Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist/Hagane no RenkinJutsushi belongs to Arakawa-san. I just borrow the characters from time to time and hope that I don't break them… too much.

Note: A while back, the amazing Blume did some really awesome fan art for me. One of the creations was of Second Lieutenant Stuka, smiling and scratching Edward's mount, Peony, behind the ears.

Here's the fic that was inspired by the art. You can find it under Blume DA profile, greenapplefreak.

OMAKE—Little Victories

A sonorous snort, then a drawn out snore, snatched Alice Taifun from away from the comforting hands of sleep and tossed her back into the harsh realities of wakefulness: war sucked, sharing sleeping quarters sucked, and being woken up at five o'clock in the morning (again) sucked. She sighed, opened grimy eyes. Thick shafts of light were drifting through the windows, smearing themselves like honey across the rough stone floor, the metal bunks where her dormmates still rested, the scratchy wool blankets and worn down wool uniforms.

A single oath danced on her lips, but she swallowed it back—it would be unbecoming of an officer to say such things aloud, right?—and eased herself out of her bed. Now that the sun was risen, there really was no way she'd be able to get back to sleep.

Moving as quietly as she could, she slid a clean shirt over she shoulders and fastened the buttons, fixed her cavalry skirt around her waist, and pulled her blond hair back into a bun. Her feet found their ways into heavy military-issued boots, then she was ghosting her way out of the barracks.

With the rest of the Passage Command not due to wake up for another hour, only the sentries and the cooks were really about, wandering up and down the ramparts like little blue ants, or else dashing from the mess hall to the storage shed or nearby well. Her eyes lit on Quartermaster's form, and she grinned. She liked the man, for all that he loomed above his subordinates like a bear and absolutely dwarfed her own petite frame.

Besides, she'd learned early on to make friends with the people in control of the food rations.

A quick wave, which he returned, and then she found herself following a familiar path down the service road and toward the stables. In the early morning light, a flash of gold caught her eye, and she glanced over the blue wool of her epaulet, saw the Fullmetal Alchemist up on the ramparts, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking downtrodden as he spoke to a man a full head taller than himself.

She frowned, and something in her chest twinged, but then she pushed it away and continued her trek. She felt sorry for the kid, sure—rumour was that he was an orphan, and that he'd lost his limb during some attack by the Ishvallans when he was still drawing arrays with crayons—but she couldn't find herself disagreeing with Second Lieutenant Stuka either. After all, untrained sixteen-year-olds had no place on a battlefield, and they definitely didn't have any right to dole out orders.

She blinked into the relative darkness as she stepped into the primary stables, and the sweet smell of hay and the musk of horse perfumed the air. The heads of a few of the warhorses poked out of their stalls, and dark eyes stared; one animal, a pitch black mare from her mane to her socks, huffed. Taifun smiled in response, snagged a carrot from a canvas sack near the door, obeyed the summons.

"You're not getting bored, are you, Drum?" She asked the horse. "I'll talk to the Boss and see if we can't get you some extra time outside today, then. It'll be our secret, though, so you can't tell anyone."

In response, Drum flicked her ears and munched on the offered carrot.

A few more moments, then she was making her way down the wide aisles again, scratching a few ears, offering a few more carrots, receiving huffs or snorts in response. She treated the warhorses like they were pets, the Second Lieutenant often snapped out, and not animals bred and trained for a purpose.

When he thought no one was looking, though, Second Lieutenant Stuka was an even bigger softie than she was.

Speaking of…

She recognized the voice echoing through the dusty air, though it was usually sharp and demanding instead of soft, gentle, and cooing out "just don't let the horse master know, or I'll get in some shit, okay? He gave you such a crappy name that you deserve it, though."

She flattened herself against the nearest stall, much to the confusion of its occupant, and eeked a glance around the corner. Sure enough, her big, mean, bulldog of a commanding officer was muttering praises to some dapple grey. The animal's ears were perked forward, listening to the man's soft voice, and its velvety nose was pressed against Stuka's broad chest.

She grinned wickedly, and a single idea lit up in her head like a gas lantern.

Eyes watched curiously as she tip-toed down the main aisle, eased the stable door open, and slipped through. A quick word and a beaming grin would convince Quartermaster to help her out, her mind whispered to her, words tumbling about quickly, and if she was fast enough…

She heels smacked against the packed earth of the main road, and she rounded a corner, veered to the right, eyes scanning for Quartermaster's massive frame… Someone called after her, and she shouted a quick "it's all good!" over her shoulder as she passed him by. Another private jumped away just in the nick of time when she damn well near bowled him over.

Finally, she found the subject of her quarry, brought herself to a heel as his shoulders tightened in surprise, beamed and flicked her hand to her forehead when he raised a single eyebrow at her.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," she said, panting and grinning. "But I was really hoping you'd be able to help me out with something."

"And what would that be, Private?"

"Just a bit of meanness toward the Boss, sir. Nothing to worry yourself about."

Quartermaster returned her grin.

It took, much to Private Alice Taifun's delight, only a day and a half for the pictures of her big, mean, bulldog of a commanding officer—the same officer caught smiling gently as he offered that dapple grey horse a bag of oats—to circulate around the Passage Command's cavalry corps.

She'd been assigned to mucking out the stalls every evening for a month after Stuka found out she'd been the one responsible for taking the photo, of course. When he'd confiscated the photo from her, though, there was no denying how careful he'd been when he slid the thing into his own breast pocket.

In the end, she counted it as just one little victory in the face of this war.

END

Another note: Heads up! Feral's first chapter was just posted!