Seishin

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Branch

Mustang and Hawkeye both have to deal with finding new careers, as the country has to adjust to a new government. Their differences in viewpoint and background begin to surface as they negotiate toward a new professional and personal relationship. This could also be considered a loose sort of Weimar Republic fanfic. Picks up at the end of the first anime and carries forward with some Lisa/Roy.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Once More...Dear Friends - Prologue" published on 2005-12-06 11:03:29.

"Once More...Dear Friends - One" published on 2005-12-07 11:05:45.

"Counterpoint - Unresigned" published on 2005-12-07 14:14:08.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Two" published on 2005-12-08 14:18:46.

"Counterpoint - Breaking Eggs" published on 2005-12-08 19:51:54.

"The Best" published on 2005-12-08 19:56:03.

"Counterpoint - Deadly Force" published on 2005-12-09 12:46:56.

"Housewarming" published on 2005-12-12 12:49:14.

"Counterpoint - Pick Up Sticks" published on 2005-12-13 12:51:52.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Three" published on 2005-12-13 12:54:03.

"Counterpoint - Trading" published on 2005-12-13 13:02:15.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Four" published on 2005-12-14 13:05:27.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Five" published on 2005-12-16 13:41:06.

"Counterpoint - Home Office" published on 2005-12-17 13:47:54.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Six" published on 2005-12-19 13:51:57.

"Only Tactics" published on 2005-12-19 13:55:54.

"Research" published on 2005-12-20 13:58:04.

"Counterpoint - Previous Experience" published on 2005-12-20 14:00:56.

"Another Round" published on 2005-12-22 14:15:17.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Seven" published on 2005-12-22 14:20:30.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is .

Cover design by Branch.

Once More...Dear Friends - Prologue

Roy wakes up in the hospital. Drama, I-3

Roy woke far more slowly than usual, which would have been his first clue that something was wrong, had he needed a clue. The distant ache that dragged him to consciousness had already sent him a full report on wrongness, however, and clues were superfluous.

By the time he pried an eye open he was also fairly sure he was drugged.

Once he blinked the glare away he was presented with a ceiling. It could be a hospital ceiling; it seemed likely. The first question was traditional, though, so he asked. "Where am I?"

Or, at least, he tried to ask. He was surprised to hear it come out as a mumble. The dry mouth might have something to do with that, and he would have preferred not to have noticed because now he really, really wanted a drink.

"Roy?"

The whisper came from his left side, and his left eye seemed to be covered for some reason. He turned his head and winced as the ache in his forehead became much less distant. Now he could see who had said his name, though, and that distracted him. Hawkeye was sitting forward in a chair beside the bed, eyes wide. She looked... different.

Well, she was out of uniform, but he'd seen her out of uniform before. There was something else.

"Taisa?" she asked, voice more urgent this time and less fragile.

That was it! She had sounded... breakable. Something he had never heard her sound before. And she looked the same way. Pale. Taut lines pulled her mouth thin. He'd seen her frown before, seen her worried. But he'd never seen fear in her eyes.

Roy frowned, and then winced again and unfrowned hastily. That really hurt. "Chuui?"

"Yes. Don't move too much, you were shot," she added, quickly, pressing a light hand to his right shoulder.

Shot? Bradley had used his sword, though. "Came out of the cellar," Roy retraced his path out loud. "Had the boy. Made it out the door..." This time the frown was barely a twitch before he caught it and stopped. There had been someone outside the door, yes. "Who?"

"Archer," Hawkeye supplied, voice flat.

Roy groped, in his mind, after what must have happened. But nothing came. "I don't remember."

"I'm amazed you remember the cellar," Hawkeye snapped. "He shot you in the head! The bullet clipped you, probably while you were turning, and shattered the orbit of you left eye; if you'd been any slower, if you'd turned the other way to dodge, you wouldn't be alive and the doctors have been saying you might not ever wake up anyway!"

That did explain why it hurt so much whenever he tried to frown. And also why his left eye was covered, now he thought about it. This would probably alarm him when his thoughts were running more straightly. "I suppose the paperwork will accumulate a great deal before I get back to it, then," he murmured with reflexive sardonicism.

She sagged back in the chair. "You're all right." She pressed a hand tight over her mouth and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Roy blinked.

For the space of two long breaths she was not his professional aide. She was a woman, years younger than he was, her normal steel stripped down to iron by exhaustion.

She was beautiful.

On the third breath she straightened again, First Lieutenant Hawkeye again, and reached for the call button. "You still have a lot of morphine in your system, so pay attention and remember not to say what you were really doing that night, while the doctors are checking you over," she told him briskly.

"Of course," Roy agreed, and lay back, bemused, as medical personnel flooded the room and Hawkeye stood back against the wall.

He'd accomplished his goal, which was good. Now, what was he going to do about this?

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - One

Roy recovers and Lisa keeps watch. Drama, I-4

It was the smell again.

It was different this time, though, not just the smell of cooked meat, but something else, too. Something that caught in the back of his throat like burning oil.

Blood slid under his fingertip, always thinner and more watery than he thought it should be.

And he choked and reached again for the pattern in his mind. And again. And again.

But it wasn't a skull in his hand, it was a gun; and there were two bodies on the floor in front of him.

Roy started awake with a jerk that set his head throbbing. Someone was cursing vigorously, and he heard the slithery thump of books being kicked aside. Hawkeye trod carefully into the faint lamplight glowing through the window, and looked down at him. "Bad one?" she asked quietly.

Roy shrugged, trying to find some spot on the pillow that would hold his head still enough for the left side to stop throbbing. The doctors swore the bones had reknitted, but Roy had his doubts when he woke up like this.

Hawkeye looked him over, gaze measuring in the half-dark. She plucked a sprig of hyacinth from the vase on one of the shelves and set it casually by his head as she sat down in the chair beside his bed.

Her chair, these days.

The scent of the flowers was sweet and strong and clean, and Roy closed his eye and inhaled deeper.

Hawkeye crossed one slippered foot over her knee and rubbed her toes. "I should have kept you at my apartment longer," she said with some asperity. "At least I could walk across my guest room without tripping over anything."

"I imposed on you for long enough," Roy murmured. He was glad it was spring. The hyacinth had a gentler scent than the potted rose she'd silently deposited next to the guest bed early on during his stay with her.

A soft snort answered him. "There's barely room in this flat for all of your things plus you," she pointed out. "There's a bookshelf in your kitchen, and the only real open space is the floor of your workroom. You should get a house. It isn't as though you've used much of your salary for anything over the years; you can afford it."

The commonplace discussion calmed the tension through Roy's chest and stomach, and his next breath was freer. "I have no idea how to go about finding a house," he observed, just to keep the conversation moving. "I gather one needs to be a bit careful, not to get stuck with anything unsound."

"So take Hughes with you. I'm sure he's had plenty of experience, by now, in what to look for."

Roy imagined asking his best friend to go house-hunting with him. Then he imagined Hughes' glee at the supposed breakdown of Roy's bachelor ways, and the gleam in Hughes' eye as he got out the pictures again to illustrate the joys of married life. And then he shuddered. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in coming along instead?" he asked, trying to stifle the undertone of dread.

Hawkeye became so still he looked over at her. She was staring out the window. "I suppose so. If you like."

The night shifted like a ball rolling a quarter turn; the new resting point was becoming familiar to him. "I would like it. Yes." He wanted to reach over and touch her hand. He wanted to say something leading about how she would be spending so much time there she should have a say in the house. He wanted to address the woman sitting beside him with her light hair hanging loose over the shoulders of her fuzzy cinnamon colored robe, a little tangled from sleeping on his couch as she had been for most of this month.

Every time he did that, though, she got that distant, tolerant, Hawkeye-chuui, look in her eyes and stood up. Or asked him what book he was reading. Or stuffed a chunk of apple in his mouth. So this time, in this quiet dim time, he made himself stop and wait for her.

After a long moment she looked back down at him. "Then I'll come." This time, her smile wasn't distant. Now he let himself smile back.

"Thank you."

It was, Roy felt, completely in keeping with his life that the letter arrived the next day.

TBC

Counterpoint - Unresigned

Lisa gives her old job the boot, much to the puzzlement of those around her. Drama, I-3

When General Hakuro popped out of an office right in their path Lisa knew he'd been waiting for them, and tensed. There were a lot of unpleasant ways this meeting could go, and she could tell by the number of teeth in Hakuro's smile that he had at least one of them in mind.

"Ah, Chuui. I was hoping you would come along today; do you have a moment?"

Now she could feel Roy tensing and took a smart step forward to stand in front of him. He no longer had the rank to shield his subordinates and his too-straight shoulders showed he was still off balance about that. She wasn't sure if he was off balance enough to resort to more direct means, but better safe than scorched.

"Of course, Sir," she said, in her best calm-and-capable, superior-soothing tone.

"Well, just in here for a moment, then." Hakuro held open the office door, and directed his teeth at Roy. "We won't be long, Mustang."

He might as well have just added you civilian outsider out loud, Lisa reflected. Hakuro did not, however, say a word of protest when Roy caught the closing door with his foot and leaned against the doorframe. In fact he seemed to ignore Roy's presence completely, and Lisa's jaw tightened.

"I just wanted to ask whether you intend to resign your commission," Hakuro told her, seating himself behind the desk.

If he meant it as a threat it misfired, and Lisa almost smiled at the wall over his head. "I do, yes Sir."

"Ah." Hakuro paused for a moment before the smile broke out again, twice as gleaming. "Of course, it's only to be expected. Everyone knows of your devotion to Mustang; you couldn't be expected to continue as an officer now that he's gone." His voice oozed condescension, and Lisa had to swallow a snort. She wasn't home free yet, no sense in antagonizing him by laughing at his attempted insults.

"Yes, Sir."

Hakuro whipped a slim sheaf of papers out of his jacket and slid them across the desk. "No sense in delaying, then!" he said, brightly. "Just sign here and we'll have you processed out by the time you finish packing up."

One did not contradict senior officers, Lisa reminded herself as she signed, no matter how absurd their statements. One left that to the officer's senior sergeant. Perhaps someday, some benevolent NCO would tell Hakuro that Personnel never processed anything in less than forty-eight hours, and he would stop making a fool of himself by saying such things in public.

The prospect of not having to deal with all that idiocy anymore put a faint smile on her face as she exchanged, theoretically, final salutes with Hakuro. When she turned, though, it slipped a bit.

Roy's eyes were black with rage and his fingers were curled in a way that made her glad his gloves were in his pocket not on his hands.

Of course. He had chosen a career as a soldier because most of a soldier's life appealed to him. Why should it occur to him that Hakuro had taken nothing from her that she valued? She had never told him.

And she wasn't going to tell him now. Which left her with a bit of a problem.

She stepped toward him quickly, cutting across whatever Hakuro was drawing breath to say. "Shall we be going then? I'll find us two boxes."

Roy's mouth tightened, but he let her herd him out of the office and stalked down the hall, cane stabbing the tiles as though he had a grudge against the floor. Lisa paced beside him, turning over methods for damage control in her head.

