Disclaimer: This story is not for profit; FMA and its characters are not mine, because this is the sort of thing I would do to them.

A/N: This is a guilty pleasure Roy gets jealous fic, because sometimes I want to read one, and I haven't found that many that I enjoy. (If you guys have any recs, please let me know!) Oh, and for those of you die-hard Royai/Havocai fans... this story is def. slanted more towards Roy and Riza character development wise, but that doesn't mean that they wind up together. Or that they don't. For suspense's sake, I'm not telling who ends up with who, but please know that I have the utmost affection for all the characters involved, and even though this is a guilty pleasure triangle-ish fic, it will certainly not be a lopsided triangle. It's totally equilateral. (Geometry FTW!)

Oh, and the rating might go up later. I'll keep ya'll updated.

He buttoned his uniform with precision; the routine had been set in basic training, and his fingers moved across the stiff blue fabric in seconds. He could transform himself from a dead sleep- or something like sleep, in any case- into a polished military man, ready for his morning march, in less than two minutes, if necessary. If he had needed to disassemble, clean, polish, and reassemble his rifle, then it would take another minute and a half (...it took Hawkeye less than a minute, but he tried not to let that deflate his ego too much, seeing as how he hadn't touched one since basic. Roy favored his semi-automatic pistol if he couldn't reach his gloves in time). The important thing, he mused, raking his fingers through his hair to straighten it from its chaotic state, was that he could get dressed quickly. It had saved him grief in the military academy, saved his life in war, and...

The footsteps increased in volume and C- (Carly, Carol...it was something with a C, perhaps a K, oh, hell, maybe that was her friend's name) pulled the sheets over her head with a screech. "He's going to kill you!"

Roy pulled the window open and slid his foot out onto the ledge.

As he surveyed his future drop, he momentarily wished he'd gone home with her friend, but then again, there wasn't any guarantee he wouldn't have wound up in the same situation. It was becoming an occupational hazard; beautiful young women who were angry with their boyfriends/husbands/both were all too eager to seduce a charming colonel into their beds, provided he be there in the morning to make their men sufficiently jealous.

They hadn't even made it to morning, at least in Roy's opinion, this time. He cursed under his breath at the hard landing - he'd leapt two stories to his freedom (and due to operational considerations, he never spent the night anywhere above two stories. He wasn't scared of heights, not at all, just... appropriately cautious.)

"Come back here, you bastard!"

Roy waved, but did not linger. It might have been cowardly to run, but he couldn't afford to be shot in the back by a jealous man. He had too many plans, all of which required him to be alive long enough to face trial. Twelve of them could draw straws for the pleasure of shooting him at that point, but until then he had treason to plot.

"Good morning, Colonel."

Roy saluted his blond lieutenant jauntily. She was never taken by surprise, even when she found her commanding officer panting in an alley in full uniform at oh-four-hundred, and on a Saturday, no less. Then again, they'd known each other for a long time. Her early rise was slightly more suspicious, especially considering the part of town she was leaving, but then again, she'd always been an insanely early morning person. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Just getting in my morning run."

She frowned. "Are you being chased, sir?"

"Where would you get that idea?"

She tilted her head and leveled him with her calm, studious gaze. He looked at his shoes. They needed polishing; he had scuffed them in his fall. "Maybe you should run more often. You sound out of breath."

"Thanks for the suggestion, Lieutenant."

She smirked. "I live to serve, Colonel."

Hawkeye had meant the remark humorously, and he smiled in response, but he felt something in his heart twist as the words left her lips.

"Jean asked me to tell you that you're not invited to his birthday party anymore, since you asked out that secretary he likes."

"What is he, four?" Roy scoffed. He wanted to add, and since when are you two on a first name basis, but he didn't really want to know. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he suspected, if Havoc was still getting touchy when Roy asked out 'his' women. Maybe they were just friends. If that changed, or when, he would deal with it, just as she dealt with running into him in alleys. At least this time he was relatively sober.

"Sometimes I wonder."

He detected a note of fondness in her reproach, and he felt like he was hitting the ground all over again. "What are you doing up so early?" he asked.

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged. "I'd ask the same of you, but I'm guessing that I probably don't want to know the answer."

He knew that she wouldn't, so he smiled instead. "Coffee? My treat."

He offered his arm, and she shook her head.

He looped his arm through hers anyway, and her eyes crinkled almost imperceptibly in amusement.

She didn't giggle like most of the other women, and she barely even smiled. He liked that about her, and he hated himself for that. She should be laughing. She should have more to look forward to in life than the end of it. Maybe he was projecting.

"We can take it to go. I thought we'd finish up some paperwork since you're already dressed," she suggested practically as she gently removed her arm.

"How else would I spend a Saturday?"

"I think he's drooling."

"Please don't take a picture. He actually finished the oversight forms for last quarter, and I don't want him to associate working with humiliation."

"I see," Havoc grinned. "Positive reinforcement. We'll save the pictures for when he slacks off on duty, huh."

She nodded so resolutely he wanted to kiss her, but he'd been smoking that morning, so he settled for tugging lightly on her hair clip.



She stepped aside. "If you're going to stay here, file these for me."

Not in front of the Colonel, her eyes chastised. And her wrinkled nose clearly accused, You've been smoking! Defeated, he took the papers and half-heartedly shoved them into the semi-appropriate folders. He remembered when Falman had nearly scratched his eyes out for mis-filing some of Fullmetal's case reports.

"What were you thinking?" Falman had screeched, clutching at his precious folders.

