A/N: Hey guys still rolling with Royai week, today's theme was Need a Hand?, and I tried to deliver. As you probably know, I prefer writing many small short chapters rather than a few longer ones, which EmpressOfBread prefers. Please drop us a review, we are both new to this so would greaty appreciate some constructive critism. Ta, Happy Royai Week. ~ChelenTheMelon
Upon the exit of Fullmetal, and the re-realisation of Hawkeye's guns, Colonel Mustang went back to his corner, again reaching for another sheet up paper to keep himself warm in the bleak mountainous wasteland of the North. Hawkeye still fuming over her superior's wandering hands snapped at the Colonel.
"Sir I strongly advice you not to destroy that sheet of paper, that is an essential piece of paper work for tomorrow and if you burn it I will make you copy it out onto another piece of paper in your own blood." She gritted her teeth flashing Mustang a steely look.
"Sir, forgive me that was unforgivable, and completely inappropriate. Sir." She sighed inwardly over proper military protocol. Mustang was her oldest friend and she knew that he would be totally fine with her comment but on a formal mission she was strictly only his Lieutenant.
"Riza you can speak freely, we're alone at the moment." Mustang shrugged dismissively. Nevertheless he carefully put the page back to its rightful place so Hawkeye wouldn't get mad at him, for he was perfectly aware of her abilities and talents. Mustang instead turned to his own canvas bag grabbing a cheap paperback that he had with him, the only flammable substance of small value he had on hand. He was about to tear the title page out of the small novella to use as kindling but suddenly stopped, fingers enwrapped around the first page, a small rip already made. He looked over at his Lieutenant whose eyes were fixed on him looking at the page with a burning desire to grab the book right out of his hand. Mustang smiled to himself slightly.
"I really should be more sensitive I know that this bothers you, you little bookworm." He looked down at the book and noticed the title. He hadn't noticed it before now. Mustang had left packing, as expected, to the very last minute. Upon looking for suitable reading material he had grabbed the closet book on hand, one that Hawkeye had given to him. He had mistaken it for one of similar colour that he had bought himself. He stared at the cover that he knew that Hawkeye would be able to recreate with ease after reading and re-reading this novel so many times; a mutual love that she had shared with her late mother.
"I'm so sorry Riza I didn't notice which one it was." Mustang looked down at the book again crest fallen, he knew that he had betrayed his Lieutenant, and tried again to apologise but she was in the Sheck anymore. She was elsewhere.
Roy strolled up the gravel path to the Hawkeye residence, after a weekend survival trip. They cleared his mind. He walked up the path towards the large house, dreaming of a nice warm shower and some antiseptic cream, surveying his muddy trousers and cuts from all the thorns. While looking down at his legs he received a niggling sensation from his midriff. He lifted up his damp dirty shirt to reveal his hard stomach muscles that he had built up over the previous months, and a small mosquito with its weird straw tongue stuck into his stomach. Roy chuckled to himself knowing exactly had to get rid of the little pest. He clenched his stomach muscles swiftly and saw as the influx of blood filled the mosquito until its eyes popped and the little bug exploded leaving a blood smear of his middle. Mustang groaned forgetting that this would be the outcome then remembered that it wouldn't matter now that he was nearly home. In the wild, smelling of blood meant getting attacked by bears. Finally reaching the house he opened the door, there was no need for a lock as no one ever came up here, they were totally isolated. The town wasn't that far away but they were seen as social rejects by the rest of the town's people. He entered the house and began to walk into the corridor with his boots still on, but looked back to see a footprints of mud and twigs that he had taken into the house with him and thought of Riza he would have to clear up the mess. He carefully removed his boots trying not to dirty anything else in the shady corridor. He tiptoed back to the front door, closing the hefty piece of the wood, walking round the house to the gate to the back garden. He reveled in the sunshine; the house seemed to be always in the shade, every room cast with a shadow. He surveyed the garden looking for the hose. The garden was heavily overgrown with the sheck right at the bottom with the background of the forest. Roy, after some rummaging in the undergrowth found the rusty tap and the hose that once attached to it lying on the ground. It can't have been used since, well since Riza's mother was around and looked after the garden. He dosed himself in the cold clean water, shivering as the icy liquid soaked his body. Laying the hose on the ground he took off his brown stained clothes chucking them into the bushes to rot. Now standing in his swimming trunks (his preferred underwear on these outdoor trips, great if you fall in lakes) just in case Riza were to walk past. He gave himself a cold shower and tried to rub off the best of the dirt. After content with the cleanliness of his body, which wasn't very in most other people's standards, he propped his shoes that he had also washed up to the house hoping they would dry in the sun. Roy sauntered over to the back door wanting to get back to his bedroom. He walked into the kitchen, still only in his swimming trunks, and grabbed a sandwich that Riza must have left out for him; she really was an amazing friend. After hastily stuffing the bread and cheese into his mouth he carried on his way to his bedroom through to the living room, and then through to his small study room which had a flight of stairs that led straight to his bedroom on the upper floor. While still stuffing his face he walked straight into Riza who had been organising his books. Riza screamed after feeling a wet warm sensation on her back while engrossed in one of Roy's books. Armed with the only object on hand, the book, she spun around slamming the book into her attackers head, only to see Roy's face, eyes shielded by his wet floppy hair. She hadn't expected him to be back so early and in turn leapt back knocking with her arm the stack of books that she had been reorganising onto the floor. Roy beamed at Riza with one side of his mouth cockily upturned.
"Need a hand?"