A collection of a few short pieces, all having to do with Havoc/Hughes/Mustang and a slashy relationship.



"Hide and seek," said the note on the end table next to the coat rack. "Count to one hundred. Come find us."

Roy and Maes would probably never give him a break, Havoc decided as he threw open the closet door. They were a pair of nuts, but Havoc indulged them anyway, even after nearly taking a bullet for Roy when the man failed to do finish the stack of papers which had to be finished before lunch. That was some ingratitude.

In fact, it was almost enough ingratitude to make him put an end to their little game of hide and seek and go home. Except Roy and Maes were terrible at the game.

Havoc stalked toward the bedroom at the sound of the crash. He wondered what they had broken, but at least it wasn't his place they were destroying this time. He threw the bedroom door open with the same force he had used to tackle the hall closet.

Why they hid behind the curtains was his first question, but he forgot it as soon as he yanked them aside.

Maes was flushed, but he still echoed the smirk that spread across Roy's face. Roy had yanked the top half of Maes' uniform off, but the sight that really made Havoc change his mind about going home was the cord of the drapes wrapped around his wrists, holding his hands above his head.

"It looks like you win, Jean."



"Just because you're used to something doesn't mean you're not afraid of it," Hughes said. He reached for Roy Mustang, but the stubborn young man shrugged out of his grasp.

"And what do you think I'm afraid of, Maes?" Roy asked angrily.

Hughes sighed. "Waking up."

"That's ridiculous," Roy snorted. "I wake every day. If I was afraid of it I simply wouldn't do it, but I'm not. I woke up this morning."

He rolled off the bed. The way he bgan to pull on his clothes in steeled-lip silence told him he should have kept that little observation to himself. His friend wouldn't confess to that fear, not sober at least. Roy was past that. The bathroom door swung open and Hughes realized that the shower had stopped its pitter-patter in the background. It surprised him that Jean Havoc was an early riser, no matter what he had done the night before. The blonde also surprised him with his rather sharp observations. He made Hughes wonder, out of respect, if Warrant Officer Havoc wouldn't make a good intelligence man.

That was why I picked him, ughes thought, at least subconsciously. He reminds me of me.

Havoc sat down beside Roy and stopped him from buttoning his crisp, slightly rumpled white shirt. Both Roy and Maes understood the quiet question in his eyes. Roy reacted to stiffle it. He pulled Havoc's lips to his with a hand behind his head.

Perhaps Havoc was too much like Maes Hughes. The man pulled away too quick from what Roy wanted with the same burning question on his fair features, and Roy looked disgusted. He stood from the edge of the bed and headed to the bathroom Havoc has vacated.

"Roy?" Jean said.

"Don't analyze me," Roy Mustang growled back, and the door slammed.

Maes let out the breath he had been holding and began to paw through the bed sheets. "He's alright. Don't worry about it." Yet Havoc's look said he did worry. "It's alright."

"You'd know," Havoc replied with a dull shrug.

"And why's that?" Hughes asked. "You think because I've known him longer that you don't know just as well as I do that this is just how Roy is?"

Havoc cocked his head to the side. "Don't analyze me either, sir."



"I'm not feeling guilty," Hughes thinks, even as he looks away from the way Roy is romancing Jean because it suddenly stings his eyes. "I'm not feeling guilty."

They don't know that he has slipped a letter, more a note than a letter actually, into Roy's coat pocket, and that he's going to leave after dinner. They don't know that he feels so casual about everything, and that he only feels bad about it because he shouldn't feel so casual. All the passion and adoration that they pollute the bedroom with meant so little to him that he can drop it so quickly and simply. It will all be alright though, because they really are more in love with each other than they are with him. He's made sure of that. His plans always included a family, a traditional family with a wife and a kid or two. A little angel to spoil rotten and a little slugger to play ball with.

He is not feeling guilty about leaving them because he put them together for this occasion. As hard as he always nagged, he knows Roy is never going to want the quaint family life. That's why he engineered this perfect set up for his friend, to be free to do what he's wanted every time they crawled between the sheets. When Roy finds out, Jean will be there, and he might not know Jean very well, didn't want to get attached, but he's satisfied that Jean is a good man for his best friend to depend on.

He might miss them, will miss them, but he is not feeling guilty. Roy and Jean work much better together. They are happy and smiling and affectionate over dinner. They're past that awkward fast-paced phase, that hard phase that he remembers guiding them through, pulling out his hair over. They're ready for it.

And he does not feel guilty.

He is not feeling guilty.

He is feeling bad that he doesn't feel guilty, but he is not feeling guilty.

He has finished his dinner. If he was feeling guilty, his plate would be full, but it is empty. He has somewhere else to be.

He tells them so, and thinks the feeling creeping up his spine might be guilt at the quizzical look that Jean, of the two of them, Jean, gives him, but it can't be guilt. He crafted this too carefully to feel guilty, after all.

They'll miss him tonight.

But he still can't feel guilty.