Fullmetal Alchemist 1. All Over Town

o

_"You been runnin all over town now  
Oh I guess I have to put your flat feet  
On the ground" _--Wilson Pickett

oo

Roy Mustang studied the woman before him. Attractive, svelte figure, and obviously _very _interested in the military.

Perhaps study had been too strong a word. He absently fished in his mind for her name but caught nothing in the shallow waters contained therein. He doubted she would notice.

He would take her home and he would fuck her, because it was enjoyable, because she was beautiful, and because he was a ladies' man. Presently though he stifled a sigh, attention wandering from her fervent attempts to exert her feminine charms.

o

Jean Havoc itched. Every breath he took that wasn't filled with rich acrid smoke was making his head spin. It didn't help that he could clearly smell it on his jacket, and everywhere else for that matter. Currently everything smelled of cigarettes and every second the world was enjoying this pleasure without him was agonizing.

Beside him Riza Hawkeye also itched. Although, it was concentrated mainly in her right hand, which, from time to time, twitched while suspended over a loaded pistol.

A distance away Mustang continued his conversation with the woman. He paused now and then to lean and whisper something in her ear, presumably to be heard over the din of the bar scene, causing her to respond with a light touch on his arm and a teasing reply. He at least kept a cool exterior; the woman, however, looked seconds away from jumping him in the middle of the room, right now, in front of all his subordinate officers.

"Who's she?" Havoc said carelessly, trying to draw some conversation out of Hawkeye.

She took a deep breath and relaxed her frame, leaning in what she hoped was an indifferent manner on the counter. _I can't shoot them -- the bar is far too populated._

"Wasn't she talking to _you _earlier?"

Havoc flinched visibly, then straightened, and finally replied in a resigned tone, "I should've known better than to try to pick up a girl with the Colonel in the area."

"Havoc, he doesn't even need to be in the area," she stated flatly.

Unable to contend with the statement he took to nursing his drink, no longer concerned with entertaining the First Lieutenant.

Riza sized up the woman and grudgingly admitted that she was dressed tastefully, her skirt fell to her knees and her blouse was a modest fit with a hue that lit up her cheerful face. Somehow that only made the lust in her gaze a little harder for Riza to deal with. _This woman is not a bad person, your resentment is irrational._

She stared at them a moment longer before turning to the bartender resolutely, every intention of having a good time and getting smashed. _After all, it seems like Mustang is having a -very- good time._

"Excuse me I'll have a-," she stopped and the man, in his thirties with a large stain on his shirt and understanding eyes, regarded her curiously. She wondered suddenly how many customers he had seen drown their problems in alcohol only to have them resurface painfully the next morning with a piercing headache and light sensitivity. He waited expectantly, poised over the many beverages, glass in hand. Her heart sunk and she lost her nerve. She lowered her voice and continued, "-a water, please."

It was a stupid idea. She didn't even like drinking; she didn't enjoy the haze and the lack of judgment. _If I was drunk I'd probably shoot Mustang._

Besides, she most certainly didn't like hangovers; they all had work tomorrow. She couldn't just blow off her responsibilities. _Unlike some people…_

Unbeknownst to her, a concerned Kain Fuery had watched the entire exchange, ending in her bitterly staring off into space. What ever she was considering, he was more than relieved she missed the Colonel exit the bar, his arm draped around the woman's shoulder.

o

Odd that even as she worked on his belt buckle his hormones couldn't keep his mind from wandering. Absent mindedly Roy brushed her hands away and accomplished the task himself, his pants joining the rapidly accumulating pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.

He may have smirked at her, said something clever, but she didn't notice the smile was only outward, the words hollow, and his gaze anywhere but in her eyes.

oo

28/4/06: minor grammatical change due to the wisdom of a reviewer.

_Enjoy _(if you see fit). Please R&R or updates will be few and far between.


	2. Three in a Row

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o

Mustang was actually a little thankful for the stacks of untouched paperwork that isolated him from the rest of the office. Although daunting, they were providing an excellent shield; if Hawkeye knew his "working" consisted of tic-tac-toe against himself she would probably skip the warning shots. He flipped his game under some more official papers and shifted the piles to be able to see over his desk.

Surprisingly, he saw only Havoc. Havoc was smoking leisurely, feet propped up on the latest reports. Mustang frowned slightly and was about to tell him to take it outside, but Havoc took a long drag and exhaled. Smoke filled the room until Mustang couldn't see two feet in front of his face. Gloved hands pushed him towards the door.