"It could have been worse," she said, quietly, once she was sure they were out of Hakuro's earshot.

"Could it?" Roy's voice was sharp.

"He could have refused to let me go," Lisa pointed out.

Roy's stride hitched for a moment and his eyes widened from their fixed glare as they darted toward her. Lisa stifled a sigh of relief that the momentum of his anger was broken, and proceeded to deliberately misinterpret his surprise.

"It would have been stupid. Only an idiot keeps unwilling officers around. But it's wartime and he could legally have refused to allow me to resign my commission." She watched out of the corner of her eye as her matter-of-fact tone refocused his thoughts away from his outrage and onto his puzzlement.

"You... don't mind?" he asked at last, slowly.

Lisa hesitated. She'd put a certain amount of work into making sure he never asked her anything like this, so she'd never had to consider just how frankly to answer. His choice of career and her choice to support him and his plans were no longer at stake, of course, but still...

"I didn't enter the army because I like the way it does things, Sir," she said, at last. The truth. Just not the bluntest one.

"I see."

A corner of Lisa's mouth twitched. He didn't sound like he saw. But he did sound thoughtful; it was a start.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Two

What does a career soldier do when he loses his career? And what do his friends do about him? Drama, I-3

Roy's past slid through his fingers into a box: a folded "portrait" of him, product of Elysia's first finger paints; a box with his captain's insigniaâ€”so that's where it had gone; two letter openers, one of them an old knife of Hughes'.

"I can't believe they actually cashiered you," Havoc muttered, leaning against Hawkeye's desk. She shoved him out of the way to get at the last of her drawers, tucking a handful of letters into her own box.

"Oh, I'm not cashiered," Roy said, lightly, feeling around the back of his flat drawer. Something had been rattling back there, he was sure of it. "I'm honorably discharged to enjoy a well-deserved retirement in light of both my service and my injuries. The letter said so in black and white." Havoc's long mouth twisted around his cigarette, and none of the rest of Roy's officers looked any happier.

Roy's erstwhile officers, that was.

His fingers hit something hard and square and Roy fished out a rectangular box. It was a folded chess board. Roy brushed the dust off it gently, and for the first time that day his smile softened. "Stop worrying so much," he told them without looking up as he stowed the chess set carefully where it wouldn't get scratched. "It's the price I expected to pay."

"So... what will you do, now, Sir?" Fury asked, wavering between looking hangdog and a rather unsuccessful attempt at optimism.

Roy wasn't about to admit that he didn't know; that kind of thing was bad for his image. Not to mention their morale. "Back to my alchemical studies, perhaps. There's plenty of reading in the field that I haven't been able to keep up with, all these years," he murmured. He folded his box shut and caught the roll of tape Hawkeye tossed him. The noise of shearing off a long strip made a good excuse not to expand on his alleged plans.

"Hmph." Havoc folded his arms. "Maybe I should go track down Hakuro myself, while he's still in the mood, and see if he'll let me resign my commission, like he did Hawkeye. I could use a less dangerous job."

Roy looked up at that. It would take a finely tuned ear to hear the genuine offer and question buried in Havoc's careless tone, but he'd listened to Jean Havoc for years. "No. Shoui." He straightened. "You're due for promotion, and the army needs good officers."

Havoc blinked, probably at being called a good officer, and looked aside, resettling his shoulders. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Roy agreed easily. "So there you are."

Besides, letting Hawkeye go had been an insult to her from Hakuro, and if Roy had to think about that vindictive gleam behind the bluff smile being directed at any more of his subordinates he was going to forget all the fancy daydreams about setting Hakuro's ribbons on fire and just punch the bastard. He raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye and she nodded, hefting her box. Roy gathered up his own and stepped toward the door.

"Taisa!"

Roy looked back, with a wry smile for how quickly he responded to a rank that was no longer his, even on his retirement papers.

His staff drew themselves up and gave him salutes so sharp he could have shaved with them. After a long moment Roy set down his burden and returned them, just as sharp and clipped. "Carry on, gentlemen," he said, quietly.

They remained at attention as he left.

"Stop staring at that box."

Roy raised his head and managed to smile at Hawkeye with an edge of teasing. "Is there something more interesting I should be staring at?"

"Yes," she told him briskly, and tossed a newspaper sheet over the offending item. "Look at this."

Roy looked. And then he chuckled as he read down the list of properties for sale. Ever organized, Hawkeye had underlined a handful of them in red. And then numbered them. "Shall we go shopping, then?" he suggested, still slightly bemused by the whole idea of shopping for a house the way he usually went shopping for a good cut of beef.

He should have known it wouldn't be quite that simple, of course.

"... and we just replaced the plumbing last year, it won't give you any trouble."

Hawkeye applied a firm toe to one of the shiny steel pipes. Rust sifted out of the socket where it curved, followed by a trickle of water. She gave the owner a cold look, and he smiled weakly.

"Eheh."

"...hasn't been a flood for years, and we cleaned out all the rotted plaster, you can hardly smell it any more except in the summer..."

"The neighbor's dog is a bit loud," the owner admitted, as they walked through the yard and a burly, black and tan dog in the next yard flung itself against its leash barking with rage that it couldn't reach to take off anyone's leg. "But she always keeps him tied up."

Hawkeye turned a stern eye on the dog and walked toward the fence.

"Miss, you might not...!"

"Sit!" she ordered.

The dog paused, one paw in the air, considering. Then it sat down and regarded Hawkeye with ears forward.

"Good dog."

The owner's mouth opened and closed silently, and Roy smirked.

Roy stared. "Chuu... Hawkeye," he murmured. "Is this room, in fact, lime green?"

"I'm afraid so," she returned just as softly.

"Ah. Good. At least it isn't some fresh complication with my vision."

"I don't think even trauma could produce purple carpet to go with it."

"Thank God," he whispered fervently, as the owner shepherded them, cheerily, into the next room.

Roy was both thoroughly distracted, and also starting to have second thoughts about whether more space was worth this kind of trouble, when they found it.

He stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, laughing under his breath. The white plaster walls were half covered with bookshelves running from the wood floor to the high ceiling. Another room on the ground floor and two upstairs had still more shelves. And there was an apple tree in the back yard that had made Hawkeye smile and reach up a hand to touch the first pale blossoms.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"There's certainly room enough," she observed in an approving tone. "And everything on the list Gracia gave me checks out. The windows are tight and everything stands square."

"Well, yes, but do you like it?"

Uncertainty flickered over her face, an uneasy fit on her clear eyes and firm mouth. "I think it's a very nice house," she said slowly.

Roy found himself momentarily at a loss for how to go on. He'd figured out that Hawkeye didn't like it when he flirted with her, or even complimented her in passing, so teasing wasn't going to work. But if he just came out and asked...

No. Not until he found out why she kept brushing him away.

"I just wondered if you might like to choose a room for yourself, instead of resorting to the couch." He looked out the large front window, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "It only seems fair, since you helped me find this place." His mouth curled up suddenly. "An even trade."

Hawkeye seemed to relax, when he put it in those terms, and Roy dared a little further.

"Actually, a really fair trade would be to offer you a half share of the house." As her eyes widened he added, "Since you shared your house with me all winter."

"I suppose... the room at the back of the second floor is shaded nicely." Her smile was a bit crooked. "If you really want to give up the space right after finding it."

"Company is more interesting than space."

There was something unusual behind the long look she gave him. Something he would have called wariness, if that weren't ridiculous. But her chin lifted again and she nodded.

"All right."

Roy's attempt to pack up his own library was instantly vetoed by Hawkeye on the grounds that that was heavy lifting and he wasn't medically cleared for that, yet. After a few overhead reaches started his shoulder twinging again, he gave in and agreed, but that left him without anything to do while movers boxed up his life around him.

Nothing but try to figure out what he was going to do with his life, now. Watching all the layers be stripped away didn't help. He kept finding things that reminded him of why he had chosen a military career.

Of why he had stayed.

A copy of his letter of application to officer's training, pressed in the first pages of Ruland, earnestly explaining that he wanted to put his alchemical abilities at the army's disposal in the field. His commission, carefully framed, now dusty from having been stuffed into the bottom of a bookshelf for years. A squared off chunk of pale eastern sandstone with glassy streaks through it where his own fire had melted the silicon. A folded, fading piece of notepaper, tucked loosely into his sole cookbook, listing all the living generals from eight years ago and marking how much time it had taken each to reach his rank. A yellow newspaper clipping, slipped between two of his old coded notebooks, attributing the stability of the annexed Northern territory to the State Alchemist who served under the military governor.

Some things were older. His copy of Hollandus, and Vaughn's works, both of which he had inherited from his first teacher in alchemy. His aunt's round, black teapot that she had given him when he moved to Central City, the one whose reflections had fascinated him as a child. Even among those, though, he kept finding echoes of his choice.

When Hawkeye walked in to find him turning his father's Iron Cross over and over in his fingers she called up Hughes. Roy made a personal note that Hawkeye had no reservations about fighting dirty.

"Funny how it all takes up more room in boxes, isn't it?" Hughes commented as he picked his way through the piles of cardboard. He eyed the dust smears all over the couch and took a seat on one of the boxes instead. "Here." He plunked a bag down beside him and pulled out two bottles of beer, tossing one over.

Roy smiled to see that it was their compromise brand, the one that was light enough to make him happy and full enough to satisfy Hughes.

Hughes held up his bottle. "Here's to you, ex-Junsho."

Roy clinked his bottle against it. "And to you, ex-Junsho."

They drank and Hughes sighed. "I really thought he wasn't going to be able to get you, too." Then he snorted and his voice trailed off into a now-familiar mutter. "... dereliction of duty. I return from the dead, and all he can say is 'dereliction of duty'!"

Roy shrugged. "As far as he knows I murdered our commander for personal ambition. Even if he can't quite prove it."

Hughes gave him a sharp look. "He wouldn't have pushed it the way he did unless it was personal."

"Of course not." Roy examined his bottle thoughtfully. "But it's why he actually got me discharged. If it was just personal he'd have demoted me and kept me around to gloat at." If nothing else, the forced introspection of sorting through his things had reminded him that Hakuro actually was a good solider, albeit an idiot in a lot of other ways.

"Mmm." Hughes took a long swallow. "Think you'd have preferred that?"

"It's something that happens when you play the promotion game," Roy said, at length.

"Something that happens to a soldier?" Hughes translated, quietly. He leaned an elbow back on the boxes behind him and stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. "And now we're not."

Roy's mouth tightened and he made himself nod. Now he wasn't.

So what was he?

Hughes narrowed his eyes. "As an alchemist you still have influence," he pointed out. "You can still protect this country." Then he frowned. "Are you still a State Alchemist?"

Roy blinked. "Technically, I suppose I am," he said, slowly. "At least... Hakuro never asked for the watch back, and I didn't think of it." He frowned in turn. "That won't do. There's no real leverage without a commission, too."

Hughes threw his head back and laughed. "Drink up, Roy, you'll be fine." A gleam lit his eye. "Though, if you're giving it back... "

Roy recognized that look, and couldn't help the smirk that spread over his face. "Slingshot?" he suggested.

