Chapter Text
“She’s too good for you, Mustang,” Major General Armstrong sneered, her eyes locked on Lieutenant Hawkeye’s indefatigable form sparring with yet another stocky Briggs soldier in the center of the training room.
Watching Hawkeye effortlessly dodge the man’s increasingly erratic punches, her whiskey eyes fixed on her opponent’s movements, Roy silently agreed with Armstrong. His Lieutenant alone helped place Eastern Headquarters ahead of Briggs in this year’s joint training exercises, a feat that delighted him to no end—not just because he knew how much it grated on the Major General, but also because of his never-ending admiration for Hawkeye. Not that he could let Armstrong know that, so he decided to further rankle her instead.
“It’s not my fault your men aren’t up to snuff. Maybe the Northern Wall of Briggs isn’t as impenetrable as you like to think,” he fired back.
“Don’t be a fool. As a unit, Briggs is unstoppable.” She narrowed her eyes slightly as Hawkeye swept her opponent’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor and earning Hawkeye her fourth victory of the day. “As a unit,” Armstrong emphasized in response to Roy’s smug look.
Hawkeye sat down on the edge of the mat, her chest heaving from exertion under her military-issue short sleeve turtleneck. Roy watched intently as she patted a bead sweat from her neck with a clean sweat towel handed to her by Sergeant Fuery.
“Is she special to you?” Armstrong asked bluntly, tearing Roy from his appreciative gaze.
He did his best to appear unfazed by the question, but internally berated himself for looking at his Lieutenant for far too long and with far too much interest. “All of my men are special to me,” Roy scoffed.
Armstrong rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, you little shit.” When Roy said nothing, she smirked. “Fine. If she’s simply one of your men, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with me convincing her to join my command here at Fort Briggs.”
Roy laughed. “Good luck with that, Major General. Lieutenant Hawkeye isn’t a fan of the cold weather.”
“Don’t worry, Mustang. I’ll keep her warm.” As Roy raised an eyebrow at the Major General, she shucked her heavy outercoat and approached Hawkeye on the mat. His Lieutenant stood up quickly to salute the taller blonde.
“At ease, Lieutenant. Would our reigning champion be opposed to one final match with me?”
“Of course not, Sir,” Hawkeye responded, handing the towel back to Fuery.
Roy huffed in derision. As if a simple sparring match could convince Hawkeye to leave his command to serve under Armstrong. Though he couldn’t admit it to Armstrong, Hawkeye was special to him, and he had a feeling he was special to her too. Lingering looks, late night laughter in the office, always knowing how the other felt with one glance—if not for their all-consuming mission to reform Amestris and make amends for Ishval, Roy would have asked his Lieutenant out a long time ago.
Lieutenants Havoc and Catalina walked over to Roy’s spot against the wall to get a better view of the match. “Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” Havoc sighed, his eyes locked on the figures of the two women squaring up on the mat, readying to fight. Catalina reached over and pinched Havoc on his exposed forearm, hard, and he winced. “Ow, what the hell Rebecca?”
“Just giving you what you asked for.” But Rebecca’s scowl became a grin as she looked at Hawkeye on the mat, dodging Armstrong’s first swift punches. “Although maybe I should go pinch Riza since she probably thinks she’s dreaming too.”
Roy turned to Rebecca. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, Riza had a HUGE crush on Armstrong back in the Academy after Armstrong visited to give a speech about women in the military. Riza always denied it, but she went on a few dates afterwards with a civilian with long blonde hair just like Armstrong’s. Every time I teased her about the resemblance she’d get all flustered and her face would turn red—oh, just like that!”
Following her gaze, Roy witnessed a pinned Hawkeye under a victorious and smiling Armstrong. True to Rebecca’s word, Hawkeye’s face was flushed, a much deeper red than usual after a sparring match, and her eyes were wide and shining.
Oh. Oh shit.
As Hawkeye grinned up at Armstrong, arms restrained over her head, Roy realized he might be in deep trouble if he wanted to keep his Lieutenant.