He opened it and in the threshold Ishbal was before him in flames. He tried to retreat but there was no evidence of there ever having been a door.

The landscape around him was desolate, nothing remained untouched by destruction. The thick oppressive heat radiated in waves and Roy struggled to breathe. He heard screams slice through the heavy plumes of smoke. His eyes stung but he forced them open.

The outline of a figure approached through the haze and moved to strike, Mustang countered and the figure collapsed. The smoke cleared and he saw a phone booth; his gut plummeted. Maes Hughes lay dead, only covered in burns.

"Hughes!" he called hoarsely and had to look away, horrified.

He saw Hawkeye, who stood immobile. He started towards her but her face was held rigid and cold. Her words were clear.

"_You're useless._"

It was as if she shot him. He recoiled and stumbled backwards, the landscaped plunging into darkness. Something crunched beneath his feet and he look down to discover everything was covered in ash…

o

He jerked back into consciousness and shot bolt upright breathing hard. The interior of his room greeted him. Quickly sliding his impassive features back into place, it took him a moment to discern the voice that came from beside him. The woman from the bar was in his bed, and understandably very concerned.

She touched his bare arm hesitantly, and he resisted the urge to pull away. Instead he raked a hand through his hair to loosen the bangs plastered to his face.

"Good morning," she said softly and then added, as if trying to disguise it as an afterthought, "Who is 'Hughes'?"

Mustang paused, even if he had wanted to tell her, you couldn't just summarize a person. No, you couldn't describe them in bullet points, or casual conversation, or pillow talk.

"A friend of mine." He cringed at the standardized reply that seemed unjustly inadequate. _Maes Hughes deserves more than that._

She nodded earnestly and he didn't know whether to resent or envy her ignorance.

He glanced at the clock, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom, ducking back out to explain that he was 'very late'. Truthfully he'd been much later, almost routinely, but he was plagued with a desire to escape from this woman and her innocent inquiries.

o

Riza groaned a little and shifted her shoulder before finally bothering to open her eyes. She was confronted with the angry fluorescent numbers of her alarm clock. Immediately after she faced the device, however, the alarm sounded. The buzzing powered through the peace and silence of her morning. She hurriedly fumbled with the buttons to turn it off.

Left with no time to ponder the phenomenon of waking up before her alarm, she stretched liberally, limbs reaching to the four corners of her bed. _A luxury that comes with sleeping alone._

Unsolicited thoughts of Mustang wormed their way through her mental barriers. _I bet the Colonel can't stretch most mornings. _

Bracing herself for the chill and throwing off her covers decisively, she stood up, almost tripping over Black Hayate who had been waiting at the side of her bed since her first sign of movement.

She recovered quickly but shot the creature a reproving look, which was met by an expression that most likely translates roughly to "feed me" in dog.

She smoothed out her crumpled blue cotton pajamas and strode over to the window. The dim night of early morning allowed her to register the faint silhouettes of structures in the landscape. Her room faced the wrong direction to see the streaks of orange inch across the sky at dawn but she preferred the unpretentious grey.

o

Riza stood in a similar position at the office, observing the minimal activity on the grounds through the cloudy windowpane. She didn't stir when she heard the door open but listened as a string of greetings came for the Colonel.

"Good morning, sir."

"Hello, sir."

"How was your night, sir?" a voice Riza identified as Havoc drawled. She assumed it was accompanied by some sort of suggestive facial expression.

Mustang made some degree of lame noncommittal response.

Riza got no satisfaction from this unfeeling answer. She couldn't pinpoint the sensation but it was disheartening.

It was certainly mixed with pity for the woman. This was another poor girl who fell under the spell of the handsome Colonel and he gave her no second thought. With it, however, came something much stronger and more undefined. There was a large part of her that could accept any of his practices, however unpleasant, if it brought him any peace.

She had not yet realized the extent of what she would sacrifice for Roy far exceeded the bounds of military ties or even friendship.

Dismissing these emotions she struggled to resurrect her usual stern and emotionless demeanor. Perhaps she did it a little too well.

She stood a little ways away from the group and interrupted their conversation by remarking loudly, "You're late, sir."

Mustang turned to her and a look of intense shock flitted across his face.

_o _

_Her words were clear. _

_"You're useless." _

_o _

Hawkeye took a step forward; he had recovered so quickly she was beginning to doubt her own observations. Apparently she wasn't alone.