"Not nearly fancy enough," Hughes protested. "We have reputations to uphold, here, Mustang." He pulled out more bottles. "Now, let's think about this."

"You melted the watch." It was a statement, not a question. "On Hakuro's desk."

"Er. We were drunk?" Hughes offered, with a winning smile.

Hawkeye gave them a cool, unimpressed look. "And you got in without an appointment how?"

"We told them the truth." Roy settled back on his box-chair smugly and crossed his legs. "That I was going to return the watch. They let us right through."

"And now Hakuro has a silver paperweight shaped like a hand? Your hand? Snapping?"

"A very fine piece of work, if I say so myself." Roy and Hughes grinned at each other.

Hawkeye was silent for a long moment before she nodded sharply. "Excuse me. I have to go pack the rest of my things."

Roy blinked after her as she strode out and then frowned at Hughes. "She won't move in because I ask her to, but she will because she's annoyed at me?"

"Women," Hughes said wisely. "Have another beer."

TBC

The Iron Cross is a German military medal.

Counterpoint - Breaking Eggs

Lisa gets some good advice from Gracia. Drama, I-3

It wasn't until she tried to separate out some things specifically to keep at Roy's that Lisa realized just how many of her things had already found their way over. About a third of her dresser seemed to be gone. So were her spare cleaning kit, her favorite boots, the extra bag of dog food, her small frying pan and her cheese grater, of all things.

Actually, she remembered taking over the cheese grater, after one attempt to make a decent omelette with cheese chopped into bits. How she had wound up with her spare toothbrush at home, she was less sure of.

She sat down on the floor of her bedroom, tossing her more ragged slippers into the corner in exasperation, and laughed helplessly as Black Hayate promptly retrieved them for her. "I bet you'd like to move, wouldn't you?" she asked him, rubbing his ears. He panted happily at her. "Yeah, you're just as hopeless as I am."

A knock at the door pulled her away from her attempts to locate all her belongings, which was probably just as well.

"Gracia!"

The sweet-faced woman at her door smiled and leaned against the frame. "Since you had to call Maas in on Roy I thought perhaps I should stop by and see how you're doing, yourself."

Lisa snorted and led the way to the kitchen to light the stove under her teakettle. "It's not like I'm going to be heartbroken over losing my job," she pointed out, waving Gracia to the table. At least her kitchen table and chairs had stayed where they were supposed to be.

Gracia leaned her chin in her hands, smile turning just a touch wicked. "It wasn't you job I expected you to be heartbroken over."

Lisa set down the teacups with a bit more force than necessary. "I'm not heartbroken over anything."

"And that would be why your home looks like Black Hayate just finished chasing something through it?" Gracia took the tea set away from Lisa and measured tea into the pot with a gentler touch. Lisa sat down with a small thump and sighed.

"That's... well, you know about the new house?" Gracia nodded and Lisa folded her hands on the table and looked down at them. "Roy. I think he wants me to move in."

Gracia tipped her head to the side. "You're not happy about this?"

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Happy that he looks at me like I'm just another one of those fluff-heads who flutter over him because he smiles at them and then ignores them? Not especially."

Gracia blinked. "Does he look at you like he does at them?" she asked, slowly.

"He's been flirting with me! For months!" The kettle began to whistle and Lisa got up to fetch it. "That was one of the reasons I was so ready to let him move back to his place, even though it meant going there to make sure he was doing his exercises and not straining that shoulder or forgetting to eat or anything idiotic like that."

Gracia's chin was in her hand again as she watched Lisa. "And when he does flirt, what do you do?"

"Act like a professional." Lisa brooded over the rising steam. "I've always had his respect as a professional, and I'm not giving that respect up."

"If you keep acting like nothing but his second, he won't look at you the way you want him to," Gracia reminded her softly.

Lisa shrugged and poured the tea with a steady hand. "It doesn't seem that he's ever going to look at me the way I want him to."

Gracia sighed. "The two of you." She blew across her tea and took a sip. "You're probably confusing the life out of the poor man." Her lips crimped. "Which is good for him. But I don't think you should give up, just yet."

Lisa tried not to feel too much hope, but Gracia had known Roy longer than any of the rest of them. Surely she would know? She nibbled on her lip and looked the question at Gracia.

"He isn't very likely to figure it out on his own," Gracia allowed, "but neither of you has really had a chance to give it a decent try. His injury and recovery, and now the discharge... he hasn't been thinking clearly too often, I expect." She gave Lisa a stern look. "And I'll bet you haven't either, as wound up in him as you are."

Lisa studied her teacup with great attention.

Gracia sat back and shook her head. "Let him get back to himself. When he is... you've already seen what will work, haven't you?"

Lisa blinked. "I have?"

"You're missing the obvious. He treats you as whatever you act like." Gracia gave her a bright, mischievous smile. "So act like what you want him to treat you as."

Lisa turned that over in her head. So. If she wanted Roy to not treat her as either another light conquest or as only his second... "When he's back to himself, hm?" Slowly, she smiled back. "Thank you, Gracia."

Gracia patted her hand. "No problem. Now, why don't you tell me about the new house."

Lisa shuddered faintly. "For starters, it is not purple and green..."

TBC

The Best

The husband and wife conspiracy team. Drama, I-2

Gracia looked up with bright eyes as her husband strolled into the kitchen humming. "How's Roy?"

"Very much himself." Maas dropped a kiss on her cheek, and another on her ear for good measure, making her giggle. "So? Did it work?"

"Of course it did." Gracia smiled, just a touch complacently.

Maas folded his arms around her, beaming. "I'm so lucky," he sighed. "Not only is my wife beautiful, smart, sweet and amazing, she's also the best secret agent I've ever seen."

She leaned against him laughing. "In a good cause. After all, there's no earthly reason for them not to, anymore. Now," she gave the potatoes another stir, "you haven't seen your daughter all day, and she says she wants to play on the swing."

Maas drew himself up to attention and saluted her smartly. "Yes Ma'am! Right away, Ma'am!"

Gracia shook her head as he about-faced and marched out of the kitchen toward the back yard. She really did hope Lisa would be as lucky in her love as Gracia had been.

And Gracia Hughes didn't leave her hopes to chance.

TBC

Counterpoint - Deadly Force

Some reflections, while Hawkeye cleans her guns. Drama, I-3

Lisa was cleaning her guns. Cleaning them thoroughly enough that she could store them when she was done.

Oil streaked her hands, and she knew she had a smudge of it on her cheek, where her wrist hadn't been quite clean enough to brush aside her hair without smearing. It didn't bother her. There were things you couldn't clean without getting dirty. Attics. Guns.

Countries.

She held the mainspring of her second pistol up to the light; no, that was just a bit of uneven oil, not scoring. She wiped it down carefully.

She liked her guns. Killing made her reluctant to eat for a day or two, but the guns themselves were clean and precise and definite at all times. They were solid. And if she was fast and accurate, then so were they. She didn't have quite the... relationship with them that a lot of the other sharpshooters did. But, then, she hadn't been there for the same reason most of them had.

Lisa knew she'd been lucky. She could easily have been assigned to some command other than Roy's. As it was, she had been able to fire most of her bullets in direct defense of the handful of people she knew and valued in that army.

She wiped her hands and started reassembling the parts.

She didn't understand the other way; didn't comprehend how anyone could shoot just because they were told to, with no personal reason of their own. It was some strange kind of abstract insanity, as far as she could tell.

She fished out her second screwdriver, the one Winry-chan had re-ground to make the perfect fit more so, and delicately tightened the screw. One last careful pass with the oil cloths and she slid the guns into their holsters. She hesitated when she started to put them in the storage box, though.

Roy understood the other way.

Slowly she put her guns back on the rack in her front closet.

TBC

Housewarming

Havoc watches and worries a bit about his friends, as he moves them in. Drama, I-2

"I thought housewarming was supposed to happen after everything is moved and unpacked."

Jean snorted into his beer at Farman's rueful observation. "Yeah, well. At least they supplied the drinks. Besides, when was the last time we got any kind of normal assignment from Mustang-taisa?" he added with a wry grin.

"A good point." Farman stood up as the last load of boxes from Hawkeye's place pulled up.

Jean followed more slowly, and not just because he wanted to get the last few swallows of his beer. The Colonel and Hawkeye were converging on the car, and the two of them had been worth watching all day.

Of course, they'd always been kind of fun to watch. Anyone with eyes knew Hawkeye'd had a thing for their superior officer since day one. Well, anyone with eyes who wasn't Roy Mustang, but Jean had never been sure that wasn't deliberate ignorance. It was actually a pretty impressive show to watch them dancing around it.

The steps seemed to have changed, today, though.

They were acting like two cats who'd just met. One of them was always watching the other, but only when the other wasn't looking. They didn't quite go so far as to start washing when the target looked around, but Jean had collected quite a list of other elaborately innocent gestures, over the course of the day.

"These three go up to my room, the rest go to the kitchen." Hawkeye tapped the first set of boxes with emphasis. "Open these, and die."

The uniformly male box-carrying contingent voiced vigorous agreement, and Jean snickered. Poor Fury was still traumatized from having opened a box of her underwear and Hughes-san was kindly keeping him occupied unpacking books. He'd never seen Lisa turn quite that shade of red, either.

She gave him a dark look, now. "You can take the plates."

The heaviest box, of course. He was happy enough, though, since it finally gave him a chance to talk to her alone. "Are you really sure about this?" he asked quietly, as they ripped open boxes on the kitchen floor.

"Sure about what?" Her tone was quellingly brisk, and Jean eyed her with exasperation.

"About moving in with him, Lisa. I mean, you're not," he waved a hand, "like that yet, right?"

Her lips thinned and she paused in putting away glasses to direct a paint-stripping glare at him. Jean sighed. "Look, I'm not prying. It's just... are you sure it's a good idea?"

Her hands stilled, resting on the counter. "No, I'm not sure," she said, at last, softly. "But I do know nothing will ever change if I'm not the one to push it. Not the way I want it to."

Jean looked at her for a long moment, and a corner of his mouth curled up. "About time you went after what you want." She blinked at him and he chuckled. "Oh, come on. You're one of us; you know we're all rooting for you, right?"

Her eyes softened. "Jean..."

"Besides," he took a reflective drag on his cigarette, "once you put a leash on him, he'll stop stealing girls from all the rest of us. Win-win situation, I say."

The rest of the box carriers came back downstairs to find Hawkeye leaning on a chair laughing while Jean innocently put away plates.

TBC

Counterpoint - Pick Up Sticks

Lisa chooses a new direction to move in. Drama, I-3

Lisa rolled her favorite pen between her fingers, smoothing her thumb up and down the cool, green enamel. It had been a present, years ago, from her mother, and she had never found another that weighed as well in her hand.

Today it seemed a little heavier than usual.

She rested her chin on her fist and stared down at the blank paper in front of her.

Roy would be in motion again, soon. He probably didn't know it, yet, but she was sure of it. She had watched him recovering from his physical injuries, and the progress of the wound that his discharge had dealt him wasn't all that different. He was still drifting; but he was drifting closer and closer back to the current of pure idealism that had carried his cold and ruthless manipulations along at such an incredible speed.

