He would watch her sometimes, through half-lidded eyes, and think, distantly, that she looked very beautiful patiently going through the paperwork. He always felt slightly ashamed of himself for thinking of her that way, for putting her on the same level as the women he used, night after night, to hide his troubles in. Then he backed away from the thought, because it was a dangerous one. Thinking of her that way threatened to change too much.
But he did what he could, in little ways.
He watched her as she bent, stiff and formal as ever, to file the last sheaf of paperwork. By happenstance, when she straightened, their eyes met, and for a second neither of them broke the gaze.
These moments had always been the closest they ever got to a kiss. The chains of duty and honor--and maybe a little fear--kept the two of them apart as well as together. But he could do little things.
"Lieutenant," Mustang said.
"Sir?" Hawkeye had been working well into the night for over a week now. It was time to put a stop to this.
"Take tomorrow off," he said. At the look of protest in her eyes, he added, not letting his stern mask slip the slightest bit, "That is an order, Lieutenant."
Their eyes met again.
"Sir," she said, and that was that.