The Flame Variable

Hi everybody, and welcome to the final chapter of "The Flame Variable." It's a short one, but I felt it was neccesary to the plot. It's been a great run, and you guys have all been a big help, reviewing, showing your interest, and inspiring me to write. I'm sad this one is over, honestly, but all good things come to an end.

Here's hopin' you get a kick out of the ending. It may surprise some of you! ;)

As always, please review, and enjoy.

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/Okay. Take a deep breath, look her in the eye, and tell her./

Maes Hughes had been telling himself this for five minutes now, standing in the entryway of his home, having just hugged his beautiful wife after getting home much later (or earlier, if one preferred) than he had promised. Gracia had gone from being happy to see him home at last, to gradually looking more and more worried with each minute of awkward silence. She was not angry with him for being gone so long—yet.

He’d been well prepared for the cold, hard eventuality of having to tell her what he had done. The thing was, though, how do you tell your beloved, trusting spouse that you just tumbled your best MALE friend, and that you don’t regret it a single iota?

Particularly when you still want to sleep next to said, beloved, trusting spouse come nighttime, as opposed to on the couch?

“Honey?” She was waiting, anxious, probably coming up with some worst-case scenarios already behind those beautiful, aqua-blue eyes.

He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, looked her straight in those lovely eyes, and—praying she was half as understanding as he believed—told her everything. Details were omitted where discretion advised, but otherwise he left nothing out.

Silence had followed him home, it seemed, like one of those especially hungry strays that smell the cheeseburger in your coat pocket. It sniffed around his heels, gave him a scornful stare, and went to sit at the feet of his darling wife and glare up at him like the bastard he was beginning to feel like.

He had given his reasons for doing what he had done, assured her that it in no way affected her status as the love of his life, and now he awaited judgment. She merely stared at him, a variety of unidentifiable emotions parading through her baby-blues. Her expression was calm, the calm, perhaps, of shock. The tranquility before the storm, maybe. She did not speak, though he wished she would, if only to condemn him. A spark of doubt surfaced; he pushed it down. He would not waver now, not when his actions had been out of love for a friend.

At last, she dispelled the silence with her voice. “Maes,” she said softly, and she was smiling. She was *smiling*, and her eyes laughed at him like he was a boy again, courting a girl he knew he did not deserve, but had to have in his life. “Maes, I have something to tell you.”

And she did, and he knew he was gaping like a fish, and when she was through all he could say was, “Really?”

“Mm-hm.”

He glanced down the hall, in the direction of the bedroom. “But…what did you do with Alicia all night?”

“I sent her to Schiezka’s house. You know she loves those sock-puppets.”

“And she’s—is *she* still here?”

Gracia laughed quietly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Yes, she is, and unless you want to be shot, dear, I suggest you make yourself scarce for a few hours. At least until she’s made herself decent.”

Hughes wasn’t sure whether to be blissfully relieved or just plain flabbergasted. He settled on the former, laughter of his own bubbling up between them. “I can’t believe you let her in the house with that gun! How did you convince her to—”

Gracia laid a finger on his lips to shush him. “That’s what friends are for. Besides, you know they’re perfect for each other. They just needed a push in the right direction.”

“And they got it,” her husband conceded. He grinned sheepishly. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” she answered. Then she cocked an eyebrow at him. “But I think, if you’re going to make a habit of this, you should let me know first.”

Hughes kissed her delicately, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. “Sure thing.”

Her smile became coy, and she suddenly pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back thoroughly. When she pulled away, there was mischief in her expression. “Maes?”

“Mm?”

“They’ve each had individual lessons now. But don’t you think they’d learn better in a…classroom environment?”

It took him a moment, but then her meaning dawned on him. The hazel-eyed man gawked at her. “Honey!”

False innocence made her eyes sparkle. “Yes?”

He couldn’t help it; a grin started at one corner of his mouth and would not be contained. “I think,” he replied, “You have a point there, my love.”

Gracia giggled, for an instant all girlish glee. “That’s settled then! Does Roy still like apple pie? I can make some for when he comes over.”

“He loves it. Not as much as I do, of course, but no one could possibly love anything about you more than me!” Hughes swept her into his embrace again and proceeded to prove it with kisses.

A quiet shuffling sound and a meaningful cough drew his attention. “Ah,” he greeted cheerfully, “Good morning, Lieutenant!”

Piercing brown eyes regarded him. Even swathed in naught but a robe and with her hair slightly tussled, she still exuded an air of strict professionalism. “Good morning, Sir. I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation.”

“And?” He resisted the urge to duck; there was no way she could hide her 9mm Glock under that robe.

A rare smile graced her lips. “And I think it’s a wonderful idea. I look forward to graduating, Sir.”

Hughes looked at his wife. She looked at him. They both looked back at Riza Hawkeye, and the three of them smirked.

And somewhere, Roy Mustang sneezed.

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~Owari~

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Heh-heh. I'm so evil to that dude. Look out, Mustang, they're gonna getcha.
Review Pleeze! Luv ya all! Look for my other works; I hope you like them too. dn_nb