And when that current took him again, it would take her, too.

Lisa tapped a nail against the pen, each click firm and clear. She'd decided, about a year into her tenure as Roy's second, that her life would be far easier if the reasons she loved him were different from the reasons she followed him. Everything would be simpler if she could separate the two. But the brilliant, wild, arrogant precision that had caught her intellect, and the rage and compassion that had captured her loyalty, were the same things that fascinated her heart. And that was that.

Act like what you want to be to him.

It would be easier to follow Gracia's very good advice if there were fewer things she wanted to be to him.

Act like what you want to be...

Lisa's head came up, and she took a grip on her pen and pulled the paper toward her. What she wanted to be was the kind of person Roy Mustang would be proud to stand beside. Whether he ever noticed it or not was beside the point.

She would be that kind of person because it was what she wanted.

And if her own past could serve that goal, then she would use it.

She lifted the pen her mother had given her and wrote down an address she hadn't visited since she was eighteen.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Three

Roy comes to some realizations and starts to move again. Drama, I-3

Roy looked up, as Lisa scuffed through the kitchen door, and backed into the corner by the sink with an amused smile.

He'd been rather startled, at first, to find that Hawkeye was not, of her own accord, a morning person. She had the talent of waking up quickly when she needed to, but left to her own devices she was never up before sunrise and joined the world of the living gradually. Her eyes were open by the time she got downstairs, but both her four-legged housemate and her new two-legged one knew to stay out of her way while she more or less sleepwalked through her morning routine. Roy felt a certain scientific curiosity, watching her, about what would happen if he moved, say, her tea-strainer from its usual home one morning.

Today it looked like he might find out. She stopped in front of the empty fruit basket and stood for several breaths blinking at it sleepily.

"We're out," Roy pointed out, helpfully.

"Oh." It took another moment, but apparently her response to missing items was to skip that step. She collected her tea and toast and settled at the table. Roy gave her a fond look behind her back and slid the second half of the eggs onto one of her plates before he went back to putting away his own dishes.

Segregated dishes weren't exactly the kind of thing he'd had in mind, when he first mentioned sharing the house with her. Nor had he quite known what to make of the fact the she'd stenciled her name in neat, white paint on the underside of all her furnitureâ€”the kitchen table, for example. But he had to admit, it saved argument over whose turn it was to wash up. And, recalling a few of Hughes' and Gracia's early spats over the definition of a clean dish, perhaps it was just as well.

Not, he thought, a bit disgruntled, that his relationship with Lisa merited any kind of comparison to Hughes and Gracia.

She stretched and leaned back in her chair. "So, fruit. We also need more eggs and milk. The honey is close to out. We'll need more rolls by tomorrow. More meat, too; maybe chicken this time. I was going out today, anyway, I'll pick things up."

Roy checked the level of her teapot. All that before her second cup and without checking the pantry; he was impressed. She'd make any quartermaster green with envy. The thought still twinged a little, and he turned away from it. "It's a beautiful day out," he observed, instead. "We might as well both go; we could take Black Hayate along."

Black Hayate emerged from under the table to perk his ears at them, hopefully, and Lisa smiled. "All right."

Ha. Maybe he really was figuring her out. Casual was the ticket. Roy was whistling as he went to fetch his shoes and cane.

Watching her emerge onto the front step and turn her face up to the sun and draw a deep breath, Roy took a moment for purely aesthetic appreciation. The light jacket and skirt suited her well. He grinned, wondering what would happen if he suggested that a shorter skirt would suit her even better, and whether it would involve him having to duck. But as they walked, and he listened to her cheerful greetings to neighbors and shopkeepers, his thoughts turned more serious.

Lisa had been a sweet, cheerful girl, when he'd met her. But she'd been seventeen at the time. He hadn't been surprised that she'd become more solemn, when she showed up as his new Second Lieutenant two and a half years later. People changed as they grew up. And Hawkeye had still been kind, as well as formidably capable. It was the capability that showed first, by then, and the new seriousness suited it. He'd thought it was natural to her, and thought nothing more of it.

Now...

"Peaches!" She leaned over a bin to inhale lovingly. "They'll be perfect in a few days. Let's get some!" She tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at him with a laughing smile. Roy could feel his expression softening in return, but his chest twisted.

She was beautiful. Bright and beautiful and... free. No matter how he tried, he couldn't quite evade that word when he saw her like this.

They were on their way back to the house before he made up his mind to speak.

"Hawkeye," he started, quietly, drawing her attention back from Black Hayate's frisking around, "why did you enter the military?"

Abruptly all that brightness looked more like sun shining on steel. "Because what you wanted to do was right," she pronounced, looking straight ahead. "And you needed someone to pay attention and watch your back."

"You weren't happy there at all, though, were you?" he asked, still more quietly. Not that he had noticed until the present contrast hit him over the head with it, and maybe she had a point when she brushed off his small attempts at courtship.

For a few moments he didn't think she would answer, but eventually she stopped rearranging the bunches of lilacs in the top of her bag and looked over at him. "No. I wasn't. But all of us did things we weren't happy doing, to get where we wanted to go."

Roy had to swallow before he could reply. "We did." He hesitated a moment. "Lisa. Thank you."

Her eyes warmed, and this smile almost made him trip over his own feet.

Maybe he owed Hughes an apology for all the ragging he'd given the man over mooning around, when he first started seeing Gracia.

It didn't take long, after Hawkeye left for her appointment, for Roy to return to brooding. Edward Elric might be the most obvious of the lives lost to Roy's plans and ambitions, but clearly it wasn't the only one. And after all that, all he had done was to remove a single betrayer. The keystone, perhaps, but in the doing he'd lost the chance to do more. It wasn't enough to balance the losses. His dark thoughts were only interrupted by Hughes' arrival on his doorstep.

"Well, looks like the two of you have settled in all cozily," Hughes commented, sprawling down on the couch.

Roy glared at him. On second thought, apologies were out of the question. Maas had earned every bit of grief Roy had ever given him, at one time or another. "If you don't have anything useful to say..."

Hughes waved a hand. "Patience, patience. Actually I have a job prospect for you."

Roy's brows rose. So far, he had been completely unable to come up with any job he was well qualified for, outside of the military, besides maybe factory work. He'd sooner hire on with a road crew, except that he still needed the damn cane to compensate for his lost depth perception.

Hughes smiled, and propped his elbows over the back of the couch. "How'd you like to work for the government, Roy?"

Well, that was a possibility he hadn't really considered. Roy sat back and made go-on motions.

"You know there's still no Minister of Defense?" Hughes' voice was casual; his eyes were anything but.

Roy's mouth tightened. There had, in fact, been an article in the paper just this morning about Parliament's increasing pressure on the Chancellor to select a Minister to oversee the military. He nodded silently.

"Did you know the Chancellor is going to be present for Professor Gauss' lecture at the Central University tomorrow night?"

"And the point of this information?" Roy asked, a bit cautiously. "Hughes, you know what Gauss thinks of the State Alchemists. He'd throw me out on my ear if I attended, and what good would that do anyone?"

"He'd certainly speak to you, it's true," Hughes allowed beaming. "Quite vehemently, I imagine. Very difficult to ignore, that."

Roy narrowed his eyes at his friend, mind ticking over. "Are you suggesting that I come out in support of separating the state funded alchemists from the military?" he asked, softly. It was the only thing he could think of that would make the right kind of stir at a gathering like Gauss' lecture.

"The Chancellor seems to approve of the idea," Hughes observed. His own gaze sharpened. "Do you still want to make sure that what you wanted to do gets done?"

Roy took a fast breath. Could he? Could he really make all the sacrifices mean something more? Carry the trust of the lives lost, one way and another, a little further? "Yes," he said, fiercely.

Hughes' answering smile was just as fierce. "There's our Roy Mustang." He pulled a folder from under his jacket and tossed it into Roy's lap. "Here's your hook, then. Everything I could find on Chancellor Ebert. It isn't as much as it would have been a year ago," he added with a sour face, "but there are still people who tell me things if I ask nicely. Up to you to reel him in."

Roy laughed out loud. "I will."

TBC

Counterpoint - Trading

Lisa goes back to her roots. Drama, I-3

The door hadn't changed at all.

It was the same strong-grained wood, glossy and polished with no signs of scuff marks or wear. The brass plate by the door still gleamed and the name Holbeck still marched across it in elegantly engraved letters. The name's owner stood as Lisa was ushered into his office and held out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Madam! What can we do for you today?"

Lisa smiled at the accounts manager, shaking his hand firmly before taking one of the deep, cushioned chairs. "For once, I actually have some work for you. How are my accounts doing?"

Holbeck whisked open the lone folder sitting in the middle of his desk and extracted two pieces of paper. He passed them over to her and sat back, hands folded. "As you can see, the account for your military salary is declining; am I correct in thinking there will be no more deposits into it?" He made a small harumph when she nodded. "Well. Your family allowance account is still accruing, of course. There was a bit of a dip, earlier this year, what with the panic over change in government, but things have smoothed out again."

Lisa ran a quick eye over the figures, but Holbeck's summary was really all she needed. A corner of her mouth twitched as she wondered what Roy would think if he knew that she'd learned half her officer skills from her family's bank manager.

"Leave the salary account as it is; I'll be drawing daily expenses from that until it's gone. The allowance, though..." Lisa let out a slow breath. "I want to invest the whole thing."

Holbeck blinked at her for one moment. She couldn't blame him for taking a while to adjust; she'd been... vehement in her refusal to touch the money her family doled into that account. Totally aside from her support of Roy's goals, it had been a matter of principle to succeed on her own merits and resources, as an officer.

"Of course, Madam," Holbeck said, recovering. "Do you know where you wish to invest?"

Lisa handed over a sheet of her own. "I want to divide it evenly between these two companies, for now."

Holbeck made professionally considering noises as he read. "Ah, yes, one of the building companies that's involved down in Lior, excellent choice. And..." He hesitated and glanced up at her. "Cary Munitions? You're sure, Madam? They don't have any major contracts..." He trailed off as Lisa smiled.

"They don't yet," she agreed.

A gleam of anticipation lit Holbeck's eye. "I see." He tucked the paper into her folder. "If I may say so, Madam, you are your father's daughter."

Lisa's smile tilted. "Yes. I suppose I am."

And now the skills her father had taught her would serve the ends of the man she had chosen to follow. The man Jordan Hawkeye had insisted was unworthy of his only daughter.

"On that subject," Holbeck added in a suddenly cautious tone, "we have, as you directed, answered all your family's inquiries about your allowance account. Do you wish to change that policy now?"

Lisa sighed. "No. If you suddenly stop answering their questions they'll just come bother me." Even she could hear that her laugh was brittle.

"As you say, Madam," Holbeck murmured.

She knew Holbeck had been worried and saddened by the chilly silence between his best clients and their daughter, the girl who used to sit on the floor of his office and make pretend ledger entries on the backs of old bills while he did business with her parents. Lisa summoned a more genuine smile for him. "I imagine I'll be seeing you more often, now, Mr. Holbeck."

