I don't own FMA
Hawkeye rummaged through her drawers, looking for the stash of chocolate she kept on hand for when she got cravings around a certain time of the month, but no matter how much she moved things around the chocolates were nowhere to be found.
She grumbled to herself as she closed the drawer and looked up at the clock. Seven hundred hours—she had plenty of time to do some investigating before anyone else showed up.
Without a second thought, she went to Mustang's desk and pulled a bobby-pin from her hair—suddenly glad for the quick lesson in lock-picking snipers received.
She grinned as the lock clicked and pulled the drawer open to find it full of the fountain pens Mustang preferred to use. Her eyes landed on a green pen and she snatched it up, glad to have her favorite pen back.
She closed the drawer, glad to hear the lock click back in place on it's own—re-locking it would have taken a while.
The rest of his desk was rather empty—a word search book and highlighters in one drawer, the chess set Grumman had given him in another, paper clips, rubber bands, and staples in the last drawer.
"I was sure it was him," she complained to herself as she walked over to Breda's desk.
Fuery looked over at Hawkeye as he entered the office, surprised by the thunk her pen made as she dotted an 'i'.
"Morning Lieutenant," he greeted.
She looked up at him, eyes hard and unreadable as she seemed to search him. "Morning Sergeant," she returned the greeting once she seemed to be through with her scrutiny.
As he sat down, she stood. "If anyone's looking for me, I'm on my break, Sergeant," she told him as she left the room.
He nodded, looking after her as she walked away. She disappeared from his sight and he heard a familiar chorus of hellos.
"Was Hawkeye late or something? She seems to be in a mood," Breda observed as he entered the office with Havoc and Falman on his heels. Havoc was staring down the hall and almost collided with Falman when the Warrant Officer stopped to hang his coat on the rack.
Fuery shook his head. "She must've gotten here early, she's taking her break already," he answered.
"Break, already? Doesn't she usually wait until…"Havoc trailed off, digging his cigarette box from his coat as he tried to remember when she usually took her break.
"Ten hundred fifteen hours," Falman filled in.
"And it's barely nine hundred hours," Havoc finished.
"Maybe she's got an errand to run," Fuery suggested.
"Who's got an errand to run?" Mustang asked as he walked in with a mug in hand.
"Hawkeye," Breda answered.
"Maybe," Fuery added. "She took an early break."
Mustang shrugged, feigning disinterest as he took a sip of his coffee.
Hawkeye made sure to make a scene of dumping the chocolates into her desk drawer, crinkling the bag as it emptied out.
Once all thirty two pieces were in the drawer, she slid it closed and continued reviewing the reports on her desk.
Once she finished with the marksmanship certificates that needed her signature, she made her way to the shooting range to take on another group hoping to get certified.
When she returned to the office, Mustang sat at his desk with a highlighter in his hand.
"Bored?" she asked, making him jump.
"It's easier to get done when everyone's gone," he explained as he scanned the puzzle.
"And paperwork isn't?" she asked.
He shrugged and put the cap back on the highlighter. "I guess I'll go join the others for lunch."
She grinned triumphantly at his fleeing back as he left her alone in the office.
She wasn't surprised to find there were only twenty nine chocolates in her desk, and did a quick inspection of the other desks, only to find they were all chocolate free.
Grumbling, she got a chocolate from her drawer, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth, tossing the wrapper in the trashcan under her desk.
Her eyes widened as she savored the sweet.
She pulled the trashcan up to her chair and grinned when she saw the only piece of trash in it—the wrapper she'd just discarded.
Sure she'd find her culprit, she pulled the trashcan out from under Mustang's desk, but it was empty. Breda's turned up a broken pen, Havoc's a cigarette butt, Falman's a finished crossword, and Fuery's some stripped cables.
Annoyed with her lack of evidence, she went to lunch.
Hawkeye was tired, all night she kept waking up with hare-brained ideas to find her thief.
She made a stop at the mess hall and got a cup of coffee hoping it would wake her up.
Once, she got to the office and switched on the lights, she stood in the doorway blinking in dismay at the coat hung on Mustang's chair. Finally, she realized he wouldn't have turned off the lights if he was there—he must have left it behind from the day before.
She set her coffee on her desk and took her coat off—the change from her coffee jingle in the coat pocket as she hung it on the rack. She stared at the coat for a moment—her brain trying to tell her something.
She reached out and shook her coat. The change jingled again, and she turned to look at Mustang's desk.
As she hurried over to his desk, she knew she had him. She dug her hand into his coat pocket, producing a collection of chocolate wrappers that pinned him as her thief.
Grinning, she extracted a bobby-pin from her hair and picked the lock on his drawer of pens again.
She made herself comfortable in his chair as she scrawled a hasty note and went to work taking each pen apart and removing the ink.
Once she was done, she locked the ransom not away with the empty pens and took the little tubes of ink to her locker.
Hawkeye was, for the first time in her career, too distracted to do her work. Instead, she kept glancing from Mustang and back to the same report over and over until he put away his word search and unlocked the drawer of pens. He picked out a red one and uncapped it. After a few moments of looking over a report, he tried to sign it, but only managed to make an indentation in the paper. He shook the pen and scribbled furiously on a piece of scratch paper, but got no result. He set the pen aside and picked up another one, only to get the same outcome.
He growled and the others looked over at him.
Finally, he found her note and his face paled.
"Hawkeye," he said, his voice a bit louder than usual.
"Need to borrow a pen, Sir?" she asked, her tone sharp and eyes challenging.
His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Yes."
She smiled and picked up the pen she'd set aside for him—one she was sure was about to run out of ink.
Not an hour later, he was grumbling again, furiously scribbling on his scratch paper again in hopes of getting the pen to work. He let out a cry of triumph as it started to work again. Hawkeye rolled her eyes.
Not ten minutes passed before he was grumbling again—this time he was shaking the pen. When he noticed she was smirking at him, he stopped. "Hawkeye, it's not funny," he complained.
She shrugged and went back to her work.
"Really?" he asked.
"Really, Sir," she replied, not looking up from her work.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I promise," he said hurriedly.
"Hmm, promise what?" she asked, raising her eyebrow as she looked over at him.
"Not to help myself to your chocolates," he huffed.
She nodded and left the office.
"Hawkeye, come back," he called after her.
She ignored his calls and continued down the hall.
When she returned to the office, everyone stopped their work and stared at her.
Havoc clapped as she dropped the handfuls of ink onto Mustang's desk. Breda snorted as he tried to hold back his laughter.
"I think I'll take my break now," Hawkeye said and walked back out of the office.
"Awesome," Havoc muttered as he stared after her.
"So you want to help me put them all back together?" Mustang snapped.
"You do the crime, you do the time, Boss," Havoc recited.
"Women and their chocolate," Mustang growled as he began taking his pens apart.
A.N.-Just something silly that popped into my head the other night. Thanks for reading!
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