All characters © Arakawa Hiromu

Note: my first ever FMA fic. Also experimenting with second person.


Toys in the Attic

"Colonel…"

This is the second time this month you have woken him up in his office. Roy doesn't mind that you've seen him dozing; however, he doesn't seem partial to the disorientation that follows upon waking.

"What is it, Lieutenant Hawkeye?" He rubs quickly at his eyes whose scleras have turned a bleary red from sleeping during the daytime. Before he can reach for his coffee, you gently move the mug out of his grasp. A frown decorates your features as you do so.

"I think you've had quite enough, Sir," you tell him. At this Roy grumbles sourly, heaves a sigh, and stretches, wincing visibly as the taught muscles in his back protest against the cold hardness of his armchair.

"Can't let good coffee go to waste, Lieutenant," he protests, running a hand over his dark, nitid hair. "Save it for later."

"I've never known you to be a caffeine addict, Sir," you reply. "Anything you wish to tell me? You're also not one to keep toys in the attic."

Roy blinks up at you, eyes adjusting better to the light of the room. "You mean skeletons in the closet," he tells you.

"Are they not the same thing?"

"Far from it, Lieutenant." Roy fingers a chess piece standing on his desk, which ironically, is the white queen. It stands out, juxtaposed harshly against the darkening sky outside the windows of Central. "Don't ask me why Amestrian idioms are so puzzling. Though… I suppose here in the military, we all have toys in the attic," he muses with a cool chuckle, twirling the queen upside-down.

"It's another way for saying that the lights are on, but nobody's home," Roy adds, resisting the urge to twirl a finger around his ear. He knows you will get the message without the benefit of such trifle gestures.

That you do, and respond with a laconic "I see." Whatever you were going to say next is drowned out by the crescendo of rainfall on the Central building. You observe that it has begun to pour at an alarming rate, showering the earth with skywater belched out from the clouds above.

Mustang rubs his temples slowly. "How I detest the rain," he groans. "Why don't I just go back to sleep? Hand me that mug, Lieutenant."

"With all due respect Sir, I think that is a bad idea," you reply, your gloved hands clamped firmly and unmoving around the mug of cold coffee. "I'll hold on to this for now," you continue, with a little smile, as your superior raises an eyebrow.

You actually like the rain, though it's something you dare not mention to him. It isn't because of the fresh-earth smell in its wake, the soft patter of droplets hitting the ground, or the cool pepper-grays of the sky during a storm.

No, it is precisely because the Colonel hates the rain that you like it.

He is weak then; it is only when the sky is tenebrous that you, Riza Hawkeye, can feel some inkling of power over Roy.

"Your skeletons in the closet wouldn't have anything to do with the current weather?" you ask him after a clap of thunder makes his eyes snap open in alarm.

Roy smiles faintly, folding his arms. "You know me well, Lieutenant." A hand breaks the fold a second later to stifle a yawn—something you are sure he would never allow himself to do in the presence of anyone else.

"I know you don't drink this stuff unless you're feeling restless," you answer as a smile of your own blooms. The coffee sloshes around in its mug as you hold it up. "You really are useless when it rains, Sir."

Roy's smile turns sheepishly into a grin, and his shoulders hunch in a jocund shrug.

"I suppose this won't get me out of paperwork then?"

End.