Fanfic!

[strandedthought]

Title: Fuhrer-Elect
Author: strandedthought
Characters/Pairings: Mustang-tachi, Miles, mentions of Olivier and Hakuro + O.C.s. RoyAi
Prompt: So, I'm Crying
Summary: Mustang and Hawkeye anxiously await the results of the election for Fuhrer. Wine and sleep deprivation really don't help the matter.
Notes/Warnings: I don't own FMA. Set post-manga, but no spoilers.

"That isn't helping, Lieutenant General," Roy snapped.

Riza ceased her pacing. "I'm sorry, Sir. I just, I need something to do," she confessed, her hands busying themselves looking for invisible lint on her dress uniform. "I've already cleaned my guns...twice" she explained.

"I can think of something," he said through a smirk.

She glared at him. "I don't know what makes you think-"

"It was a joke," he said, quick to cut her off. "You're not the only one who is anxious," he reminded her.

She caught herself starting to pace again, and changed directions to the couch. Before she even had a chance to sit down, she heard Roy's chair roll backwards as he got to his feet.

"Sir?" she asked, watching as he pulled his coat on.

"Everyone else is out getting a drink, I think it might do me well to join them for one, or two," he explained. "It might do you well, too."

When she didn't make for her coat, he grabbed it for her. "C'mon, Hawkeye, there isn't anything we can do now, but wait," he coaxed, holding out her coat. "One glass of wine won't hurt."

She nodded and slipped her arms into the coat. "But just one," she agreed.

"Nice of you two to grace us with your presence," Havoc greeted, clapping Roy on the back.

Breda help up his glass of beer in acknowledgement at their arrival.

Fuery smile and scooted over in the booth, making room for Hawkeye while Roy slid in next to Havoc across the table.

Woken by the nudges of Fuery and Breda on either side of him, Falman raised his head from the table and blinked away his fatigue. "Ah, you made it."

The waitress made a beeline for their table, recognizing Mustang from the papers. "Can I get anything for you?" she asked, winking at him.

He gave her his trademark grin and ordered their finest red wine.

Havoc rolled his eyes. "She's was hitting on me until she noticed this," he bragged, waving his hand left hand around.

Falman groaned. "It's common knowledge that one becomes more attractive to the opposite sex when one is taken. It's something to do with pheromones," he pointed out.

"Don't burst his bubble," Breda said through a laugh.

Havoc took a swig of his beer. "Wanna bet on that?" he asked as he removed his ring.

Falman sighed and rubbed his temples. "No, the pheromones will still be present even if your ring isn't," he explained.

"Sure," Havoc grunted.

The waitress arrived as the table grew silent. "I forgot to ask how many glasses you wanted," she said, explaining quantity of glasses circling the bottle of wine.

"Just two," Mustang said as the others at the table shook their heads at his glance.

"No thank you," Hawkeye said when he motioned for the second glass to go to her.

"One won't hurt," he argued.

"C'mon, Hawkeye, it's a big night," Breda agreed.

"Fine," she conceded, more to keep everyone else from chiming in on the subject, than anything else.

Glasses and wine deposited on the table, the waitress was about to leave when Falman called out to her. "I'm sorry, Miss, but would you help us settle an argument?" he asked.

"As long as it's not about who'll be paying the tab," she joked.

"Have you ever noticed that unavailable men seem a bit more attractive?"

The waitress flushed, her hesitance to answer all the proof Falman needed to give Havoc a 'told you so' look.

"Don't mind them. They're just being their usual idiotic selves," Hawkeye comforted the waitress.

"Hey, I might be drunk, but I'm not an idiot," Havoc complained, looking to the others for back-up, but they all looked elsewhere when his gaze fell on him. "Maybe I am, but I'm not the only one," he huffed.

Hawkeye nodded. "And, if you haven't forgotten, I am female, you could have asked me instead of putting that poor girl on the spot."

Mustang chuckled to himself as he filled her glass.

"You aren't a normal woman," Falman pointed out.

The table fell silent, again. The others looked back and forth between Falman and Hawkeye, waiting for her to react to his words.

"I'm going to do you a favor and take that as a compliment," she stated, her voice cold.

Falman frowned. "It was a compliment. You and General Armstrong are the only women who consistently eat statistics for breakfast," he elaborated.

Hawkeye cracked a smile, and the tension around the table seeped away.