"He doesn't think at all," Breda had contributed to the argument.

"That's not nice," Kaine had chastised quietly. Havoc liked that kid.

Havoc had narrowed his eyes at Falman. "Warrant Officer Falman," he had bellowed authoritatively, "I am your superior, and if I decide to file documents creatively then you will adjust to my methods as required, or else I will submit a full report to our commanding officer."

Falman laughed, and Havoc snatched a pen off of Fuery's desk and documented his abuse with a twitching eye.

Later, after he'd slid his report under the Colonel's nose, Mustang tried admirably to keep his eyes off of the clock and focused on his subordinate. "So what's Falman's problem?"

"Uh. Well, you know how Fullmetal Boss has so many expense reports?"

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled in response.

"Yeah," Havoc cleared his throat. "Well. So, they've been taking an awful lot of room, and his personnel file was about to burst, so I just started shoving them into the folder for the budget plan for the 15th district. You know, know one ever looks at those things anyway, and, uh, I just remember 'B' for Boss, and the fifteen for his age."

Mustang had shrugged. "Say it's 'B' for Bean if Fullmetal asks, and I say it's official policy. Tell Falman linear thinking is overrated, and if he has such a problem with it, then he can do all the filing in the office for the rest of the year."

The Colonel was a good boss, as far as Havoc was concerned. Even if he drooled over reports because he'd spent the night before involved in some debauchery. "Want me to drive him home?"

Hawkeye studied the slumped form, trying to decide if he had anymore work left to wring out of him. "Wait until he wakes up."

"You're a slave-driver."

Her lips curved into a small, private smile."...Is that so?"

Not in front of the Colonel, not in front of the Colonel, not in front...hell. "Not that I don't like it, of course."

He'd closed the distance between them until he nearly pinned her against the desk, waiting for the inevitable knee to his groin, but instead received a kiss so blistering he opened one eye to ensure that the Colonel hadn't woken up and set him ablaze for touching his Lieutenant. "Jean," she breathed against his lips, "I think you should drive the Colonel home."

"I'd rather take you home," he began to murmur, but she had already expertly extricated herself from his grasp.

"Then maybe you should quit smoking."

He hung his head. "It's like a sailor and the sea-"

"Sailors spend a lot of time in the company of other men," a silky voice observed, causing Havoc to jump nearly three feet into the air, and Hawkeye to...

Havoc narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Hawkeye remained outwardly as calm as ever, and moved to file some more reports.

"Uh, good morning, Boss."

Mustang stretched like a cat, and Havoc watched him warily. "I've been told I'm no longer invited to your birthday party because you have a crush on one of the secretaries I took out last Friday."

"One of them?"

Mustang did not elaborate.


Mustang's eyes remained on his other lieutenant, and Havoc felt his stomach sink. "You'll have to forgive me if I appear to be poaching, Havoc, but it seems as if you're in possession of quite a few crushes."

Havoc was reminded of how the farm cats back home liked to play with their prey. He knows. He saw, and he knows, and now I'm a dead man. Riza never spoke much of their commanding officer, but he'd seen his boss' gloves enough times to recognize those same images entwined in his lover's intricate tattoo.

No, Riza never spoke very often with regards to Mustang, but when she did...A flash of uncharacteristic jealousy coursed through Havoc's gut, and he finally caught his superior's steady gaze. "Just one at the moment, sir, and she's certainly not a secretary."

Mustang steepled his fingers underneath his chin, and his gaze sharpened enough that Riza stepped surreptitiously in between the two men, ostensibly to reorganize a pile of forms on the colonel's desk.

Mustang smiled brightly and Havoc's shoulders sagged. The man was giving him emotional whiplash.

"I'm glad to hear that, Lieutenant. Marie has been looking forward to your party for the past week, and she would be crushed if I couldn't attend with her."

"Mar- you're bringing my ex-girlfriend to my birthday party?"

Mustang released an exaggerated yawn. "One date does not a girlfriend make, Lieutenant. Although I could reconsider my choice if it would make your current companion uncomfortable."

Havoc forced a smile. "I'm sure she would appreciate the courtesy, Colonel."

"So I take it she'll be at your party, then?"

Havoc froze with his mouth open, and wondered how he'd been maneuvered into this trap.

Mustang's eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you having a stroke, Lieutenant?"

"N-no, I uh..."

The colonel cursed underneath his breath. "Breathe, Havoc."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll just say that she won't be there, yes? I don't blame you for wanting to keep her from meeting me," Mustang smirked with self-satisfaction, but Havoc appreciated the explanation.

"That's absolutely correct, sir."

"I'm glad that's finally settled. Now, are you doing anything here besides wasting payroll?"

"Filing, sir."

"How about you grab us some more coffee instead?" Mustang handed him some sens. "I'd like to actually be able to locate some of these documents the next time we get audited. Oh, and could you pick up my dry-cleaning, too? And some lunch. I'm partial to the sandwich place down the street, ask for Marina, she knows what Hawkeye and I like. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Havoc forced a smile. "Pleasure's all mine, Boss."

He kept the smile on his face until he reached his car and collapsed into the front seat. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's just irritated at having to work on a Saturday. He can't really read minds, I don't think.

Havoc looked back at the office and saw Mustang wave from the window.

Oh, he knows. He knows he knows he knows.

Havoc slammed his head against the steering wheel with a loud thunk, and the horn blared. He stayed like that for several seconds, and then he put the car in reverse.

He'd pick up the dry-cleaning first, and the coffee last. Mustang liked his coffee hot.