I do not own the copyright to Fullmetal Alchemist.

Takes place before the series starts, but contains spoilers for the flashbacks in Episode 30 (Brotherhood anime) and Chapters 58-61 (manga).

Holiday Dinner

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang sat at his desk in the East City Military Command, staring out of the window. It was the beginning of autumn, and the trees lining the parade grounds had begun to change color. Just in time for the holiday. Amestris, a secular nation, didn't have as many holidays as its neighbors, but the annual Harvest Holiday was an important one, and even the military would get a day off tomorrow. He was looking forward to getting out of the office.

His contemplation was interrupted when Riza—Lieutenant Hawkeye, he corrected himself—walked in with an armload of file folders and set them in his inbox.

It was a large stack. He frowned. "Do I really have to go through all of these today, Lieutenant?"

She sighed indulgently, picked up the top two folders, and laid them in the middle of his desk. "These two are the most time-sensitive. General Hakuro's office is expecting them. Please be sure to get them done by the end of the day, sir, since I won't be here to remind you."

"That's right, I said you could leave early today, didn't I?" He opened up the first folder and began to flip through the pages. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Usually it took her several tries to get him to look at anything she gave him, but he was in a good mood.

The radio division was ordering a shipment of transistors. That was easy; Sergeant Major Fuery, his communications specialist, always vetted these requests thoroughly. "Got plans for the holiday, Lieutenant?" he asked pleasantly as he signed off on the document.

"I'm going home with Lieutenant Catalina. She has family nearby." She fidgeted slightly as she stood waiting.

"That sounds nice," lied Mustang, picking up the second folder. He found Lieutenant Catalina loud and unpleasant, and had no idea how Hawkeye could stand her company. "I hope you have a good time."

"How about you, sir? Your only family's in Central, right?"

"Yes, but I'm staying local. Last minute dinner invitation," he said absently as he glanced over the second document. It was a request from the commissary to change their supplier of canned ham. Why did they bother him with these ridiculous details? He signed his name without reading it, closed the folder, and handed both reports back to Hawkeye.

"Well, you have a good time too, sir," she said. After a pause, she added, "You know, if you're going to go through the reports that quickly, you could get them all done today."

His response was to lean back in his chair, prop his feet up on the desk, and smile. "Happy Holiday, Lieutenant," he said.

She sighed in defeat. "Happy Holiday to you too, Lieutenant Colonel," she said, smiling just a bit as she turned and left.

He spent a few more minutes staring out of the window, letting his mind wander. After awhile he turned back to his inbox and picked up the top folder. A request from the infirmary to change their resupply quantities of tongue depressors and cotton swabs. He closed the folder and put it back in the inbox.

Grabbing his coat from the coat rack by his office door, he walked into the outer office where the rest of his unit had their desks. "How do you feel about closing up the office early today, men?" he asked his remaining subordinates. Lieutenant Havoc, Lieutenant Breda, Warrant Officer Falman, and Sergeant Major Fuery were all in agreement.

"Got a hot date for the holiday, boss?" teased Havoc.

"Yeah—with General Grumman," Mustang chuckled. "He invited me over for dinner."

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" asked Falman. "Getting in good with the general?"

"I guess so. He wants me to meet his granddaughter." He wouldn't normally have shared that detail, but they were all in a relaxed mood due to the holiday. And, he supposed, he felt more comfortable since it was just the men.

The detail had piqued their interest. "Yeah?" asked Havoc. "How old? Is she pretty?"

"22. He says she's beautiful and smart, but shy."

"Have you seen a picture, sir?" asked Falman.

"No."

"Do you know anything else about her?" asked Breda.

"Not really."

"Do you even know her name, Lieutenant Colonel?" asked Fuery.

"Hasn't mentioned it."

"This sounds like a trap," said Havoc. "Take my advice, boss—run the other way!"

Mustang laughed. "I think that might be bad for my career prospects."

The granddaughter issue was potentially troublesome, but it wasn't foremost on Mustang's mind as he drove to General Grumman's house the following evening. He was thinking, as he did quite often, about Lieutenant Hawkeye.

How many years had it been since they'd first met? His mind flashed through all the different Riza Hawkeyes he had known. His alchemy master's shy teenage daughter. The earnest young woman who had given him the secrets of her father's flame alchemy. His fellow soldier in the terrible Ishvalan War. And now his most trusted lieutenant—yet still, after all this time, a woman he barely knew.

It had been a little over a year since the end of the war, and just seven months since he had been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and recruited Riza to his team. It had been a lucky accident that her file had appeared among the pool of potential recruits. He had been so certain that she would leave the military after the war ended that he hadn't even thought to look for her in the ranks. She had chosen to stay, she said, because she felt that only those who had seen the military at its worst abuse of power would be motivated to change it for the better.

The transition hadn't been easy. Ishval had left scars—mental and physical—on both of them, but especially on Riza. The shy, earnest young woman had been transformed into a tough, nearly humorless soldier, who buried herself in work, physical training, and little else. It was a full two months after she joined his unit before he saw her smile even once.

She had started to relax since then, little by little, but he still worried about her. He did what little he could to lighten her mood, even purposely slacking off on his work because she seemed to enjoy scolding him. It pleased him whenever he was rewarded with one of her rare smiles.