By the time the the bar closed, her one glass of wine had become two when her glass was refilled while she was in the bathroom. Mustang had drained the rest of the wine bottle, and even started on another one.

One that he refused to leave behind when they left.

"Sir, you really don't need anymore," she scolded, her cheeks still warm from the wine.

"We'll need a little something to celebrate with when the call comes," he reasoned, nearly knocking himself in the head with the wine bottle as he raised it in the air.

"We're taking a taxi back to headquarters, Sir," she informed him.

Luckily for them, the closing of bars meant an abundance of taxis lingering on the streets.

"We'll see you back at the office," Fuery called, helping Breda support Havoc as he stumbled down the street.

The taxi ride was silent, as she'd suspected it would be. Mustang wasn't a loud drunk, nor was he a violent drunk. Drinking tended to make the alchemist think on things he usually found to be better off left alone.

She shifted uncomfortably as him as he turned his eyes on her. "Do you ever wonder what it could have been like if-"

"No," she cut him off, not knowing where his train of thought was going. "There is no use in thinking about what didn't happen," she told him, glad that the taxi had pulled up in front of head quarters.

He nodded, hand tightening around the neck of the wine bottle. She hadn't even let him finish, but somehow she'd probably known what he was going to ask, or maybe her answer was the same for the millions of possibilities he could have asked about.

"Why don't we stop by the mess hall and see if they've got any coffee or tea brewing?" she suggested as he climbed out of the car, shoving the wine bottle into her hands as he pulled out his wallet(despite her protests).

He yawned. "Coffee would be great," he agreed.

When they got into the main hall of head quarters, Hawkeye returned the bottle of wine to him. "Maybe you should take the stairs," she suggested, motioning for the pair of lieutenants lingering in the hall to join them.

Mustang followed her gaze to the cameras at the other end of the hall. Miles looked agitated as the reporters fired questions at him, blocking his path to the elevator.

Hawkeye put a finger to her lips so the lieutenants wouldn't draw the attention of the reporters with 'Yes, Sirs' and 'Yes, Ma'ams'.

They raised silent salutes.

"Escort him to his office and don't let any reporters in," she ordered in a whisper.

They nodded and flanked Roy as he headed for the stairwell.

She ducked down another hall, and entered the mess hall from the cooks' door.

"Sorry," she apologized as the officer stirring a pot of oatmeal turned to her.

"Yeah, yeah. It's a zoo outside the main entrance. I'm surprised you didn't run into Hakuro's men in the hall. Phil, help the Lieutenant General with her order," he called.

"You don't have to, I'm just getting a coffee and tea," she explained as Phil appeared in front of her.

"Coffee should be done brewing by now, and we've always got hot water," Phil commented, motioning for her to follow. "Long day, eh?" he asked, grabbing two mugs as he passed the stack of them.

"Very," she admitted, the weariness finally hitting her as they approached the coffee urn.

"Hakuro's men seemed to think the results were almost done," Phil commented.

Riza shook her head. "A blizzard has taken down communication lines in various parts of the Northern. And we still haven't gotten full reports from Western. Those alone could change the outcome."

"That's what boss was saying before you walked in. How do you take your coffee?"

"Oh, I can take it from there. Thank you."

"No problem. Hopefully those communication lines gets fixed real soon. Boss is getting tired of the press scaring everyone away. And good luck to Mustang," he said as he retreated back to the busy stoves.

Cream and sugar added to the coffee and tea steeping, she left the way she'd entered and slowly climbed the stairs to their office. Her thoughts on getting the latest set of numbers. She'd forgotten how quickly they could fix comm lines in Northern. If the blizzard had settled, then the reports could have come in any time.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Jacobson, Lieutenant Fredericks. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Ma'am," they said in unison. Jacobson stuck around a moment longer than Fredericks, opening the door for Hawkeye.

She smiled at the gesture. As soon as she thanked him, he joined Fredericks at the end of the hall.

Mustang was watching her from his desk in the inner office, a grin spread across his face.

"Sir?"

"We've got the majority from Western," he said.

"Well done, Sir."

Mustang sighed. "I wouldn't have been able to do this without the team. Without you, Lieutenant General."

She rolled her eyes as she set the coffee on his desk.

"You know, I'm going to miss calling you Lieutenant. Maybe I should make a new position for you. Liuetenant Fuhrer? What do you think?"