"Indeed." He brightened. "I'll look forward to it. We all will."

They parted cordially and Lisa paused on the steps of the bank to look up at the tall stone arches. This was her family's world. She wasn't sure she was ready to come back to it. But she was sure that she had agreed with Roy Mustang seven years ago, and that she still did now. For her, nothing had changed. One method she was uncertain of had been replaced by another. The fight went on.

Her shoulders straightened and she turned down the steps to head home.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Four

Roy stirs things up and gets a new job. Drama, I-3

Roy lurked by the wall, watching the reception get into swing. The long, windowed hall was bright with lamps and starting to echo with the rise and fall of voices commenting on Professor Gauss' presentation. It was worth comment, Roy thought. Gauss was not known as a good teacher, but he did have the gift of framing his conclusions clearly and completely, and any lecture of his was worth attending.

Of course, Hughes had failed to mention that this presentation would be about the ethics of civilians doing alchemical research for the military. Roy would have to think of a suitable way to thank him for that little surprise.

The small cluster around Gauss moved toward the buffet table, looking like it would cross into the Chancellor's sphere where he leaned against a wall of his own. Time to move.

Roy couldn't help a faint smile when Gauss stiffened at the sight of him; fortunately a bit of smugness would only start things off on the right note. He nodded cordially as he picked up a glass of wine. "Professor Gauss. An excellent presentation, as usual."

"Mustang!" Gauss nostrils pinched. "I hardly expected you to attend. Surely you can't have any interest in the subject of alchemical ethics."

"On the contrary Professor," Roy returned coolly. "I've had a great deal of interest in it for a long time."

Gauss' mouth worked like he wanted to spit. "You! What interest could someone like you, who willingly uses your abilities as an officer of the military, claim to have?"

"Because I was an officer, Professor." Roy let his voice drop, relaxed for once and let some of the passion he rarely allowed in public view to show. "Only those who are willing to give themselves wholly to the service of their country and abide by the restrictions of an officer's training and discipline have any place practicing alchemy for the military. Only those who can make no pretense to themselves or others that they have not chosen to kill with their power." Roy lifted his chin and stood straight, offering no apology for his own choice.

Gauss eyed him with suspicion, but also, perhaps, a hint of grudging respect for that honesty. "That wasn't what your precious military did, though."

Roy's mouth quirked. "No. One of the drawbacks of being an officer, I admit, was the requirement that I obey my superiors. Even when I thought their policy was wrong. All I could do under those circumstances was shield those under my own command. And seek enough seniority to affect policy myself." He shrugged.

Gauss examined him for a long moment. "If I hear right, you won't be affecting much of anything now, will you?" he asked at last, conversationally. Roy stiffened.

"If we are fortunate," he answered, slightly stifled, "our new government will make it less necessary."

"I suppose we can always hope," Gauss snorted.

They exchanged wary nods and Roy took his drink and retreated to a window. He leaned his head against the cool glass and took a slow breath. Speaking, however vaguely, of the events that led to his discharge had spilled a box of memories that he tried to keep closed these days. Bright, clear, cutting moments recalled themselves: his own flame spreading like a live thing over the stones of Ishvar; excusing himself to run and empty his stomach when he met Tucker's first chimera; the Elric brothers and their search, and Hawkeye's voice telling him of Edward's sacrifice and what it had accomplished.

Silently, he apologized to those memories for stopping. Another breath, and he straightened. He was moving again, now.

Hawkeye was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her robe, one leg tucked up under her, when Roy got home. She had the big teapot steaming in front of her, and one of Roy's teacups was set out at his place. "How did it go?" she asked, nodding toward it.

Roy poured out a cup for himself and wrapped his hands around its warmth with a sigh. "Just the way I expected it to. The Chancellor definitely noticed." His mouth twisted. "The entire room noticed, I imagine. Now we'll see if it was enough."

She took a sip from her cup, eyes steady on him over the rim. "Will you really be satisfied with this?" Roy blinked at her and she snorted softly. "Just because I didn't particularly enjoy being a soldier doesn't mean I didn't notice that you did."

The thing that gave him hope, no matter how puzzling Lisa was to him, was that she so obviously cared. That probably wasn't what he should be thinking about right now, though, and Roy made himself consider her question. "If I understand the position correctly, yes. I think it will be quite satisfying," he answered, softly.

She nodded briskly. "Good." She set her tea down with a clink. "Then all we can do now is wait. In the meantime, you can help me prune the apple tree. It looks like it will put out a lot of fruit, this year. If we want any at all next year we should trim it back, according to Renata. "

The new topic was welcome, even if their next door neighbor, Renata, wasn't his very favorite source of advice. Roy wrapped prosaic home-concerns around him like a blanket against the cold of uncertainty. "Do we have heavy enough shears for that?" he asked dubiously, tallying up their accumulated yard implements. There weren't many, so far.

"No," Hawkeye said calmly, "but we do have two spare shovels and an alchemist, which should amount to the same thing. Maybe you can even get a new name out of it—the Household Alchemist."

And then she giggled, probably at his expression.

Four days later Roy ran a slightly paranoid hand through his hair, as he followed a Chancellery Guard, to make absolutely sure there were no apple leaves or twigs still stuck in it. He was fairly sure his appearance wasn't why his guide was giving him dubious looks, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

The dubious looks escalated to a muffled protest when Roy was announced and the Chancellor waved for the Guard to stand outside the door. Ebert sighed.

"Do you want to kill me?" he asked Roy, bluntly.

Roy opened his mouth and closed it again. "No," he managed, finally.

"There, see?" The Chancellor made a shooing motion at the Guard, and turned back into his office.

Roy firmly suppressed his amusement at the exasperated look the Guard directed at Ebert's back and instead gave the man a sympathetic smile on his way in.

"Sit," Ebert directed, taking a seat behind his desk and leaning back, rather wearily to Roy's eye. "So, tell me, did you know I was going to be at Professor Gauss' presentation?"

Clearly, Roy was heading for another superior who could spot him coming and going. This could be good or bad. "I was aware of your presence," he offered.

The Chancellor gave him a wintry smile for that diplomatic prevarication. "You know how to speak the language. Good." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Parliament is right; we need a Minister of Defense. But, aside from the difficulty in finding someone qualified, the job is going to be bad enough that I don't want to appoint anyone who doesn't understand what they're heading into and volunteer for it anyway. You have the knowledge for the job, and seem to have the ambition; that leaves us with disclosure. So listen."

Blunt was definitely the order of the day. Roy composed himself to listen.

"Our neighboring countries are furious over our expansion into their territories, and the fact that there's a new government doesn't stop them from holding us responsible. What it has done, so far, is suggest enough civil unrest and disorder that they've taken the opportunity to counter-attack across our borders. I'm trying to make new treaties without giving away any of our land or emptying our treasury, but it's damn slow going. Drachma, especially, wants both territorial concessions and reparations. So the person who's put in charge of the military will have to convince them to hold firm at the borders without allowing any more ventures across them into our neighbors' land. I'm told that's incredibly stupid, tactically speaking; the Minister will have to enforce it anyway. He will also have to figure out how to keep some kind of stability among our recent conquests without starting any more outright civil wars, because we can't afford more of those. Somehow, we're going to have to wave the threat of military alchemists in our neighbors' faces and at the same time give evidence of reforming our State-sponsored alchemical research to ensure that atrocities like those of the past fifty years don't happen again. The Minister of Defense will be the one doing the lion's share of this work, and he's the one who will have to take the fall if any of it blows up." Ebert sat back. "Still want the job?"

Roy had to take a moment to catch his breath, after that litany of disasters waiting to happen. The immediate thought that this was a life's work and more was both terrifying and oddly comforting. "I didn't imagine it would be an easy job," he answered at last, quietly. "Yes, I do want it."

"Why?"

Roy smiled crookedly back at the Chancellor's narrow gaze. If blunt was Ebert's style, Roy could give him blunt back. "I imagine you pulled my personnel file, Chancellor. It must note that my first deployment in the field was to Ishvar."

Ebert tapped his fingers on one of the folders stacked about his desk and nodded.

"I gave myself to my country as a soldier, Chancellor," Roy said, looking down at his folded hands. "I wasn't unwilling. But what happened there was insanity. I wanted to keep it from happening again." He looked up. "And now you're offering me the leverage to see that it doesn't. You have your volunteer, Sir, if I'm the one you want."

"God help us both, Mustang, I think you probably are." Ebert sighed, and then paused. "Did you really kill Bradley?" he asked in a tone of academic curiosity.

Roy couldn't quite stifle a wince. He'd hoped this wouldn't come up. He was entirely too likely to get himself, not only barred from office, but thrown in a mental hospital if he answered honestly. But Chancellor Ebert was the man in charge of the whole nation, now, and if anyone needed all the information straight, it was him.

He took a deep breath. "If I may tell the whole story from the start?" At Ebert's nod he settled back and tried to order his thoughts. "Human transmutation is forbidden because of what it results in..."

Ebert listened to the whole explanation, of Homunculi, of the Red Stone, of the wars fought only to drive desperate research, with no expression. When Roy finished he was silent for a minute.

"That would sound far more unreasonable if I hadn't spent the past couple months reading over the results of State Alchemists' research and the specific orders Bradley sent to certain officers in charge of the worst incidents," he said, at last. "As it is, I regret to say that I believe you. For everyone else's consumption, I suggest you stick to the story that Bradley was killed by runaway monsters of research, not that he was one himself. It will make a good, acceptable reason to limit future research and oversee it more closely."

Roy nodded, his respect for Ebert's political abilities rising another notch. "Yes, Sir."

Ebert heaved a long breath. "All right, Mustang. I'm going to appoint you. You'll have to appear before Parliament, in case they have any questions while they debate your approval for the post. Be prepared."

"Of course."

They exchanged sharp smiles along with firm handshakes, in parting. This superior's clear perception, Roy decided, was a good thing. What a pleasant change.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Five

Team Mustang dives into politics. Drama, I-3

Roy was glad it took Parliament a handful of days to clear their schedules enough to call him in. It took that long to hammer out a story about the past year that would match all checkable facts and not land any of them in prison for murder or in front of a firing squad for treason.

"Okay, so you hustled my body out of town because you suspected I had been attacked by Gran's remaining faction to stop me telling about some of his Alchemists' work." Hughes scribbled a few more dates on the sheets of scratch paper scattered over the living room floor. "That should work. And Gran's dead so he can't object. Even better."

"I was right," Hawkeye put in from the couch, flipping through a binder that had somehow wandered out of Personnel without being checked out. "None of the guards who heard me tell Bradley you were staging an insurrection survived. And Havoc says that the memories of the surviving soldiers from that northern deployment are very fuzzy about just why there was a need to plan an attack on Central. The idea that it was to rescue Bradley, not depose him, seems to make all of them very relieved."

"That's direct testimony taken care of, then." Roy stretched and yawned. "Thank you for handling that." He paused as a thought struck him. "I don't suppose you'd like a job with the ministry, too?" He slid a casual mask over a certain amount of hopefulness.

