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Gossip was eternal and inevitable. It had existed long before taxes and if humans could speak in the afterlife, it would outlast death. For as long as three people resided in the same general area there has been gossip.
The Amestrain army is not immune to this phenomenon. Juicy bits of gossip can always be found floating around the canteen and officer’s lounge. Examples of favorite topics included Armstrong’s sexuality and the eternal rumor that female members would be required to wear skirts soon (no one ever had a specific date).
Currently, the hot topic was Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and Colonel Roy Mustang. Specifically, the exact nature of their relationship. Not were they or were they not sleeping together, it was almost an established fact that they were. That was old news. The real conversation was whether they were dating or had a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Other’s still suggested that one of them was blackmailing the other.
The members of the Mustang Unit steered clear of that particular topic of discussion, much to their peers chagrin. They knew the truth, and they didn’t want it getting out. Even amongst themselves, they only talked about it in vague whispers and innuendos.
Hawkeye and Mustang have never told any of them in a direct statement that they were an item but if you watched them for long enough, it was obvious. It was nothing overt; they were too smart for that. Each member of the unit had seen something that they considered to be irrefutable proof that the two were more than just long-time friends or particularly close coworkers.
***
Fuery was often the first person in the office every day. It wasn’t by choice that he showed up before sunrise every morning but it was his duty to receive the first reports of the day. And those things came in damn early.
Like clockwork, every day, as he was scribbling down the last of the briefing, Hawkeye would shuffle into their office. A stack of papers in hand, already organizing them by order of importance. She’d mumble something that passed for a greeting and sit down at her desk to continue shuffling through her papers.
By the time Fuery was finished translating his messily scrawled shorthand notes into a full morning report, Mustang would stride into the office. He always had two cups of coffee.
With no ceremony, he would set one mug down on Hawkeye’s desk and then proceed to his own desk as though nothing had happened. It would take Riza a moment or so to realize what had taken place but once she did, she would drop whatever report or briefing she was reading to scoop up the mug.
She would hold the mug close to her face and inhale deeply through her nose. Then she would take a small sip, letting her eyes fall closed as she savored the flavor. Slowly her eyes would open and she would smile softly at Mustang. He would give her a small smile back before busying himself with the leftover work from yesterday.
From behind the communications array Fuery saw Mustang and Hawkeye’s morning ritual. It always made him feel like he was intruding but at the same time it warmed his heart.
Even if someone held a gun to his head Fuery didn’t think he could name another person that Mustang would willingly bring a cup of coffee, unprompted, every morning. In the same vein, he couldn’t come up with anyone that Hawkeye would accept one from. Not because she feared poisoning but because she was very particular about how she took her coffee. Fuery didn’t know the specifics but apparently Mustang did and could successfully produce a cup of coffee to Hawkeye’s standards.
It made Fuery wonder how long it had taken for Mustang to be able to do that. That didn’t seem like the kind of thing someone learned overnight. More likely it was something learned over a series of lazy mornings spent together.
***
Havoc spent almost all of his duty day doing one of two things, running various “errands” for Mustang or trailing after him and Hawkeye to meetings. The second part of his job gave him plenty of time to observe the two.
His observations had shown him they were much closer than officers and subordinates usually were. Not in the finish each other’s sentences way, though Havoc had witnessed that on more than one occasion, Hawkeye seemed to understand what a rambling speech of Mustang’s meant, even though he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. And that seemed close to the same thing.
But their closeness also manifested in another way.
Hawkeye seemed to be able to effortlessly predict the Colonel’s every action. Or to be more accurate, she always seemed to have whatever he was forgetting. Havoc didn’t just mean spark gloves either. Everyone in the army knew Hawkeye always had at least one spare pair on her person at all times and a box of them in her military issued vehicle.
No, what Havoc meant was the little things she always seemed to have for him. A spare pen for signing documents when the meeting should not have required any signatures. The exact document that needed to be given to someone they passed in the hall. Things that Havoc could not figure out how she knew Mustang would need.
But the most impressive thing was the way she always had an excuse for getting Mustang out of social engagements he didn’t want to attend. Havoc’s favorite example of this was anything to do with Major Armstrong’s social calls.
