Riza Hawkeye sat at her desk, paperwork spread out neatly before her, and thought about the gun in her desk. There was not supposed to be a gun in her desk - the pieces in her shoulder-holster and at her hip were all she was officially supposed to have.
But those guns were for protecting the Fuhrer. The gun in her desk was for killing him.
Every day, Riza came into the office and sat down at her place at the far end of the room, facing King Bradley's desk. She pulled whatever paperwork needed doing towards the front and worked on it until the Fuhrer came in, at which time he sent her to one task or another. After that came more paperwork. And each moment she was near him, Riza Hawkeye watched Bradley and thought about the gun in her desk.
Looking up from the file in front of her, the blond's sharp eyes landed on the Fuhrer's bent form. This was the fourth time in a month that Riza had caught the man - the homunculus - not watching her. Her hand began to creep towards the drawer.
The last three times she had inched her way towards the gun in her desk, the Fuhrer had briskly called for her to go on an errand or fetch a file or the like, all without looking up. She had a sneaking suspicion he knew about the gun in the bottom left drawer, or at least about her intentions - after all, she was still the colonel's second, even now, and Bradley had to know it.
Still, as the drawer whispered smoothly open and Riza's hand slipped in, she allowed herself to feel a flash of triumph. She would have to run fast and hide well once she killed him, of course, and she'd probably be caught and executed anyway. But Roy Mustang could then rise to the top and help Amestris - and that was worth any price.
Now the gun was on her lap, comfortable and familiar in her grip. Riza looked down at it for a moment, and then, ever so carefully, took the safety off.
Riza looked up.
Her face had settled into a cold calm as her fingers had touched the gun in her desk, barely flickering as the thoughts of success flitted through her mind. But as she began to bring up the gun, that interior calm shattered, and though her face ramined still, her hand halted in its motion to bring the piece to bear. It trembled slightly in its stillness where it was sheilded by the lip of the desk.
King Bradley had raised his head and looked straight at her. Their gazes locked, and for a moment all was still, though Riza's hand continued to shake.
And then he smiled, and looked back down to his work.
Her chest rising as she took a slow, shallow breath, Riza Hawkeye put the gun carefully back into her desk.
AN: This is the writing equivalent of a doodle for me: quick and easy and if not completely correct than still nice to look at. Hah. Riza's a lot of fun to write for.
Thank you to Yellow Mask for beta-ing (: