Disclaimer: FMA belongs to Arakawa Hiromu
Notes: I MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH ;A; Was getting so nervous and twitchy because I couldn't post these here that I started putting them up on LiveJournal XD I'm so happy this is working again now, though, hurrah! Anyway, about the theme response. This one was difficult. Even in going for originality, I wasn't sure what definition of 'match' to use, because so many of them have been used (match - the fire lighter thing; match - umm . . . things that look the same or go together; match - a tournament of sorts), so I went for the least used one, and put it in a new way (not a chess match), and tried to fit the others in, too. I don't think I put that first one in, though :S Ah well. Oh, and the ending was kinda spawned for a recent love of the show NCIS, I guess.
Thirty-seven: Match
Walking into the office, a stack of new files in her arms, Hawkeye had to stop just inside the doorway to avoid tripping. The desks, which had formerly been arranged to make a giant rectangle together, had been pushed back to the edge of the room haphazardly, crushing the chairs against the walls. Five matching uniform jackets lay scattered around the room, each accompanied by the cape attachment that fastened about the waist of the Amestrian military uniform, and also a pair of boots.
Leaning against the newly arranged furniture were three of the room's occupants, still wearing their uniform shirts, trousers and socks (although those looked terribly stretched; she didn't know how they could wear them in that condition). The other two officers were in the middle of the room, wrestling, much to their own and the others' amusement.
"Close the door, Hawkeye," Mustang said cheerfully, barely taking his eyes off the pair in the middle. Hawkeye couldn't help but think that Feury was doing incredibly well against someone like Breda, but they barely seemed to be wrestling at all – it was more like they were dancing around one another.
She walked over to her desk, staying clear of the square she had just realised four uniform jackets had marked out, and dropped the files there before separating each person's workload and distributing it onto their desks. "What is this?" she asked as she walked.
"Sock wrestling," was Havoc's reply. "First person to get the other's sock off" – at that Hawkeye noticed both Breda and Feury were only wearing one of their socks – "is the winner. Winner plays the next match, too. Breda's played the last three matches. You want to join in?"
The grin on his face as he turned to face her made her raise her eyebrows, and she laughed when, without turning from the match, Mustang reached out a hand and slapped Havoc across the back of his head.