"You OK, sir?" Breda asked hesitantly.

"Never better," he proclaimed with a sweeping gesture.

Riza was not fooled.

He walked back towards his desk, already covered in work demanding his attention, and sunk in his chair. Hawkeye was surprised to hear him mutter something about prophetic dreams. She watched curiously as he slid open his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, paused momentarily with the tip hovering over the page, and proceeded to carefully begin to play tic-tac-toe.

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28/4/06: Again, minor grammatical error fixed.

(Says sweetly and non-threateningly) Please review!


	3. Dreams, Revisited

_Belated Disclaimer: I don't own anything._

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"It's a shame about the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy," Fuery remarked.

"Yeah, but I'm sure Armstrong had better things to do anyway," Breda contended.

Hawkeye buried the impulse to strike the desk. She didn't have to look at the clock or the sagging sun to know it was the late afternoon. Even while working she had been helpless to ignore the shadows as they grew longer, reaching across her desk and the office to mute every color in the modestly decorated space.

She also knew inherently that they were way behind, suspicions that were confirmed simply by the amount of empty chatter that far exceeded the rustle of papers and scratch of pens.

She wondered if she would be less frustrated if the conversation didn't always stray to the events of the previous night. _You'd think it was the highlight of their lives, not a trip to the bar._

She should never have let Fuery talk her into accompanying them. He'd had so much youthful enthusiasm she had momentarily caved and forgotten there was a reason she didn't socialize with her coworkers. _I barely socialize at all._

Of course her fate was sealed when Mustang entered the conversation, good-naturedly encouraging her to come along. 'After all,' he had said, 'we just wrapped up a big report.'

It was undeniable, even to her, that she had attended more for the Colonel than anyone else. _Curiosity killed the cat. _

Someone observing her closely might have caught her eye twitch briefly.

"Something wrong, Lieutenant?" inquired Mustang.

Meanwhile Falman continued, "Actually the Colonel probably enjoyed himself enough for all of us."

Before Mustang could so much as shoot a glare in their direction or threaten to demote them Hawkeye was up and shouting.

"Would you all _focus._ We haven't met any of our deadlines." She whipped around to take aim at Mustang. "Especially you, sir- get to work."

He noticed the intensity in her voice was a little greater than normal, but began in his usual manner nonetheless, "But we just finished a case-"

"-and we all know you celebrated yesterday," Riza finished abruptly.

Havoc's eyebrows rose. "Jealous, Lieutenant?"

She wished she could brush off the gazes she felt on her; she didn't dare meet Roy's eyes._ -Now- they listen to me._

"That's ridiculous," she said calmly, always possessing impressive mastery of her tone, "Although I'm sure _you're_ well acquainted with the emotion, given your track record of losing women to the Colonel."

A chorus of agreement went up around the room but Hawkeye cut short any new discussion by screaming, "_Do your paperwork!_" and firing three shots into the ceiling.

They could argue with Riza but her gun was less tolerant.

o

"Don't tell me you're not done yet, sir," asked Riza in a thin voice.

"Ok, I won't tell you," Roy responded with a cheerfulness neither of them was feeling.

The night outside was clear, but the city lights washed out any stars making it appear like a heavy curtain had been drawn over the true sky. Distantly cars still rumbled low in the streets and Hawkeye fancied she could hear one stop. She enviously imagined the driver entering a warm home and falling into a welcome bed.

"Sir, if you had just started this earlier-"

He put his pen down before addressing her more seriously. "You _can_ leave, Lieutenant."

She tried hard not to laugh, although if she had it would not have contained any humor. "Sir, we both know you're not finishing unless I'm here to threaten you through it."

Roy didn't reply for a moment. She had been up practically every night this week and had been less than cheery this morning. Looking at her now she looked pale and fragile in the yellow light emitted from his desk lamp. _For the good of the office, she needs some rest._

Satisfied with this explanation for his concern, he settled on a solution. Despite seeming worn and exhausted she would never consent to go home, for whatever reason. The illumination may have briefly painted a picture of a delicate woman but he knew her to possess a determination that would not be eroded by sleep deprivation.

"Lie down on the couch, Lieutenant."

She didn't attempt to mask her opinion of the idea. "Sir, I don't think-"

"That's an order. Lie down, or go home and rest."

Faced with that choice she crossed the room and sat on the couch.