Hawkeye sniffed. "It was bad enough, dealing with bureaucratic idiots as an officer," she noted. "I'm not going to deal with them as a secretary."

Roy sighed, but couldn't help a small smirk as he admitted, "I do have a bit of difficulty picturing you as a typical secretary."

"Ministerial aide?" Hughes suggested with a grin.

"That's just a secretary with a better salary," Lisa objected. "Money doesn't help with the idiots."

Roy listened to them, amused. Lisa had always had an edge of exasperation to her when she'd had to deal with Hughes, but it actually seemed to be softening into something like teasing now that she'd left military formality behind.

"So aim higher," Hughes declaimed. "I don't see why you shouldn't expect a good job out of this. I do."

Roy smirked at him. "It'll be nice to see someone else get accused of promotion through favoritism for a change."

Lisa shook her head at both of them and reached for the next binder.

It was not an entirely new experience to hear his merits and flaws debated over his head in his presence. It seemed to be a favorite tactic of generals when they called field officers up on the carpet. But it had a different flavor when politicians were doing it.

"... valiantly risked his life and career to safeguard his country's leader, I'd say that's a good sign!"

It was harder to keep a straight face, for one thing.

"One, haven't we just finished saying that it's a damn good thing Bradley's gone?" inquired one of the more skeptical Members, Rosa Luxemburg if Roy recalled correctly. "And two, if it was all about valor and so on, why did he lose his career?" The compression of her lips as she sniffed reminded Roy irresistibly of his Aunt Helena, as did the sharp gaze she bent on the other end of the gallery. "Since we have Hakuro-taisho here, perhaps we should ask him, hm?"

Roy approved. Hakuro had been practically vibrating in his seat for the past ten minutes; it wouldn't do for him to actually explode. Roy might need him later.

Hakuro surged to his feet at the President's invitation. "You do well to ask, Madam! Mustang was discharged because he was suspected of causing King Bradley's death!"

Startled silence rippled over the Chamber. Perfect. Roy sighed into that silence and lifted a brow at Hakuro as the Parliament turned to look at him.

"Taisho, I realize that we have often been opponents due to our efforts to further our individual careers. But surely you can see that it's no longer necessary. Our careers will run in different paths, now." He let his mouth tighten a bit, and watched the room full of politicians take in the implication that Hakuro was attempting to slander his late competition.

Hakuro, on the other hand, seemed to completely miss it, just as expected. "That's beside the point," he snapped.

Roy sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "The point, Taisho, is that you didn't have any proof when you came up with a way to be rid of me, and you don't have any now. You accomplished what you thought appropriate; I'm a civilian. Be satisfied."

Anger and triumph mixed in Hakuro's face in answer to this straight line. "Yes, a civilian," he growled. "Just what suits your backstabbing cowardice."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Taisho," he rapped out coldly, cutting across the several sharp inhalations through the Chamber and crossing his fingers in hopes that Hakuro wouldn't notice them, "you forget who you address."

Hakuro reared back. "What?!"

"Or do you disdain to take orders a civilian?" Roy asked, softly, laying the last piece of bait down with care.

"Who wouldn't?" Hakuro shot back.

The rustle of disturbance in the Chamber became something close to a roar, and Roy sat back, watching it jerk Hakuro back to awareness of where they were and who was listening. He suppressed a grimace. It had almost been easy enough to make him feel guilty, watching Hakuro's sudden confusion.

Almost.

Finally, Roy raised his voice. "Enough!" He looked only at Hakuro, as if he still addressed the General, but the Parliament quieted, too. "We will discuss this later, Taisho," he said, firmly. "If it is Parliament's pleasure."

Hakuro sank back into his chair, unable to do anything else at that point. Luxemburg spoke into the silence that followed.

"All right, Friedrich." She turned an imperious look on the Chancellor. "I see your point. I withdraw my objections."

Roy met her hard green eyes, as murmurs of agreement spread among the other Members. There was no trust there, and his mouth quirked.

"Thank you for your understanding, Madam." He said nothing about her support, which is was clear to him he didn't have.

An unwilling answering amusement tugged at her lips. "Quite."

"... the Chancellery Guards are your guards, too, now. Here's your office." Ebert pushed open a thick, dark wood door to show a large, handsome office and a large, handsome desk stacked with a large pile of folders. "Those are the profiles of available, qualified people in other Ministries that you can draw on to build your staff. I think that's everything." He clapped Roy on the shoulder. "Go to it. Good luck."

Another mountain of personnel folders. Lovely. "Ah, Chancellor," Roy lifted a hand, and Ebert looked over his shoulder on his way out the door. "Can I draw on other sources for staff?"

Ebert grinned. "Have some soldiers in mind? Sure, just pass them with Karr, over in Intelligence." He waved. "We'll see you Friday for the weekly Cabinet meeting."

Roy leaned against his desk and surveyed his new domain for a long moment. A staff would be nice, but first things first. He dug out the phone and called the front desk. Ten minutes later Hakuro was shown in.

Roy rested his shoulders against the cool glass of a window and crossed his arms, considering the man in front of him. Hakuro stood stiffly, jaw set.

"You're a good soldier, Taisho," Roy said, at last, and watched Hakuro blink. "You're a good soldier," he repeated, "but you're not suited to politics. The two don't generally go well together. So what I need to know is whether you can do your job and leave the politics to me." He turned to face the window. "If you can, I'll leave you in charge of the army. If you can't I'll call Werther-chuujo back from East City to replace you."

And if Hakuro tried to keep playing the game by lying to him about his intentions, now, Roy would have to remove him completely, and that would be a loss of experience the army couldn't well afford at the moment.

"What job are you going to do?" Hakuro asked after a moment.

Roy smiled. A question instead of a reply was a good sign; a quick answer would almost certainly have been a lie. "I'm going to do my best to pull us all out of the hole Bradley dumped us in," he replied, candidly, and tapped a finger against the glass. "It will involve some very difficult maneuvers from the Army, and I need someone in charge who can hold them together anyway." He turned to look Hakuro in the eye. "Hold them together and obey my orders."

Hakuro's face was a study in conflicting emotions. Roy picked out pleasure that someone thought Hakuro was capable of this; fury, probably at the idea of taking orders from Roy; and shock, probably at the coldness of Roy's tone. Come to think of it, Hakuro had never heard Roy giving direct orders, had he?

Well, he'd better get used to it, now.

Finally Hakuro drew himself up to something that wasn't quite attention. "Very well," he said, tightly. "Sir."

Ambition won again. One problem down, fifteen thousand and forty three to go. "Good. I'll be in touch, Taisho." Roy nodded a dismissal. Hakuro was barely out the door before he'd pulled the phone out of the paper mountain again.

"Hughes? It all worked out. Get over to Karr and convince him to clear you. We'll figure out what your job title is later..."

TBC

Counterpoint - Home Office

Lisa unveils her own new job. Drama, I-3

Lisa looked up from the paper as Roy trudged down the front hall and into the living room. He looked rumpled and tired, which had been true for weeks now, but also pleased, which had been far more rare.

"Triumph!" He brandished a briefcase in the air.

Lisa laughed. "It's smaller than a suitcase. Does that mean you're caught up at work?"

"Finally. Mostly." He sighed and slumped into his armchair, trying to kick his shoes off without unlacing them first. "Material resources for my area is still a touchy question, but I have a staff and it's operating. Now I get to wait and see who isn't as good as their file said they were." He gave her a sidelong look from under his lashes.

Lisa pretended not to notice. She'd had plenty of practice; he'd mentioned what an outstanding aide she was at least once a week since acquiring his new job. "Congratulations," she said, instead. "Have an apple." She slid the basket across the low table with a stockinged toe.

Roy eyed the small red and green streaked fruit. "Are those from the tree out back? I thought it would be longer..."

"Mmm." Lisa scribbled a note next to the stock report for Kitchener Industry and tapped her pencil against her lips. "These are just the first few that are ripe. But it has been that long, you know." She looked up and smiled at him ruefully. "You've been working so hard I think you lost track of a little time."

"Yes. I suppose so." He sighed quietly and leaned forward to grab an apple. The sharp crunch of his first bite was followed by a sound of pleased surprise.

"They're good, aren't they?" Lisa took another for herself, the third of the day so far. "Gracia says they won't work very well for cooking with but should keep for a long time. I was thinking of cleaning off a shelf in the cellar for them."

"Excellent idea," Roy mumbled around a mouthful. "Maybe I should send a basket to Werner Metals, see if I can sweeten them up a little before the next round of negotiations over Army contracts and federal standards."

"No, you shouldn't," Lisa stated. She pulled a binder off the shelf beside the couch and flipped through it under Roy's startled gaze. "What you should do is negotiate with Cary Munitions instead."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "It's true Werner isn't keeping up with the new certification and accountability as well as I'd like," he said, slowly, "but Cary doesn't have the capacity to manufacture as much as operations demand."

Lisa pulled out a sheaf of papers with neat price and volume figures all laid out, and handed it over. "They do now."

Roy ran an eye down the columns, brows lifting. Finally he looked back at her, question hovering on his quirked lips.

Lisa folded her hands and lifted her chin. "Research advances will be taken care of by another company. Building capacity will be the next issue, for more than the weapons companies; that, too, will be taken care of." Pride lent assurance to her voice, and if she had personal reservations about turning her hand to finance and industry she refused to show it to him. "You will have the resources at the standards you need. Minister."

She really couldn't help a satisfied smile at the stunned realization spreading over Roy's face. To be perfectly honest, she didn't try all that hard.

"I'll find some other aide," he murmured, at last. "I doubt they'll be as good as you. But then," recovering some of his usual poise he smiled crookedly, "I'm beginning to doubt anyone could be."

Lisa felt her cheeks heating and busied herself with another bite of her apple. Under that sincere praise the discomfort of her family's ghostly presence over her shoulder faded a bit. Yes; she could do this.

They could both do this.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Six

Lisa and Roy reach an understanding. Romance, I-4

Roy looked out the back door at Lisa and Black Hayate romping back and forth under gold leaves. Her hair was tangled from the breeze and there were grass stains on her knees. She was laughing as she held up a stout stick for Black Hayate to leap after, and bits of bark had smeared her palms with black and brown.

She was beautiful.

He was reminded of that less frequently, lately, since he spent nearly twelve hours a day in his office. As if to make up for it, when he did have occasion to notice it afresh it hit him all the harder.

In their old jobs, her flawless professionalism had shielded him. Now it was just one more hook, one more aspect of her magnificence. Now he could also see her humor and happiness, her love for each moment of life as it came. Now her competence and relentless focus highlighted the other parts of her.

Steps scuffed up behind his shoulder and he looked around to see Maas shaking his head with an expression of tolerant affection. "You should say something, you know."

Roy didn't bother with denials. "If I could figure out what to say, I would," he sighed.

Hughes clutched his chest in fake shock. "Mustang, at a loss for what to say to a woman? Is the world ending?" He glanced around with exaggerated worry.

Roy scowled at him, wondering which coat he'd left his gloves in. "Oh, shut up."

