Embers And Envelopes

Author's Note: I don't remember which review said something about a three-way pairing, but I'll tell you now that ultimately a decision will be made. And I assure you that Miss Hawkeye will NOT end up alone. I appreciate all feedback! And for all Death Note fans, check out my other WIP, Neurosis! Summary: A spoiled evening and a drunken commander. ** Chapter 8: A Trivial Pursuit ** "Wow, really?" Winry twisted the telephone cord around her fingers. She leaned back against the kitchen wall, her long blonde hair held back by a cotton bandana. Ed sighed. "Yeah." He fumbled with the receiver in his hand. "I can't believe it either." He'd just finished telling her the story of Hawkeye and Mustang, and the scene in the office a week ago. Truthfully, after the incident, headquarters was a mess. Riza was never at her desk, either down in the shooting range, in the Library, anywhere but the main office. She dropped her papers on Roy's desk when he wasn't there. And the rumors in the office said that when Roy wasn't terrorizing his subordinates, he was drinking himself into a steady oblivion. "How did Lieutenant Havoc take it?" Winry asked. "You know, I'm not sure," he said. He bit his lip thoughtfully. "I think he just keeps his head down and does what he has to." Ed heard a clicking on the line, a sign that his time was nearly up. "I have to go, Winry. I'll call you soon, okay?" "All right," he heard her sigh. "Edward...when will you be coming home?" There was a shred of hope in her voice. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Oh." ** The protection over her ears muffled the sound of her gunshots, but thankfully she could still hear the loud crack of her gun as she released clip after clip. Some of her shots went rogue, but most of them hit her target in the head. Riza blinked. She shuffled through her box of rounds looking for a full one and came up short. The headset fell from her ears as she ducked her head, digging. How could she be out of clips? "Three hundred and seventy six shots," a voice said loudly behind her. She jumped at the sound. Jean Havoc languished over the barricade, separating her alley from the rest of the room. "God, Riza, aren't your shoulders killing you?" "No," she lied staunchly. Truthfully, her back and shoulders were screaming in pain, but they were nothing that a long, hot bath couldn't cure. "What the hell are you doing here, Jean?" "I came to take you home. It's long past six," he said to her. Six? It had been only three when she came down. "We shouldn't be seen together," Riza said, gathering her things, wincing as she shrugged her jacket on. Havoc looked at her. "Why? What's done is done, isn't it?" His mouth twisted. Why was she making this harder? "We don't have to make it worse," she mumbled, but she followed him anyway. Together, they walked towards her apartment in silence, and at her door she allowed him entry. Purposefully he strode in ahead of her, throwing his own jacket carelessly on the couch. "Where the hell are you going?" she called. She followed him towards the bathroom, where he knelt down besides the tub, fiddling with the taps. "I'm running you a bath," he said shortly. He felt her hand on his shoulder and instantly relaxed. "Thank you," she said honestly. He flashed her a smile. "So you go into the bedroom and get naked and I'll come get you when it's ready." His eyes glittered. She smirked. "Sure." Five minutes later, Riza was greeted by the sight of Havoc in only his boxer shorts, damp and covered in bubbles. With her hand, she stifled her laugh. "I thought I was the one taking the bath," she teased, tightening the sash of her bathrobe. "You were but I went to add bubbles and I dropped the bottle and when I went to get it out it spilled everywhere," he complained. "And what are you doing in a bathrobe?" She turned to walk away and smiled over her shoulder at him. "It's cold in here." Finally she allowed her robe to drop and sank into the steamy water. She breathed deeply, the feeling of relaxation finally washing over her. Havoc dropped to his knees, sitting besides her. "Thank you," she murmured. edge. Riza's head nestled against his thighs. He gave himself the pleasure of stroking her hair, still bound up, as she drifted in and out of sleep. His fingers itched to tug out the clip keeping her hair so nearly coiled. His hands drifted towards that, and was surprised when her hands suddenly clamped on his wrist. Her cinnamon eyes were suddenly wide awake. "Leave my hair, I don't want to get it wet," she explained. He relented. Havoc's hand dropped back to her head, and soon he found himself stroking her wet shoulders. She mumbled her appreciation, snuggling her head deeper into his lap. He swallowed, his throat dry. She was dangerously close to something dangerously volatile, and it may have just been his imagination, but he could feel her very breath on him, beneath his clothes.... Havoc closed his eyes in bliss... Only to be shocked back into reality when he felt something warm nudging the bulge in his shorts. His eyes shot open to reveal a highly amused Riza, nuzzling him with her nose. "God, Riza..." he breathed. Naturally, in accordance with all rules of science, Riza's doorbell rang. "Son of a bitch!" Havoc