Roy didn't look up from his task. "_Lie down_, Lieutenant."

She studied the fabric of the couch. She tested it for softness and ran her hand over the arm to give herself time to think. Despite her opposition her lower back was agreeing whole heartedly to the plan.

"I didn't say you had to sleep, just lie down," he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

She reclined, shot one last despairing look at the Colonel, and watched the clock, trying to ignore how inappropriate the situation was and desperately willing herself to stay awake.

o

About an hour later Roy placed the final paper in the final pile, yawned, and stretched lazily.

"What time is it?" he mumbled.

No one answered. He pushed back his chair and approached the couch. He smirked to no one in particular because Hawkeye was fast asleep.

A few whips of blond hair had fallen lightly in her eyes. Mustang had to flex his hand because he had been writing so much and _definitely not_ to refrain from brushing it gently out of the way.

Any severity in her countenance had vanished; she looked entirely peaceful. He recalled his own sleeping issues and was satisfied with knowing she didn't suffer similarly.

He also admitted that the uniform looked less than official with her curled up on the sofa. _She'll probably have to iron it._

It took an awful amount of self control to keep from laughing at the vision of his first Lieutenant ironing. _Don't be an idiot, of course she irons. Did you think she threatened out wrinkles with her gun?_

He slowly walked back to his desk and sat down before he could make any observations about her soft lips or the slope of her legs. Riza Hawkeye was a woman who did not deserve such treatment, especially from the likes of him.

Taking one last glance in the direction where he knew her to be dozing tranquilly, he opened a desk drawer.

He then slammed it shut loudly. He pretended not to notice her start.

She awoke, instantly on alert.

Well, partially so. _I am on a couch._

She touched the fabric, a familiar action. _The office couch._

She groaned; she had fallen asleep at work. She cursed her weakness and watched Mustang closely. For some reason she would be ashamed if he knew she had submitted so easily to the temptation of sleep. She always felt a particular duty to present at least an illusion of togetherness at work, and so far had been relatively successful. She breathed a sigh of relief._ I don't think he's noticed._

She took a shot in the dark. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?"

"What time is it?" he repeated. As usual she had excellent aim.

"It's close to 10:00, sir." She couldn't be bothered with converting into military time after just awakening; she felt the beginnings of a headache. "Are you all finished?"

"Yeah, let's go."

She rose and brushed off her uniform, straightening the collar. Mustang coughed a little and Riza became slightly wary.

"Colonel?"

"Oh, it's nothing." She had neglected to check her hair, half of which had come halfway out of its clip to fan awkwardly in the back of her head.

Mustang sorted the stacks of files and haphazardly organized his workspace. Riza felt her back and desperately wanted to stretch, but thought it would attract an unwanted amount of attention.

"We have reports that the Elric brothers will be returning here tomorrow," Mustang commented.

"They haven't visited in a while," she responded, her voice conveying surprise despite her monotone range.

Mustang locked his drawers and stepped out from behind the desk. They moved to the coat rack and she plucked her jacket off the hook.

He calmly voiced a question he knew would make her squirm, "Do you dream, Lieutenant?"

She tried to suppress any outward indications of her discomfort. She felt foolish; she should've known he would notice.

He grinned in response to her obvious embarrassment. She lost herself in thought momentarily.

The mortification was there, surely, but had passed quickly; Mustang was different. The need to constantly be a beacon of strength was a charade she had lapsed out of too often in his presence. They had been through so much she really didn't need to keep raising a barrier he had so often surpassed. What was it there for, then? What was she protecting?

She shrugged on her coat and he followed suit, waiting. Finally realizing she was actually intended to answer the question she stopped dressing momentarily.

"My dreams are mundane, sir." She took his blank expression as an indication to continue. "In them I do paperwork, or brush my teeth, or-"

"Iron?" Mustang finished, amused.

She sighed. _He is just so weird sometimes._

"I suppose."

They moved out into the hallway and he waited while she shut the door. While her hands accomplished a familiar task she tried to ease her mind. It hadn't exactly been a lie, her dreams _used _to be ordinary.

oo

Here's a lighter chapter. Next week: feelings (partially) in the open. And the Elrics!

Sorry for the delay, but I figured I should stop and map out where this is going before I continue. It should be 9 or 10 chapters each of which now has a plan.

