Open to Comfort...

A slender blonde figure clad in blue was walking down the dark Central sidewalk. Her standard military-issue boots clacked quietly against the concrete path. A gun holster gently clicked with every step. It was First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, walking home after a long day of paperwork, threats with bullets, and babysitting the colonel. She couldn’t wait to get home and finally lie down.

Right when she entered the door of her apartment, the phone on the side table started to ring. Riza placed her military coat on the hanger adjacent to the door and quickly picked up the pouncing black ball of fur on the floor.

“Hello? Hawkeye residence.” Riza stated, still formal as ever. A unfamiliar man’s voice responded. “Hey. This is the bartender from the local pub. Are you a Miss Riza Hawkeye?” he inquired to the lieutenant. “Yes.” was all she needed to say. Black Hayate, still in her arms, licked her cheek lightly. “Well, Miss Hawkeye, do you know a Mr. Roy Mustang?” hearing his name made her wonder what trouble he had gotten himself into. “Yes, he is my superior officer.”

“Uhh.. Well,  he got himself a little knackered, and he doesn’t have a ride home. He keeps on asking for another drink, but I decided to cut the man off. Too much is too much, right? Anyway, he has you on his contact list, just in case he got drunk and he needed transportation.” Riza pondered this for a moment. ‘Why am I on his list? That is quite odd’ she thought, since he never told her. She responded to the bartender, “He had never told me about entrusting me with this.” she informed him. The man looked over the list of contacts in his palm. “Well,” he started, “there was someone else, a Mr. Maes Hughes, but he took his name off the list about two weeks ago.” Riza’s eyes looked down at the flooring, now understanding what had happened. “Oh, I see.” she managed to whisper.

Second Lieutenant Maes Hughes was recently murdered, taking a toll on the mourning colonel. He lost a comrade, a friend, a brother. He began to drink a lot more nowadays, and didn’t talk as much. His eyes were often red and glazed over.

“I’ll be right over,” was all she mustered for a  reply, placed the happy pup back on the floor,  before grabbing her coat and journeying to the bar to pick up her disgruntled colonel.

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Roy Mustang was slumped over the bar with an empty glass of beer in his hand. He felt as if the death of his friend was possibly the thing that could drive him completely off the wall. He was going to mull over his depression a little further, until a hand on his shoulder interrupted him.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked, only turning to see the face of his lieutenant looking back at him. “Oh, sorry Hawkeye, I didn’t realize it was you.” She sighed, observing the sorry state he was in. His posture was horrible, his eyes were a tired red. His hair seemed tousled, and he wasn’t wearing his military jacket.

“Sir, I believe you’ve had enough. Please allow me to take you home.” he looked at her with two tired, pleading ebony eyes. The eyes that  can make almost any woman immediately swoon, were now shrouded in a glaze of depression.

He sighed, letting out a few low words, “Now why the hell would I do that? There is nothing waiting for me but more booze.” He stood up, only to stumble to the side. Riza took quick action, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, stabilizing him. She sighed, again, now worried about the emotional state of her superior.

“Come sir, let’s go.” Riza stated in a quiet, gentle tone, while she escorted the distraught man out if the bar.

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Roy did not make Riza’s walk to his house simple. He wobbled, hiccupped, and stumbled incisively. He clearly consumed much too much alcohol. There was a point in this trek where he passed out while upright, causing the worried lieutenant to worry even further.

Roy’s apartment was much farther than Riza’s, not to mention the drunkard on her shoulders couldn’t walk in a semi-straight line, let alone home. She carefully pondered her possibilities, and decided she’d keep him at her place for the night, for safe keeping.

He was in no condition to be left alone, anyhow. He wasn’t just incoherent and drunk, but emotionally unstable as well. The death of Maes Hughes was a low, painful blow to everyone that knew him. Roy was taking it especially hard. He was full of remorse and regret, and even guilt, and she could tell by simply looking into his eyes.

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Roy stumbled into her apartment quite lazily. He was not even semi-conscious, let alone coherent. He propped himself up on the wall for momentary stability. Riza came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be able to get him to his house with his, errrr, help, that is. Hawkeye let out a sigh for the billionth time that night. Sure, she cared for the man, but being his babysitter can become a tedious task.

After placing her coat on the hanger, she reassumed her position under the colonel’s muscular arms. She then attempted to make her way to the bedroom. Attempted, that is. Alcohol made his body rather incompliant, but eventually, she made it to her room and emptied him off her back and onto the covers of her bed. She figured that he was having a rough enough time as it is, and he deserved, and needed, a good night’s rest on a soft bed.

“Goodnight, Colonel,” she bid her goodnights and left to the couch for the night. Riza made her way to the den, with a curious Hayate looking up at her; head cocked, ears perked. She smiled down at the pup as she took the clip out of her golden tresses, releasing the shiny, soft strands of hair onto her black military undershirt. She then took her place on the couch, Hayate close by her side, and promptly fell asleep.