swore loudly, throwing his head back and thwacking it violently on the wall behind him. "Ow!" Riza rolled her eyes as she pulled herself out of the cooling water. "I'll get it." She pulled on her robe and padded down the hall. Havoc heard her walk down the hallway and slowly pulled himself up as well. He also heard her shout of anger. "What the hell are you doing here!" He barreled down the hallway, into the entryway, only to find a drunk Mustang leaning heavily on the doorframe. "Riza, Riza," he mumbled, barely coherent. "I'm sorry, Riza." He moved forward, reaching for her, but she stepped back. He lost his balance and fell to his knees on the wooden floor, looking up at her forlornly. "What do you want?" she asked coldly. Part of her, however, wanted to kneel down beside him. Care for him. And truthfully, she confessed to herself, she probably would have, if Havoc hadn't been two paces behind her. "I'm sorry," he said again. Then he saw Havoc. "Jean!" he practically sang. "My right-hand man, my loyal sub-sub-sub-" He struggled with the word and eventually gave up. "My friend!" "You're drunk," he said icily. "And you're leaving." He reached down to grab the older man by his forearm and haul him up. However, to his surprise and consternation, Riza stopped him. "Don't throw him out," Riza said quietly. "What? Why!" Havoc practically shouted at her. "This bastard!" "Where will he go?" she asked. "He'll hurt himself." She knelt down besides the prostrate man on the floor, one hand on his back. All at once, Havoc was filled with such a quiet, intense rage. "You love him." "What? Havoc, stop talking nonsense. Just help me." "Do you?" Roy piped up from the floor. "Do you love me, Riza?" "Both of you shut up!" Riza cried. Her fingers itched for a pistol. Havoc stood there, seething. "What we're going to do is put Roy in the extra room," she said steadily. "And then you and I will go to bed and forget all of this nonsense." Havoc mumbled an assent. "Now, help me get up up." Riza grasped Roy firmly by the forearm, puling him to his feet with Jean on his other side. Roy stumbled to his feet and grabbed wildly for Riza. He reached for her arms, falling and tugging down the shoulder of her robe, revealing her pale shoulder. Roy longed to bury his face in that flesh, that warm, pale flesh that blended so beautifully with his white cotton bedsheets. Never mind her boyfriend held him in a death grip, never mind he'd cruelly hurt her so. "Riza, I'm sorry," he cried again, his voice thick. He groped blindly for her wrists, holding her hand tenderly. The bruises had faded into a yellowish blotch on her skin, nearly gone. He anxiously kissed the injury, pleading with her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." "Shh, I know," she soothed him, despite the look of rage Havoc was giving her behind the other man's back. "Come on." Finally, after fifteen minutes of tedious, hazardous movement, Riza carefully laid Roy in her guest bed. She moved to undress him, stripping him of his jacket and boots, hesitating at the zipper of his pants before removing them, too. Havoc stood back and watched this ordeal with a mix of jealousy and anger. Finally, Riza turned to leave. But Roy's voice came from behind her. "Stay, please." His voice was heavy and sleep-laden. Riza stood, rooted to the spot. Unfortunately, Havoc noted her indecision. "Stay," he said sourly. Riza looked pained. "I'll be along in fifteen minutes," she promised. "Yeah, right." Havoc shut the door behind him. He retreated to Riza's bedroom, setting himself on the bed. In the other room, Riza was doing the same thing. She sat awkwardly besides Roy, settling down on the bed. Roy's black eyes looked up at her mournfully. "I didn't mean to hurt you." "I know you didn't," she said softly. "Why didn't you tell me about Havoc?" Roy shifted sleepily. The drunkenness was wearing off and now he was getting tired. Riza sighed. "I didn't know how you would take it." Besides her, Roy chuckled. "See how well that turned out." "Shut up and go to sleep." Riza gasped as Roy suddenly scooted closer to her and laid his head on her chest. He could smell the sweetness of her skin, and the softness of her breast, and he sighed at the luxury.He mumbled something incoherent, and she felt his body relax as he drifted to sleep. Riza felt his breath on her exposed flesh, the weight of his body. She allowed herself to tangle her hands in his thick black hair, stroking it for a moment before she too allowed herself the refuge of sleep. ** Havoc awoke with a start. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes before glancing at the clock on the bedside. It had been hours since he'd left Riza with the Colonel. He quietly stole from Riza's bedroom to the guest room down the hall. He opened the door gently, and peeked inside. The sight inside didn't surprise him: Riza against the wall, asleep, her arms tightly around Roy, who had his face nestled against her breasts. However, it did nothing to ease the heaviness that had settled in his heart. With the same stealth, he went back to the bedroom and pulled on his clothes. And with a last, long look at the door that hid Riza and the Colonel, Jean Havoc left, shutting the door of Riza's apartment firmly behind him.