"I think you shouldn't get over-confident, Sir. We're still waiting on Northern, aren't we?" she asked through a yawn, avoiding his question. "And the projected numbers always favored Armstrong."

"You know, that couch is quite comfortable for napping," he informed her.

"Just drink your coffee, Sir," she ordered, as she took a seat on the couch.

He grinned triumphantly and grabbed the mug. "Cheer, Lieutenant."

"Cheers, Sir," she echoed, raising her tea.

Hawkeye's hand went to her holsters as voices woke her.

"Shhh, they're asleep," Havoc said in a hushed shout that probably would have been a whisper had he not been inebriated. The door creaked softly as he shut it, and the noise level died down.

She cracked open an eye and saw Mustang leaning back in his chair. A light snore was the only assurance she needed that he was still alive before she closed her eye and settled back into the couch.

What seemed like seconds later, a shrill ringing woke her.

"General Mustang speaking."

Hawkeye got to her feet as he smiled into the receiver of the phone.

"The report from Northern came in?" she asked.

He nodded as he placed the receiver back in its cradle. "I knew the rest of this wine would come in handy."

"Congratulations, Sir," she said, her voice breaking ever so slightly as she swallowed the emotion that lumped in her throat. She was caught off guard by the heat that prickled at her eyes, and chalked it up to her lack of sleep.

"Lieutenant General, now is not the time for crying," he teased, getting to his feet. "Now is the time for celebrating," he declared as he his way around the desk.

Irritated that he had noticed, she hardened her gaze, looking from him to the door.

When he stopped in front of her, rather than continue on to the door, she blinked in surprise. Before she could even question him, he had captured her right hand with his left and found the curve of her hip with his right hand.

"Just relax," he said over her stammered objection as he led her around the office in a basic waltz.

"Did you even drink your coffee?"

"Only that one sip," he confessed. "But, as I recall, that's all you had of your tea, before falling asleep."

She nodded, letting him pull her a bit closer to avoid colliding with his chair.

Then, it was the couch that was too close. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "Sir, I think Central Times would probably like an interview now," she reminded him.

"They can wait a few more minutes," he argued, grinning at her as his hand sank down from her hip.

She grabbed his hand in protest, and he took the break in her balance to close the inches between them.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked into her hair.

"You're the one who had to go about it the complicated way. You could have just asked for a dance," she told him.

"So it would have been that easy all along?"

"Maybe," she answered, smiling into his shoulder.

He laughed.

Just as they finished making another circuit of the room, the door opened. "Hey, Boss! Central Times wants..." Havoc trailed off as he stared at them.

Hawkeye froze. Mustang didn't turn around. He just cringed, waiting.

"I knew it! Falman was right! This whole time, it was just because you were taken, wasn't it?" Havoc demanded.

"Let the reporters know the Fuhrer-elect will be down in a few moments," she snapped. "I think some target practice will sober him up," she added, making a show of glaring at Mustang as she disentangled herself from him.

Havoc gulped as he nodded and closed the door.

Hawkeye sank back against Mustang's desk, shaking with silent laughter.

"You wouldn't," he mumbled, still standing exactly where she'd left him.

"And waste the bullets? Throwing a bucket of cold water on you would do the trick better," she managed to say through her laughter, glancing up at him long enough to see his face pale.

She wiped at her cheek as a tear escaped her eye.

"Really? It's not that funny," he huffed.

"You didn't see the look on Havoc's face," she argued, wiping away another tear. "Or yours, for that matter.

He stared at her, not sure what to say.

"Why don't you relax a bit, Sir. Maybe drink the rest of your coffee?" she recommended, trying to hide her smirk when he scowled.

"I suppose I'd do it again, just to see that crying face," he shot back, laughing when she glared at him.

"Keep going on about that, and I will go find a bucket of cold water," she warned.

"No can do, we have a photo shoot, Lieutenant General."

"As long as you're done procrastinating, Sir."

"Quite done, Hawkeye."

"Well, let's go introduce Amestris to the new Fuhrer-elect," she suggested as she got to her feet.

He froze as she stopped in front of him and stood on her tip toes, running her fingers through his hair. "You had a piece of lint," she explained.

"You are a terrible liar," he informed her.

"I got Havoc to believe me, and my undercover work usually goes well," she protested.

"He was drunk, and undercover work doesn't count," he pointed out.

"You're still procrastinating, Sir."