Armstrong was forever trying to get Mustang to join him for lunch or for a formal dinner with his family. Every time he asked, it never failed that whatever date or time Armstrong picked Hawkeye had a conveniently timed meeting or function that Mustang must attend.
Havoc had a good idea of Mustang’s comings and goings, and on more than one occasion he knew Mustang had nothing scheduled. Or if he had something it wasn’t anything of great importance.
Sometimes, Mustang would ask Hawkeye if they could rearrange the meeting and she would reluctantly agree. As though it was a great burden to her to move the non-existent meeting.
Havoc couldn’t predict the actions of his own mother with the accuracy Hawkeye could predict Mustang’s. Every day, the way she seemed to know what he would remember and what he would forget baffled him. In Havoc’s mind this was all the proof he would ever need that they were dating.
***
Breada worked late nights on a depressingly regular basis. It was a killer for his social life but necessary for his line of work. Information knew nothing of time and it was not uncommon for essential information to come in late at night.
He wasn’t the only one in their unit that worked late nights. Hawkeye had a habit of insisting that the mountain of paperwork on her desk needed to be cleared before she would leave the office. Most nights it was just one report or a handful of papers that needed to be signed. Some nights though, the amount that had piled up during the day was way too much to finish in a reasonable amount of time.
On these nights, Breada got to witness something special and something that was intensely private.
Hawkeye was a confirmed workaholic. She would refuse to leave the office if even a piece of work was still on her desk. She would cheerfully wish good night to Fuery, Havoc and Falman as they filed out for the day and then turn back to her own work with intense focus.
In his years working for Mustang, he had never seen leave at the end of the day without Hawkeye. Even on nights when it looked like Hawkeye would be working straight through to the morning, Mustang wouldn’t leave without her. On those nights, he would work on his own projects at his desk until he became restless. Then, he would begin the slow process of peeling Hawkeye away from her desk.
It happened in a routine way.
First, Mustang would mention that he was hungry. Most of the time, Hawkeye didn’t react to this statement. Mustang would wait about five minutes before suggesting he and Hawkeye go to one of their favorite restaurants. Sometimes, Hawkeye would actually respond. She always told him that he could get something from the canteen if he was that hungry, but most times she didn’t answer. Breada never could figure out if she was ignoring him on purpose or if she was that absorbed in her work.
The second act of Mustang’s routine involved bothering Hawkeye. He always waited thirty minutes after suggesting food before getting up from his desk to perch on the side of Hawkeye’s. This usually earned him a glare from her but he would ignore it.
Then, he would fiddle with things on her desk. Moving her pencil cup around, making a paper clip chain, or picking up papers to riffle through them. Hawkeye always had to break her concentration to put things back the way she liked them. A glare, directed at Mustang, always accompanied this break in concentration.
Once he had her sufficiently off track, Mustang would stand up and walk around behind Hawkeye. For a minute he would read what she was working on over her shoulder. Sometimes he even made a comment on it. But inevitably, he would lean over and whisper something in her ear.
Breada had very good hearing, it was practically essential for his job, and yet he never heard whatever it was that Mustang whispered to Hawkeye. He was fairly sure he didn’t want to know either.
But whatever it was that he said was just enough to motivate Hawkeye into abandoning her work. She never showed any physical reaction to Mustang’s words. No smile, no flash of anything in her eyes. She simply stood up, started stacking her paperwork and gathering her things before the two of them were traipsing out of the office with a ‘Goodnight, Breada’ tossed over their shoulders.
Breada would always shake his head before going back to his own work. Who did those two think they were fooling?
***
Falman spent the most time in the actual office than anyone else in the unit. Fuery came in a close second but even he went into the field at least once a week. There were months where the only time Falman left the office during the duty day was for lunch.
It was for this reason Falman thought he was only one of two people aware of one of Mustang’s quirks.
For all they joked, Mustang was not one to shirk his duties and responsibilities. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He threw himself into his work with gusto and all the while plotting for his own goals. When he was truly absorbed in a project, he would forget to eat entirely.
This habit had worried Falman when he first noticed it but before he could decide what he should do about it, he noticed something else.