Thanks to those of you who bothered to review!_ Please R&R!_


	4. Unexpected Transmission

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Riza winced each time the sound of her heel connecting with the linoleum echoed in the hall. She was finding it hard to strive resolutely across the surface and not sound like she was raising hell. One hand was resting on the top of her brown purse while her other hung loosely at her side.

She arrived at the door and swung it inward, trying to ignore the thoughts that the sight of the sofa conjured.

The first thing she did was tuck her bag underneath her desk, folding the strap around the body of the accessory. Next she let her fingers travel down the ridges left by the drawers on the side until she reached the third handle. Opening it, she rooted around inside before she alighted on the chosen object. A rough earthenware mug was then reintroduced to the outside world.

She had learned her lesson when, in a fit of hysteria, Mustang had accidentally knocked over a lesser cup, spilling its contents and ruining the morning's work. Riza had gone out and purchased the container which she deemed least likely to be involved in repeat events and the heavy mug had been it.

She set it at the corner of her desk but made no move to fill it. It was simply a reminder and excuse to leave the room sometime later in the day. She thought about it, and then reached out, shifting the cup's placement until it blocked out her view of the couch.

o

"But I thought Martha was still in the hospital?"

"No, she got her memory back in the last episode."

"So she finally recognized Roberto?"

"Sadly he's already found comfort in the arms of Jacqueline."

Hawkeye tentatively touched her temples and glanced at the landscape of her desk, eyes alighting on the mug. _That's my cue to leave._

She stood up. "I'm going to get some coffee. Anyone else want some?"

Mustang waved a 'no' from behind his newspaper and the rest of the subordinates declined as well. _Like they need more caffeine._

She reached the door before the conversation resumed.

"What about you, sir, did you catch any good soaps?"

"No, Havoc, I'm afraid I have a life."

Hawkeye smiled weakly as she gripped the cool doorknob. _I hope that's true. _

o

Mustang watched her exit over the dull fringe of the daily news. He had not gone out of his way to fold it properly so the inner pages had been slowly sagging, ultimately wafting into a heap near the floor, ignored. He now only held the outer shell of the paper, eyes scanning the meticulous print.

_...the area at the corner of 5th and Bradley, what was previously deemed a safe neighborhood, was recently subjected to a rash of violent carjackings, the most recent of which ending in the critical injury of a brave bystander..._

She was still toting around that ridiculously heavy-duty mug. He felt a surge of minor annoyance. He wasn't that incompetent; it wasn't like he was going to knock it over _again_. So what if he had applied a little too much vigor when relating why the completion of their paperwork was not the noblest objective? _Someone_ had to make up for her severity.

_...what was previously deemed a safe neighborhood, was recently subjected to a rash..._

She had actually tried to be stern with him but the sight of the great Roy Mustang hurriedly trying to rectify his error had been too much.

At first he attempted to stop the flow of coffee by damming it in his hands, that failing he resorted to pushing the papers out of the way, and finally turned to her with a severely apprehensive look on his face when he realized his effort had resulted in a mini diaspora of her work all over the floor.

_...at the corner of 5th and Bradley, what was previously..._

Instead of her usual reprimands her eyes had softened with contained amusement and Roy had found the sight more subduing than any harsh words.

_...the area at the corner of 5th and Bradley..._

Mustang suddenly realized he had been stuck on the same sentence for an embarrassingly long period of time.

o

Lowering the protruding lip of the coffee pot to the rim of her cup, she titled the handle and waited for the coffee to fill to an acceptable level. Unfortunately some liquid dribbled down the underside of the pot to pool on the counter. She didn't notice until the puddle expanded enough to spill over the edge and produce a sizeable stain on her navy skirt.

Frustrated she jammed the pot back into the machine and grabbed a stack of napkins, fruitlessly wiping at the dark spot. Surrendering, she replaced the usable napkins, cleaned the coffee off the counter, and turned to leave, grateful the military's uniform didn't include khaki. _I guess no amount of planning can stop some spills._

Once in the hall her mood brightened, however, when she spotted a familiar pair being escorted in the direction of the office.

o

"Sir, visitors," Hawkeye announced upon reentering the room. She was followed closely by the Elric brothers.

"Hello boys," Mustang greeted.

"Hello," returned Alphonse.

"Hey," grumbled Ed.

Al leaned in conspiratorially towards Hawkeye and whispered, "He's been grumpy since we left Rizenbool."