Maas' mouth twisted. "Seriously, Roy," he said, voice lowering. "You have an advantage, here, but I'm not sure how long it's going to last."

Roy was still searching for a good answer to that when Lisa spotted them lurking inside the door and waved.

"Roy! Your turn! Come on; you won't ever get rid of that cane if you don't exercise."

He abandoned Hughes at once and was halfway across the yard before he wondered why Hughes was suddenly laughing.

Roy decided, later, that it must have been Hughes' fault. Those remarks must have stuck in the back of his head. Because it was a mere two nights later that he was putting away his dishes while Lisa washed hers, and glanced over to see the light sliding over her hair where it was slipping out of its clip and the shimmer of water on her cheekbone as she brushed a strand back with a damp wrist. And his mouth stepped in without consulting his brain.

"I've never met another woman who's so beautiful when she isn't trying," he murmured.

And then he winced as she stiffened, abruptly reminded of why he'd gone so long without speaking up. Well, no way out but through, now that he had.

"Is there any particular reason you don't like to be complimented?" It came out a little more plaintively than Roy intended, but he was really at a loss.

There was genuine anger in Lisa's face as she rounded on him, and he took a startled step back. "Yes, there is. It's because that's exactly how you talk to every other woman in the world, right before you assume that she'll be swooning at your feet and ignore her! You'll pardon me if I prefer that you don't treat me like that!" She swung back around to the the sink and grabbed another of her dishes, spine rigid.

Roy stood with his mouth ajar, while his mind tried to run in three directions at once. If it sounded the same he really should probably stop trying to compliment her. But he didn't want to! And it wasn't the same at all; Lisa was nothing like other women. Honestly, did she think he was stupid enough to expect her to flutter and swoon like the others? Well, obviously, if she was this angry.

...if she was this angry...

Roy put his jaw back where it belonged and took a deep breath. All right, maybe Hughes had a point after all. If he was wrong he was probably about to get a lot worse than a slap. If he was right, it would be worth it. He came into her arm's reach. "Lisa." She looked back at him and he winced at the darkness in her eyes. Another breath. "I don't think of you the way I think of them. Truly."

She turned all the way around, expression challenging. "Then how do you think of me?"

"You... impress me," Roy said, slowly. His mouth quirked. "It would honestly never occur to me that you would be that silly, getting all starry eyed over a couple smooth words."

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Then why do you say them to me?"

Roy paused, surprised at the force with which the answer came to him. And then he let out his breath and lifted his hand to touch a strand of her hair with hesitant fingers. "Because this time they're true."

She searched his face for a long moment; in fact, that one moment felt longer than the entire past year of puzzling and wondering. What she found seemed to satisfy her at last, though, because her expression softened and she nodded. "All right."

When she set a hand on his chest Roy wondered distantly whether she could feel his heart speed up under her palm. He closed his eyes and lifted her other hand to press to his lips.

"Thank you."

When he opened his eyes she was smiling.

TBC

Only Tactics

Hakuro reflects grimly on Mustang's influence. Drama, I-2

Fitz Hakuro eyed a sheaf of papers on his desk with distaste. Transfer requests didn't normally merit that kind of glare, but these weren't normal transfers. In fact, they were special requests from the Minister of Defense that certain officers and enlisted be permitted to leave active status so they could take civilian positions with the Ministry and "contribute the perspective of professional soldiers" to "achieve a balanced and equitable view from which to formulate policy" without "permanently removing trained officers from the pipeline, should they be needed".

It was a messy idea, a jury-rigged, special-dispensation way to disorder records and assignments. It proposed to bend regulations into pretzels without ever quite breaking their letter.

It was Mustang all over.

Which, these days, he reflected sourly, meant he couldn't deny it without a really good reason. He should have just demoted the man.

He sighed and pulled the papers towards him. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and so forth. On the bright side, at least Mustang wanted to grab off ones who were traitorously loyal to him from the start. Sergeant Fury, Lieutenant Ross, Private Scieszka. Really, it was too bad he couldn't palm Armstrong off on Mustang, too, and put all the bad eggs in one basket. Fortunately the buffoon seemed happy enough with his field assignments in the East and didn't make trouble. He signed off on one after another.

He tossed his pen on the stack, when he was done, and sat back. Let Mustang have joy of them. It would get them off his hands and away, and that was the important part.

Especially if he ever wanted to do something about Mustang.

He sat back with a small, dreamy smile and contemplated the future.

TBC

Research

Ross fields some odd questions from her new boss. Drama and Romance, I-2

Maria snuck a sidelong glance at her superior. The Minister had been pausing to stare off into space more often than usual today, and she was starting to get just a bit worried.

She was also starting to think she should have kept Havoc-chuui pinned to the wall a lot longer while she pressed information on her new position out of him.

When the Minister spoke, without that abstracted expression altering in the slightest, she was so startled she jumped.

"Ross-kun," he murmured, not seeming to notice. "What do women really want?"

Maria stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, really." He leaned his chin on a fist. "In the long term."

She told herself sternly to pull it together. It was, after all, just barely possible that this was an inquiry in the line of work. "What anyone wants, for the most part," she essayed cautiously. "A comfortable life; a family and children, usually; fulfilling work; someone to share it all with..." She trailed off, eyes narrowing. Didn't he have someone who fit in with most of this, already? Or almost have her... "Do you really think it's better to ask your assistant about this than your housemate?"

The corners of his mouth curled up at her suddenly suspicious tone. "It seemed wise to have the widest possible information base," he answered with a virtuous air.

She'd thought so. "If you're having problems, Sir, you should talk directly to the woman involved," she told him firmly.

His gaze sharpened again. "Should I?" He gave her a long look. "Well, that answers the question after all, doesn't it?" He straightened in his chair and shoved the random bit of paper he'd been doodling on out of the way. "Anything in the mail bag I should take care of right away?"

Maria smiled with relief. He was back to normal. "Yes, Sir, one item. Hakuro-taisho mentions the garrison closest to New Ishvar would like permission for soldiers to visit the city while off-duty. I would have returned that one with a veto, given your policy, but since it's directly from him..." She shrugged.

The Minister's eyes turned icy. "He wants to change that policy, does he? Very well. They can visit." He leaned back and folded his hands. "No more than three at a time, sidearms only, and I'll hang the first soldier who's involved in an incident of any kind in any way."

Maria swallowed and reached for her pen to note the terms down. "Yes, Sir."

She wished Lisa Hawkeye luck.

TBC

Counterpoint - Previous Experience

Lisa gets tired of waiting and coaxes Roy into bed. Romance with Porn, I-4

Lisa was leaning on her windowsill with her chin in one hand when Roy tapped on her door and came in to say goodnight. She smiled and turned to pull him down beside her on the foot of her bed. She wasn't in the mood to let him get away with a kiss in passing, tonight.

Roy puzzled her lately. She was reasonably sure that she was making it clear he was welcome, but he still moved very slowly with her. She'd have said hesitantly, if it weren't for the way he kissed, in fact. He kissed her like he wanted to taste her heart on his tongue, like the texture of her mouth would answer life's deepest questions.

And then he drew back.

Lisa tightened her arms around him, as she felt his loosen at her waist. She was tired of this. "You don't have to stop, you know," she pointed out, softly.

And there it was again. That flash of uncertainty in his eyes. It made even less sense right at the moment than usual, considering what she'd just said. Unless...

She loosened her own hold a little. "Unless you don't want to, of course." It didn't come out quite as lightly as she'd hoped, but it was probably close enough.

And then again, maybe not. His arms tightened around her, hard enough to pull her a few inches over her blankets and snugly against him.

"That isn'tâ€”" The protest was sharp, and cut off just as sharply. She felt the quick breath Roy took. "It isn't that," he said, more calmly, "it's just that I'm..." Dark eyes turned away from hers and his voice dropped to a mutter. "I... never have. Before."

Lisa's jaw dropped; she couldn't help it. The faint color across Roy's cheekbones as he cleared his throat didn't help. The Conqueror of the Typing Pool, The Thief of Girlfriends, had never... "Really?"

He twitched at the incredulous question, and Lisa found herself torn between hilarity and utter smugness. She managed to stifle the outright laughter, but her mouth curled up in a grin as she leaned back into him. All hers. "Well, that's all right. I have."

Roy's eyes shot back to hers and he opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. This time she couldn't hold back the giggle and the look he gave her was rather jaundiced. She leaned her head on his shoulder and slid her fingers through his hair. "It really is all right," she said, more softly. "More than all right."

"Well. Good." His fingers played with the hem of her pajama top.

She was silent for a moment. "Why didn't you?" she asked, at last, running a finger down the worn texture of his undershirt. "I mean, you must have kissed them." Her tone turned wry. "You've clearly had practice."

For once he didn't preen. "It was... too dangerous. To have any of them that close. And the women who were willing to have something completely uninvolved never really appealed to me." He smoothed a strand of her hair. "None of them were anything like you."

Lisa thought she might be blushing, and the way Roy's eyes softened made it all the more likely. On the other hand, now that she knew he wasn't actually reluctant...

She spread a hand against his chest and leaned in to steal a kiss, light and coaxing. Roy answered her slowly, as if he wondered just what she wanted to do now. Fair enough. She slipped her hands under the edge of his shirt and slid her fingers along his lowest ribs; his breath caught short against her mouth and she drew back with a questioning look. After a long moment his lips curved and he lifted his arms to let her tug the shirt off.

She smoothed her palms back down his chest, letting herself take her time and appreciate the texture of his skin. His breath hitched again when she reached his stomach, and his own hands tightened where they'd settled on her waist. One hand lifted, though, and Lisa shivered as his fingertips traced the open neck of her top, settling on the first button.

"Go ahead," she whispered, answering the tilt of his head.

He undid the buttons with studious care, but heat rose under the hesitance in his eyes when she shrugged it off. That heat pleased her; she wanted more of it. Lisa stood to shut the door against inquisitive canines and let her pajama pants drop from her hips before she turned back to him. His head tilted back to see her face, eyes wide in the low light; his hands came up to find her hips as she rested her hands on his shoulders. She took a long, smiling breath. His hands were warm and she could feel their strength, even through this delicate grip.

She slid a knee onto the bed and pushed him back until she could settle over him. They were both breathing a little quickly, now, she could feel his chest rise and fall under her as his hands moved up her back; when she leaned down for another kiss he caught her mouth with fierce intensity in return. Heat tingled through her and a small sound of approval hummed in her throat. Her fingers traced over his chest, marking the hard lines of muscle, gently circling a nipple, dipping over his collarbones, and a soft gasp answered her.

Lisa made herself slow down as his hands smoothed over her ribs and his thumbs stroked the curve of her breasts cautiously. She'd been lucky her first time; Roy should be, too. She leaned up on her elbows to let him explore. The careful brush of his fingers started small shudders low in her stomach, and her eyes half-lidded in appreciation.

"Lisa." The whisper drew her attention from his hands to his face, and her lips parted. Roy was looking at herâ€”at nothing but herâ€”with a focus she'd only ever seen when he faced mortal danger. Except that, where his eyes were cold, then, they were warm now.

"I'm here," she whispered back, the only answer she could find to the depth of that look.