If Mustang let too much time pass between meals, Hawkeye would drop off a piece of fruit, or a sandwich and a glass of water with her next delivery of reports. Even if she had spent the whole day out of the office, she seemed to know when Mustang was on one of his binges.
Mustang always accepted the food with a nod, blindly reaching for whatever it was Hawkeye brought without taking his eyes from his work. He always ate if Hawkeye brought him the food, but if any of the rest of him put anything down, he ignored it. It was troublesome when Hawkeye was out of town for a mission. Falman swore Mustang lost ten pounds when one of Hawkeye’s absences corresponded with a week long work binge.
The first time he noticed, he passed it off as a one time fluke. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was a regular thing. Now, Falman expected it. As soon as he realized that Mustang hadn’t gotten up from his desk for hours, he started watching the door for Hawkeye.
Falman thought it was sweet. He’d like a girl to care for him that much one day. If by some strange twist of fate, Mustang wasn’t already dating Hawkeye, he needed to wake up and smell the coffee. He would be hard pressed to find another girl willing to put up with his personality and workaholic nature.
***
Roy rolled over in bed and was greeted by blonde hair. Pushing aside the lingering guilt from the burn scars on her back, he wrapped his arm around Riza’s waist, gently tucking her sleeping form into his chest. She made a small noise in her sleep but didn’t stir. Roy let his eyes drop closed, it was their day off and they both deserved more sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes, Riza was trying to slide out from under his arm.
Childishly, he tightened his grip. “Stay.”
“I’ll be back right back, Roy,” She told him.
“Fine,” He grumbled as he released her.
In the low light of the morning sun seeping through the curtains, he watched her make her way across the room. There was a grace in her walk, a beauty that entranced him. The sway of her hips, the way her hair brushed along her back, it all captured his attention like nothing else.
She disappeared into the bathroom. He must have drifted back off because the next thing he knew, she was slipping back under the covers.
“Good morning,” She pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Good morning,” He smiled at her for a moment before rolling over to kiss her properly.
They exchanged a few lazy kisses before she tucked her head under his chin. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close to him. She hummed contentedly as one of his hands caressed her body. The feeling of her smooth skin under his rough hands was hypnotic. He ran his hand as low down her hip as he could reach before slowly dragging it back up her back. There was no pattern to the motion, except to periodically return to a spot under her right breast.
After his fifth pass at the same spot she tugged the blanket down far enough to reveal the skin.
“Could you imagine what the gossip mill would be like if they knew about this?” She asked.
Following her lead he looked down at the skin he had been caressing. There, on her rib cage just under her right breast, was a tattoo; a hawk, with its wings spread flight and a tail of flames trailing behind it. He knew without looking its twin graced the top of his right thigh.
They had gotten them from a very discreet artist in a little town in the middle of nowhere about two years ago. A generous tip and a thinly veiled threat had ensured the man’s silence, should anyone come asking questions.
“I think that several people would stand to win some very good money, if these came to light,” Roy said, running a thumb across the design. “Of course we would have bigger issues than who won the pot.”
“Mmmm, true,” Riza hummed distractedly. “Have you heard the latest rumor?”
Roy fixed her with an unamused look. A giggle bubbled up through her, a sound he adored but knew that if anyone else heard it would floor them that the very serious Lieutenant Hawkeye could make such a sound.
“Right, Colonel Mustang does not concern himself with office gossip.” She giggled again. “The latest rumor is that you blackmailed me into sleeping with you. Apparently, you threatened to send me to Briggs if I don’t cooperate.”
“Where do they come up with this stuff?” Mustang shook his head. “Two months ago we were just using each other to ‘blow off steam’ and it meant nothing. And before that you were blackmailing me with some dark secret you learned in Ishval.”
“Too many people bored with their own lives and nothing to do all day.” Riza smiled up at him. “They would be bored with the truth, anyway.”
“What? Too many close calls in the field and late nights in the office is boring origin story?” Roy asked jokingly.
“Compared to whatever grand and elaborate story they can concoct? Probably.” She smiled at him. “But I happen to like our story. It’s simple, but it’s us.”
For a long moment Roy held her gaze before swooping down and kissing her firmly. She melted into the kiss and him, pushing herself firmly against him.
Gossip was never ending, Roy knew that, but the truth was so much sweeter.