Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy'd be a vampire & Riza'd be his Bella. And just for good measure if I owned the Olympics I'd give all the gold medals to me. But don't worry, you can have the silver and bronzes, sis. (thebluerainangel) :D.

Summary: Roy a manga artist and Riza a waiter that works next door?! AND they have to take the bus together to work EACH AND EVERY MORNING?! Hey! We may be onto something here!

chapter one; oh god it's my boss

EVERY MORNING, RIZA saw him on the bus.

Ruffled black locks which never appeared to be tame, burning onyx eyes that almost glared into the newspaper he was holding prisoner in one hand, coffee cup in the other (which apparently wasn't the best coffee, as his nose scrunched up almost every time he brought the item in question to his mouth). Sometimes, he would even fall asleep on the half hour ride to wherever it was that he went.

It was while he was asleep that she liked to run her eyes over him, as it would seem much too invasive if she analysed him and he caught her looking. His outfit most often consisted of silk black pants and a white button-up dress shirt, half-way buttoned up from the bottom, most of it's edges not tucked into his pants. Occasionally, he threw on different colours, blues that drew out his eyes, reds, and sometimes, even a black one (of which she thought he looked the best in, as it made his eyes seem almost startling against the blackness of his clothes and hair) when he felt daring. On his person, the man carried many notebooks, some of which he carried in his bag, some of which he stuffed into any available pocket, and some just hanging rather miserably clutched in his hand and falling all over the floor.

Every morning, he would mount the bus tiredly exactly two stops after hers. Their bus (she wasn't exactly sure when she had started addressing it as their bus as oppose to the bus, or her bus, even) ran every hour, not exactly a frequent bus as it ran in a rather empty part of the city. Therefore, she saw him every morning as there really was no option to take a bus at a different time.

Usually on the bus, there were few people. Four, maybe five. Occasionally, it was just the two of them and the bus driver, of whom was a tall blonde man with shining blue eyes. Usually, Riza couldn't stand people who smoked, but for some reason the cigar that was seemingly always in the man's mouth seemed almost friendly in its matter. (When she thought that, she figured the smell of his smoke must've gotten to her head) Still, she figured he was a rather forgetful man, as every time he stood, he would forget his tallness and bump his head on the top of the bus, as his driver's stand was elevated and he was rather tall. Every time this happened, the black haired man would cackle rather evilly and say, "You're such a dumbass, Havoc," or some other kind of insult, and in return the blonde, Mr. Havoc, would grin sheepishly and respond with a, "Shut up, Mr. Artist."

The 'Mr. Artist' seemed to be an insult, as the black haired man (whose name she had not yet found out) would glare at the bus driver before hopping off the bus to plop down on the bench in the bus station (as their destination was the last on the route of that particular bus).

She always wondered what it was that Mr. Artist did just sitting there, but she never waited long enough to find out as she was on her way to the Cafe to work.

So it was on this day, a rather rainy day, for that matter, than she was surprised to find the bus cruising by Mr. Artist's stop without stopping by to pick him up. She looked around, almost startled, to realize that he was not there at his stop. The bus rolled on for another thirty seconds while she settled in her seat at the back of the bus (which she sat in every day, he would sit in the one opposite of her) when she jumped up at the sound of something solid thump-ing against the back of the bus.

Peering out the window, she cocked an eyebrow at the rather comical sight before her.

Trailing the bus at a breakneck run, was the still quite sleepy looking Mr. Artist, bag, cup of coffee, and newspaper in his hands and his various papers in all their glory gracing his person. For a moment, all she could do was stare until he chucked a pencil at the bus. Startled, she called out to the bus driver, "Um. Mr Havoc? Uh.. well. That Mr. Artist is running after the bus.."

Mr. Havoc's eyes sought the man running after the bus through the mirror propped at the front of the bus, before a grin spread across his face, and he put on the brakes. Mr. Artist, rather surprised, stopped running just in time to not crash into the back of the bus. Hurrying, he rushed to the front of the bus, dropping the change into the bus' money collector thing, where he was greeted by a more-than-happy-to-tease-him Havoc. "Hey Mr. Artist. Training for the Olympics?"

