing Queen.
Roy slouched over his desk, chin resting in his hand. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But something was off.
Maybe it was just Fullmetal.
He shook his head, washing away those particular thoughts.
He felt like he was being looked at behind a scope. He lazily glanced up to see his Colonel shooting sniper like glares at him. A normal man would have flinched. He, being the ever feared Flame Alchemist, leaned back and yawned lazily.
What was off?
"Your paperwork is starting to build up-sir." She only said that when her trigger finger got testy.
He slowly gave her a once over. It was her! He knew it! "Lieu-Colonel Hawkeye" he corrected himself "did you...get a haircut?"
"Yes, sir." She said curtly. "About a six weeks ago."
"Needs a good shape up." Havoc commented dryly.
She ignored it. Mustang noticed Breda's eyes widen slightly.
He smirked in triumph. He sighed heavily and flopped back over his desk, struggling to pick up his pen. "Very well," he yawned, "take the rest of the day off and get your 'hair done,' or whatever."
"I mean no disrespect, sir." Hawkeye's voice was almost as dangerous as her gun. "But I have a feeling you spend more time in front of the mirror than me."
"You also don't own a mirror." Havoc, once again, remarked dryly.
Hawkeye turned on her heel and marched, like she normally did-she always marched-out of the room.
Mustang, scribbled his name lazily at the marked spot before moving the paper over lazily. "I think you upset her, Lieutenant."
Havoc shrugged.
Breda looked at his comrade before turning to Mustang, "She-she does have a point, sir."
Mustang leaned back and yawned. "I'm sure. Us higher ups have to look our best, after all." Mustang looked across at his group. "What is different about Colonel Hawkeye?" Falman and Fuery didn't look up. Havoc shrugged, and Breda stared down at his paperwork. Eyes wide as he did an overly dramatic shrug.
Mustang smirked. Breda knew-and if he had to pry it out of Breda by his toes, he'd get his answers.
But Brigadier General Roy Mustang always got what he wanted.