Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.

Theme: 001. Military Personnel

Dedication: momiji-k, an unthanked and brilliant constructive critisiser of Pocketwatch. Thankyou for the wonderful review.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Armstong would wear a wonderbra.

001. Military Personnel

Their rythmn was a routine.

It would arise with a tap. Tip, tap. Tip, tap. The steady beat of Lieutenant Heymans Breda tapping his fingers on the metal canteen table of the mess hall from sheer boredom. His eyes would shift upwards, looking at Roy then to Riza. Over, over and over until they both felt as though he was doing it on purpose.

Then would come the steady sound of breathing. In, out. In, out. The smooth sound of Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc would come as he took long drags from a cigarette which was non-existant most of the time, yet some felt inclined to still imagine was there. He would look up, smiling at them lopsidedly and spontaneously. Neither knew what to say.

A small shift of a seating position would come, then the sound of pushing glasses further up a nose to prevent them from completely slipping off. Flick. Flick. Flick. It would distract them both into looking up, wondering where it was coming from. Once in a while meeting the eyes of one another, but then looking away quickly once more in hope of finding an inanimate object to be a distraction. Sergeant Kain Fuery would smile at this predicament he created each time.

A click of knuckles. Crunch, click. Crunch, click. Major Alex Louis Armstrong would pull at his fingers, making sure that his fingers were not stiff from his fork being poised in the same position for such a long time as he had paused from thought and the food had never quite managed to travel to his mouth. She was sure he would get athritis because of that habit one day. So was he, although he would never admit she was right.

The Warrant Officer Vato Falman would make no noise, just watching his companions as they made a rythmn of the usual noises one heard in a day spent with them. He remained silent, knowing that there was one thing missing. The sound of a click when a camera flashed, or moving material when a certain man had shoved pictures of his child under their noses. Although he had annoyed them slightly, he knew that they all missed him. So he would honour him with his silence.

Then she would leave the mess hall in annoyance, to return back to the steady rythmn of shuffling his unfinished paperwork and every so often he would follow her. He did not even know why he did so. But every so often, he would look up from his desk at her face calming after the storm as she shuffled papers quietly and began to create her own rythmn. Seeing her looking so at peace with herself, tranquil in her own little world where nothing could harm her. Because she was Riza Hawkeye, master sniper. He was Roy Mustang, the flame alchemist. He would never let anything happen to her, or so she hoped. It was definately in those moments he knew why he followed her, he thought with a crafty smile as he walked over to her desk.

For the rythmic sound she would make as she gasped when he tried to kiss her yet again, not really caring that he was breaching the code of conduct. Breaking professionalism.

The military personnel would never achieve the same rythmn as them.

He knew that for a fact.

Well, I finally started my RoyxRiza one hundred themes. I know this title currently makes no sense, but it all shall in due course. Only ninety-nine drabbles left out of one hundered. I like those odds.

Preview for theme two: Although she liked her aim and loved her weapons like children, she never grew quite accustomed to the sound of a gunshot.

Reviewers are loved.