"Shut up, Jean." He clomped rather heavily, (and soggily) to the back of the bus and plopped down on the seat in front of her, groaning. She regarded him almost daintily, his shoes were muddied and wet along with his pants, and his white (why did he have to wear a white shirt, today of all days?) was half-way see through due to the rain. (Riza OOC? Yes, I know. I apologize but it's much more interesting this way, and besides, who wouldn't want to look at Roy while his shirt's see through? :D)

Almost suddenly, one meridian eye cracked open, almost catching her staring. She could feel his gaze wandering up and down her, stopping at places she rather wished it didn't.

The bus stops came and went, and it was twenty minutes later that she dared to glance up again, and relieved to find that he was sleeping soundly, his eyes safely not on her. When the bus jolted to a halt by the station, she wasn't surprised when the driver, who jumped up even quicker than usual (probably so he could tease Mr. Artist) bumped his head again to the top of the bus.

This time, he barely noticed, and before Mr. Artist could open his mouth to say anything, Mr. Havoc grinned triumphantly, declaring proudly that he was going to tell his fellow bus drivers on Mr. Artist's latest misadventure.

Mr. Artist, shrugging tiredly, followed Havoc off the bus, and Riza quickly dashed off to the Cafe, knowing full well she was already late due to the traffic that their bus had gotten caught in.


"Riza! You have a delivery to make!" she groaned, turning to face her boss, Mr. Armstrong. She was a hardworker, but this was something else, after all, what sort of coffee shop actually went so far as to deliver their coffee personally?

Mr. Armstrong, in all his pink and shiny glory, propped his large hands on his hips, flexing muscles that showed quite clearly through the rolled up sleeves of his t-shirt (which she figured must have been a size XXXXXXXXL, he was quite bulky). "Miss Hawkeye, the skill of making and amicably delivering coffee to our grateful customers has been passed down for generations in the Armstrong family! You should be honoured to be helping the citizens of Amestris with this show of public service!" With that, her one haired boss strided confidently out of the room, speaking proudly to his office about how wonderful it was to be serving the citizens of Amestris.

She almost jumped when his head, the host of one blonde hair and lots of shining things, popped out of his office and remarked, "And don't worry, Miss Hawkeye, the delivery's just next door. It's the office where those manga artists work! Fullmetal Alchemist Co.! In fact, my sister, Olivier Armstrong, works there! The art of drawing manga has been passed down-"

She ducked out of the Armstrong Cafe before she could drown in his family tree.


Large cup of coffee in hand, in didn't take her long to find the specific little room she was looking for. Apparently the cup of coffee was addressed to some Mr. Roy Mustang. Pushing open the door, she strided sourly into the room - only to step, and slip on a couple of pencils lying on the floor.

Full prepared to land on the floor (and pencils) and probably have the coffee spill on her, the way her luck was going, the last thing she expected was the warm hands that enclosed around her torso, and the muffled sound of surprise as she (and her would-be catcher) tumbled backwards.

Groaning as she picked herself up, she turned around, subtly noticing that she hadn't spilled a drop of the coffee, only to glance into the midnight blue eyes she'd inspected earlier that morning. It didn't take her long to figure out who they belong to.


"Yep, me. Oh, it's you. The girl on the bus."

Barely noticing the fact that he was still lying on the floor, elbows propped under him so that he was at an angle, and that she was still quite between his legs, she smiled almost ruefully, having recovered from the shock of finding out that the mystery Mr. Artist she had been analysing every day on her trip to work had been, in fact, merely a building away from where she worked, "Um.. the art of making and delivering coffee has been passed down for generations in the Armstrong line?"

"Roy Mustang. What did I say about bringing girls into the office?" a voice from outside Mr. Mustang's office commented.

Roy's face paled considerably, well, as much as it could considering his face already had a rather pale complexion, "Oh god. It's my boss."

Author's Note: AND. I'll leave you there for now. Who's Roy's mystery boss? BRADLEY? FALMAN? SHESKA?! Haha. You'll have to wait to find out. :D. I apologize for the OOC-ness of the characters, but it makes the story so much more.. fun.


Review and I'll tell either Roy/Riza to come visit you, tonight. ;D. (Although there are no guarantees as to what'll happen when the other comes to claim him/her back).