It was a small miracle Ed hadn't heard, being as Al's mechanical body didn't give him the ability to lower his voice to a standard whisper.

"Oh?" returned Hawkeye. They both postponed the conversation, however, to watch the scene unfold as Mustang spoke.

"Listen; there is something I need you to clear up for me."

"Alright," said Ed, notably calmer.

"You two arrived in Central by train and purchased the tickets fairly easily."

Ed nodded.

"What doesn't make sense to me…," Mustang paused, Ed looked up, even Hawkeye looked interested, "how did the teller see you over the counter at the ticket booth?"

"Well Al got the- HEY! WHO ARE YOU CALLING A FISH SO SMALL IT COULDN'T EAT A WHOLE FLAKE OF FISH FOOD?"

"That's a new one," muttered Al.

"Why Full Metal, you've gotten in touch with your creativity!" congratulated Mustang.

Hawkeye smiled, she had missed the boys. They always seemed to set everyone halfway down the path to absurd.

o

"…but it didn't matter, she pulled another wrench out of her back pocket and hit him from clear across the room…"

She listened interestedly while Al avidly recounted details from their stop in their hometown. Apparently the cause for Ed's discomfort was a fight he had participated in with the mechanic, Winry. The way Al told it Ed's fondness for the girl was apparent.

Again Riza found herself wishing that the brothers lived in a world where the greatest conflicts were those surrounding Ed's romantic endeavors and where Al possessed a voice that wavered from a sad artificial echo.

o

The car ride back from the train station had been a solemn one. Mustang had insisted on giving Ed and Al a ride, no doubt as some subdued response to their recent absence. _Which naturally means -I'm- doing the driving._

It was clear to her he held a particular fondness for the duo, but the man was prone to ignoring his feelings. Lately she had become curious how far that tendency extended. _Does he deny to himself that he enjoys his favorite foods? _

She stopped at a stop sign and glanced around the interior of the vehicle. Mustang rested carelessly with his elbow propped up and his head in his hand, gazing out the window. She had no urge to start a conversation. The rear seats had long been empty since the departure of the boys. There were still indentations in the leather, significantly deeper in Al's place. The tank was at half empty and the radio remained perpetually dormant.

It suddenly occurred to her that they had never once, in all her years of carting around the Colonel, turned on that radio. She could also comfortably assume that no one else who used the car would have the slightest inclination to activate the device. The screen and dials lay smudge free as testament to that fact, gleaming in the light that filtered through the windshield. It struck a chord with her that seemed to resonate off the grim walls around her.

In another life, would her hand reach out to those buttons and flit across to check her favorite station, would her mouth form the words to a familiar song?

Mustang lied to himself, their subordinates lives were bleak, brightened occasionally by brief social outings and trashy television programs, and herself? She hid behind obligation and responsibility, tethering herself to a life in the military and allowing herself nothing else.

She realized slowly that this was not sudden revelation, but a slow accumulation of something that had been etching away inside of her. She was still at the corner, too absorbed in thought to progress farther, as if the stop sign had been a divine command to reevaluate her dismal place in life. She absently registered her breaths were coming shorter.

She couldn't go on and keep feeding her weathered spirit with daydreams. She loved her job but could she honestly believe they were working towards something admirable? Could routine and tradition continue to spur her up the ranks? Could the brief moments of speculation that she allowed herself of a life with the Colonel sustain her? She was still dubious as to how but he had rooted himself in her existence and she could no longer plausibly deny that she loved him.

She glanced at Roy through the overhead mirror, speckled with grime. He didn't even seem curious at their prolonged stop, studying some drab leaves wedged in a gutter as water flowed sluggishly around it. Hawkeye's knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, her dampened palms wrapped fiercely around the taut leather.

"Sir," Hawkeye started; he didn't turn his head. "Do you have feelings for me?"

He probably fancied she couldn't see his face but she took in every inch of it reflected in the clear glass. It was expressionless.

"Yes."

Nothing changed with this admission and nothing further was offered. Something in that response dragged her back into reality. Wordlessly Hawkeye took her foot off the brake and continued driving. It was shortly down that same street that she first tried out the radio. It wasn't tuned and she got nothing but static.

A/N:

I thought this one was sort of whimsical. At any rate this chapter is kind of important. / Let me know if I should cut out making descriptive passages, I often have some subtle stuff in there but I don't know if anyone's catching it. / Next, Hawkeye seeks a confrontation. / **Please R&R!**


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