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Mustang woke in a numb state of what can only be classified as ignorance. He rolled onto his side, and reached a hand to his pulsing head, which was currently throbbing from the pain of a mild hangover. “Damnit... next time... less scotch...” he cursed to himself in a low tone, which registered to his hung-over mind as a loud yell. He groaned slightly in a fit of pain, before rolling to a state where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands cradled his face, and ran through his tousled, ebony hair. Roy let out a quick sigh, before his senses returned to him.

“Wha..? This isn’t my bed... Let alone my own house!“ he said aloud. Apparently, as a consequence to his excessive alcohol consumption, he had no inner monologue.  He looked around the room, recognizing nothing of his own possession.

He quickly pondered over the possibilities of where he could be, running all of everyone he knew through his mind. He decided to head out of the room to see who babysat him the entire night.

Mustang took no precaution, for he still didn’t know where he was. He slipped on a flame-array embroidered glove, snapping his fingers into an attack-ready position. He clumsily bounced himself off the walls of the stairway, still quite numb and disconnected from his body.

Nevertheless, he continued on his way.

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He couldn’t help but smirk that sly, sexy smirk when he found out who ad been watching over him. He had nervously fumbled his way downstairs, only to see a beautiful blonde lieutenant sleeping quietly on the couch, with a black ball of fur curled on her stomach.

Roy took this opportunity to observe his lieutenant in a seemingly calm state. He chuckled at the thought of his gun-slinging bodyguard resting, for she never took a rest at the office. His suppressed chuckle made her stir, and he immediately tensed and froze. ‘Oh, crap! Is she armed??’ his mind ran frantic as his eyes landed on a gun holster on her leg, his inner monolog returning to him. ‘Damn.’ was all he could think of to express his soon-to-be state of deadness.

Riza awoke to see a rather disorganized, fearful looking Colonel looking down at her. She immediately sat up straight, saluting her superior. In doing so, she disturbed the pup and sent him stumbling into the armrest of the couch.

“Morning, Sir.” she stated, formal as ever. This only made him chuckle a less-suppressed chuckle. “At ease, Hawkeye. I believe we are off-duty. Good morning to you, too.” was his response.

She looked up at her superior. “Care to explain?” she asked him. He looked at her with a rather dumbfounded expression. “Well, that’s actually what I was going to ask you. What exactly went on last night. I can barely remember the bar, but nothing else.” Riza noticed his apparent loss of all recollection of the past night, but that is to be expected when one downs multiple bottles of vile liquor.

“Well, sir, you got, to put it lightly, wasted last night at the bar near Headquarters. The bartender phoned me, saying that you were tanked, and that you had put me on your contact list in case you got drunk and needed a ride.”

“Oh...” was his only reply.  She stood up and crossed her arms across her chest. “Sir, why did you not tell me you were going through such a hard time. I mean Hughes--” He gave a small smile. “Was it that obvious?” he smirked; but instead of the usual devious smirk, it was more of a weak, forced smile. “Colonel, the bartender told me about how you removed Maes off the contact list, but not until a few weeks after his death,” She told him, both realizing his state of denial and disbelief. They both looked down at the hardwood flooring for a few long moments, not knowing what either should say.

“Roy.” she started off, still looking down at the floor. The sound of his first name felt good off her lips. “I-I know you are going through hell right now. But please-- stop these reckless habits.” He looked dead at her face, for her eyes were lowered. He walked toward her, arms opening to her. But if he had been thinking clearly, he would have anticipated her reaction. She took a single step back, stopping him dead in his tracks, his jaw agape.

“Sir. You must realize that what you did opens you for attack. Anyone could have waltzed into the bar saying they knew you. You could have landed in the wrong hands.” His spine shivered with the thought. She was completely right. There are sick people out there who hate either alchemists or dogs of the military. Mustang, being a combination of the two, wasn’t in good favor with some of the rebels.

“..Or worse.” she added on. “We have to be careful. Everyone in the military has to be. Ever since Maes.. his--” she slightly choked up for a  moment, struggling to regain her composure.

Roy finally realized something. The death of Maes Hughes broke not only his heart, but her’s as well. He was more than just a comrade to everyone he met. Mustang finally snapped back into his senses.

He tried again.

He walked toward her, opening his arms again to offer comfort. But this time, she surprised him by moving toward him, her hands encircling around his back. Still in a state of numb shock, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and waist, giving and receiving the comfort they both desperately needed.

Roy’s lips wandered across the top of her hair, gently kissing her golden strands. He could feel his shirt dampening slightly as Riza’s eyes welled up. She finally realized what was going on, and snapped into reality.

“Damnit Roy! I’m supposed to be mad at you!” she jeered at him, punching his chest. She had actually planned on a longer, meaner, well-aimed lecture, but her façade  crumbled under the pent-up pressure of her emotions.  

He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her tighter. She laughed as well, moving her hands across the thin white dress shirt on his back. Why be mad when you can enjoy a moment’s comfort in each other’s arms?