Roy caught her close and buried his face in the tangled fall of her hair. "Yes." His voice was low and husky.

Lisa had to swallow hard. She'd hoped all along that Gracia was right, that Roy did feel something deeper than simple respect or even affection for her; but she hadn't truly expected such naked confirmation. The renewed slide of his hands down her back and legs was welcome; it was a much simpler pleasure.

Her own hands were impatient, now, seeking down his body to strip off the last of his clothes. His gaze on her turned heavy and sultry as she settled back against him, completely skin to skin. Her lips curled wickedly, and she straddled his hips and rocked against him. They gasped together.

"Roy. Now?" She didn't want to push him too fast, but heat was lapping through her again and she wanted very much to feel more of him.

His gaze flickered, uncertainty struggling with straightforward desire in it. "If... yes."

She pressed a quick kiss to his throat. "It's all right." The assurance was a little breathless. She pushed herself upright and reached down to guide him. His hands locked on her thighs and his eyes widened as he started to slide into her. Slowly his head eased past the first tightness and Lisa released a soft moan as the sensation turned smooth. A harsh indrawn breath from Roy answered, and a tiny laugh escaped her.

His eyes, on her, were wide and blind and deep with something like shock as she rocked up and back down, and his hips slowly flexed to meet her. Pleasure shivered up her spine and caught low in her throatâ€”pleasure at the hardness stroking heat through her body and, more, at the fire and darkness and wonder in Roy's face.

"Roy..." She broke off with a moan as he slid deeper, and smiled through parted lips as she felt his hands sliding up her body and over her breasts. "Oh, yes." Her fingers kneaded against his chest and she started to move more strongly.

Full pleasure sang through her each time their hips met, rising in slow waves. It was hot and sleek and good, and Roy's voice ran through it like a velvet ribbon, calling her name, tugging at her. She caught one of his hands and guided it down until his fingers brushed her clitoris. Sharper pleasure shot through her and she arched. "Mmmm, there."

A shadow of the accustomed calculation, the usual smile, crossed Roy's face, and his fingers stroked her softly, testing. She let her hand rest over his and rode the sensation as fire coiled through her, slow and thick. His heartbeat was speeding, under her palm, rapid as her breath, and she let go and let her body lead the way. Pleasure swelled and rose and rose again, and her voice caught in her throat as it surged into something overwhelming and snatched her attention away from anything but the flooding heat as her body tightened.

She felt Roy arch under her, taut; heard him groan. She stretched, over him, and laughed. "Now, Roy," she whispered. "Don't stop." A hard thrust answered her and she gasped approval as it drew a slow aftershock from her body. His movement was faster, now, and she smiled as it turned ragged, and tangled her fingers with his. His hands clutched hers as if she were an anchor.

He dropped back against the bed, and she slid down over him, breath slowing again.

She had a small urge to tease him, to say There, that wasn't so bad, was it? But his expression, still rather amazed, stopped her. Instead she simply wound her arms around him and snuggled against his shoulder, taking enjoyment in the warmth of his skin against hers. His fingers found her hair and combed through it slowly, soothing her to the edge of sleep.

At least until he said, "Do you want to get married?"

Lisa sputtered a bit, pushing herself up on one elbow to stare at him. He returned it with a look of mild inquiry.

"Or children," he continued, sounding perfectly serious. He frowned a little. "I suppose I should have asked that earlier..."

"No, that's... I... take care of that," Lisa assured him, a bit dazed. She stared some more. "You... children?"

"Well." He cleared his throat. "If you want."

She couldn't help smiling at the uneasiness lurking under his tone. "I've always liked children better when they're someone else's, actually," she observed. She leaned against his shoulder again, laughing at the relief on his face.

His fingers traced down her arm. "And marriage? I would ask in a more suitable manner," he added, sounding rather disgruntled, "but you never like that, and this is about as direct as I can manage."

It took a few moments to get ahold of herself again. "I think this is quite suitable," she told him, when she could speak without giggling. And then she really thought about it. "Yes. Something small, maybe," she said, slowly. And, more quietly, "My mother might come."

It was Roy's turn to lean up on an elbow, frowning at her tone. "Lisa?" His hand cupped her cheek.

She pressed her fingers over his lips and shook her head. "I dealt with it a long time ago, Roy. They never approved, that I followed you; I know perfectly well they won't start, now." Despite the firm words she had to swallow a lump in her throat.

He gathered her closer, just a bit awkwardly. "Well. We'll see," he murmured against her hair.

Lisa blinked back the wetness in her eyes and rested against him. In a minute she'd tell him to let go so she could draw up the blanket from the foot of the bed.

In just a minute.

TBC

Another Round

Havoc teases a happy Lisa. Drama and Romance, I-2

Jean waved his mug to catch Lisa's attention as she squinted into the bar's dimness from the open door. "You look cheerful," he noted with a grin as she pulled out a chair.

Faint color painted her cheekbones and she gave him a mild glare. "Don't you start too. Gracia is bad enough, giving me those doting looks every time I turn around."

Jean had to admit, Gracia-san had been looking as if the whole thing had been her idea. Which made him think again about the woman who was, after all, married to Maas Hughes.

"So why don't we talk about how your life has been going, instead," Lisa continued, firmly.

"Because mine is incredibly boring?" Jean snorted glumly and consoled himself with another swallow. "Every morning when I come in and look at those damn stacks of paper I think I should request a field posting. This desk-job stuff is for the birds."

"You'll never get promoted with that attitude," she teased, straight-faced.

"I think you're confusing me with someone else," he drawled and smiled when she laughed. "Seriously," he added, "I'd volunteer for one of the Northern deployments tomorrow, except then I wouldn't be here for—" He remembered his image just in time and bit off the rest of it, burying his nose in his mug.

"For the base Snow Games, this year? Yes, you have a title to uphold, don't you?" Lisa was leaning her chin in her hand and giving him an affectionate and crooked smile. It didn't quite match her innocent tone, but Jean was just grateful that she didn't call him on his little slip in public.

"Right," he agreed, promptly, and paused. "So, um. How is he anyway?"

"Overworking, of course." She shrugged. "About the only things he doesn't ignore are his exercises; food and sleep have to ambush him."

Jean shook his head. That was Mustang, all right. "At least you're around to make sure he gets some."

"Mm." Lisa smiled down into her mug. "He's happy with the work he's doing, though, insane hours and all. And so am I." Her eyes turned a little distant. "Do you know, I haven't taken my guns off their rack in over a month?"

Jean, who had always watched Lisa's face more than her target, on the shooting range, smiled. "I hear your job is really taking off, too."

"It's not doing too badly," she said in a judicious tone that seemed absurd given the amounts of money rumor said she was dealing in these days.

"Next round's on you, then," he declared, leaning back.

She gave him an exasperated look. "The next round was on me, anyway."

Jean took a satisfied drag on his cigarette as she signaled the bar. Everything was on track, and he could relax.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Seven

Their world has changed. Drama with Romance, I-4

The first assassination attempt should probably not have come as a surprise. And, in a way, it didn't. Twelve years of being shot at for one reason and another ingrained some reflexes pretty deeply, and Roy was ducking before the motion of someone aiming to fire registered with his forebrain.

What Roy should not have let himself be surprised by was the fact that, these days, the people around him were far less able to take care of themselves. In the time it took him to pull on a glove behind the overturned buffet table, the shots tracking after him had hit two other people.

He had a lot of time to think about that while he suffered one of the Central Hospital doctors to check him over for any re-injuries and listened to the anxious voices of families out in the hall. Fate seemed to feel this was an insufficient reminder, though; just to make it all more pointed, he found Hawkeye waiting for him in the hospital lobby wearing both her guns.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a businesslike tone, eyes marking each person around them.

"Fine."

Her eyes flickered to him, at the flatness of his voice, and then away again. "Let's go, then."

A car was waiting and she shepherded him briskly into it. That was familiar, but the world stretched in a moment of vertigo when she slid into the back seat beside him. She was always ahead of him, wasn't she? Whenever it felt like the world was blowing away in ashes, she was ahead of him to arrange the details and drive the car. But no, that wasn't what she was any more; nor what he was, any more.

The ride was a silent one.

She didn't speak again until she'd closed and locked the front door behind them. "The doctors checked you over?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "And they're sure there are no new injuries?" Another nod.

She stepped into him and buried her head against his shoulder and held him so tightly his ribs creaked. Roy blinked, and slowly closed his arms around her. "... Lisa." His voice was rusty in his own ears. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" she said violently, if somewhat muffled. "Didn't you get shot at enough when it was your job?"

He leaned his head against hers and laughed bitterly. "I wasn't the one that got hit. Obviously, it isn't me I need to worry about, now."

She lifted her head to glare at him and shook him once, hard. "Yes it is! Where is everyone else going to be, if you stop worrying about yourself and it gets you killed?" She wound her arms still more tightly around him. "Idiot."

His snort of laughter had a little genuine amusement in it, this time. "You've gotten a lot less polite, out of uniform."

"Yes, now I can say it, instead of just thinking it," she shot back, tartly.

He leaned against her with a long sigh. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

That got another snort, which seemed to satisfy her enough to let go of himâ€”at least until she'd steered him to the couch. He sat looking down at their fingers tangled together, and ran a thumb over the back of her hand, feeling the strong lines of tendon under smooth skin.

"It wasn't a soldier. Or even an ex-soldier," he said, at last, voice low in the still dark living room. "It wasn't even someone from Lior, which would have made sense to me. He was from the North, a village just inside the old border." He brooded for a moment. "What used to be a village."

Lisa pressed closer against his side and her hair brushed his cheek as she nodded, silent and unsurprised. Of course, she knew the aftermath of marches and occupations as well as he did. "I'm going with you to these official functions of yours from now on," was all she said.

Roy was silent for a moment, trying to negotiate between his undeniable relief at the thought of having another person nearby who was competent in danger, and the countersurge of protest that he didn't want Lisa to put herself in danger. He frowned a little, exasperated with himself for such a ridiculous reaction.

"I'm going," Lisa repeated, a note of warning sounding in her voice. "It's obvious you still need someone to watch your back." Her lips curved in the lamplight coming through the window. "Especially if it rains."

Roy drew himself up, dignified. "I have no intention of arguing with that." A corner of his mouth twitched. "Though it would seem rather difficult to hide two guns in an evening dress."

Lisa snuggled comfortably into his shoulder and tugged his arm around her. "That's what thigh holsters were invented for."

Roy took a moment to enjoy the mental image of how some of the more stuffy Ministry officials and Members of Parliament would react to this beautiful woman in their midst calmly pulling out a gun instead of shrieking and fainting. And then he took another moment to savor the idea of taking down the assassins before they could shoot the civilians, and drew a deep, satisfied breath. He pulled Lisa a little closer and murmured against the nape of her neck, "You are a delight."

"Oh, I get it; you just love me for my guns." She poked him with a teasing finger, but he could feel the heat of her blush against his cheek.

"And someday I'll even get you used to taking compliments," he added.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Maybe."

Roy laughed softly and they leaned against each other in the dim warmth.

End