But it was more than just concern for her well-being. He found her fascinating. She was beautiful, poised, quietly intelligent. Her training had made her physically strong, with a tomboyish demeanor that took nothing away from her beauty and feminine curves, but somehow only made her more attra—

Stop it. Think about something else.

He turned off the main East City road, down the side road leading to Grumman's neighborhood. He knew better than to let his mind wander in that direction. He couldn't afford to think of Riza—of Lieutenant Hawkeye—as he would any other woman. Even if she felt the same attraction to him (and he had no reason to think she did), military regulations were strict about fraternization between commanding officer and subordinate, and for good reason.

There were other, more important reasons. The fact that he bore responsibility for many of her scars was never far from his thoughts. She had entrusted him with the secrets of flame alchemy, and he had used them to help the military wage a massacre. His naïve proselytizing about the military's good intentions had persuaded her to follow him into the same trap. And the last glimpse he'd had of her in Ishval was in a medical tent, being treated for burns that he had inflicted on her. It had taken everything he had, that day seven months ago when she had walked into his office, for him to even look her in the eye.

That day, she had pledged to help him reach his goal: to become Fuehrer, to expose what happened in Ishval, and to make sure nothing like it ever happened again. To watch his back. And if he ever became corrupted by power, to shoot him in it. He knew she believed in their mission. But what she thought of him as a man, he had no idea.

So he would continue to discipline his thoughts. He would think of her as Lieutenant Hawkeye, his trusted aide and fellow soldier, his protector, his appointed conscience, and his friend. But nothing more.

His eyes fixed on the dark road ahead of him, illuminated only by his headlights, he inhaled deeply and sighed. It wasn't enough. But if he found it too frustrating, well, East City was full of lovely young women, and he never seemed to have any trouble persuading them to share his company. Or his bed. They would have to do.

General Grumman's house was a large villa in an affluent suburb of East City. The privileges of rank, Mustang thought as he walked up the stone walkway past the manicured front lawn. Well, he would catch up soon enough, he told himself with a grin as he rang the doorbell.

After a few moments the door opened, and he found himself face to face with Lieutenant Hawkeye. Wearing a dress.

He was speechless. She appeared equally shocked. "Lieutenant Colonel!" she exclaimed. "Why are you—uh—" She offered a flustered salute, which he hastily returned.

I'm doomed, he thought. Grumman's granddaughter is Lieutenant Catalina.

He heard the general's familiar chortle from inside the foyer. "At ease, you two! It's a holiday. Riza, why don't you let our guest in?" She ushered him inside, still flustered.

"Happy Holiday, General," said Mustang, shaking the older man's outstretched hand. He had regained his senses and was revaluating the circumstances. There was no sign of Lieutenant Catalina, and Grumman seemed to be on very familiar terms with Hawkeye. Could that mean…

He turned back toward her. "Lieutenant, by any chance, are you General Grumman's granddaughter?"

She nodded, looking embarrassed. "Yes. But we weren't going to tell anyone that, were we, Grandfather?" She smiled sweetly at the older man, but her eyes threatened murder.

He chuckled. "Forgive me, Riza, I couldn't resist this one time. He would have figured it out on his own eventually. And it was worth it for the look on both your faces." His eyes sparkled with mirth. "But let's not stand here in the hall. Don't worry, Mustang, we'll tell you the story over dinner."

Dinner consisted of roast duck, sweet potatoes, a medley of vegetables, and generous quantities of red wine. The linen-clad, candlelit table setting was elegant but not ostentatious, prepared by the household's cook and housekeeper, who busied herself in the kitchen while the general and his guests ate.

Mustang was still trying to get his mind around the sight of Lieutenant Hawkeye in a dress. It suited her, he decided. The dress was black crushed velvet, cocktail length, with a tailored fit that flared at the hem and the end of the long sleeves, a nice complement to her short blonde hair and large brown eyes. The collar was high in the back and notched in the Xingese style that was fashionable lately. The neckline was lower in front, not low enough to be immodest, but enough to draw his eye—Stop looking.

The story emerged gradually, with Hawkeye and Grumman taking turns telling their parts of it.

Hawkeye's parents, who were both political radicals, had been estranged from their respective families, and she had grown up not knowing if she had any other relatives, as Mustang recalled. But after her father's funeral, she had done some digging through the family records. She came across some photos of her mother's parents, including a young Lieutenant Grumman. However, she had not known if he was still alive, or how to find him.

Meanwhile Grumman—heartbroken over his daughter's estrangement, and her later death—had, over the years, quietly kept tabs on the granddaughter he was forbidden to see. The only time he had lost track of her was when he was deployed to the south in the Aerugo border war of 1905. The deployment had lasted three years, and by the time he returned, Hawkeye's father had died, and she had enrolled in the East City Military Academy and been sent to fight in the Ishvalan War.

Grumman's tone became angry. "I would have prevented that, if I'd been here. They had no business sending a cadet into a war zone!" Hawkeye said nothing, gazing serenely at her wine glass.

Once the Ishvalan War ended, Hawkeye had enlisted in the military and been posted in East City—which, she was pleasantly surprised to learn, had been placed under the command of her grandfather, now General Grumman. She had been visiting with him weekly for tea ever since. Concerned about the appearance of nepotism, however, she had persuaded him to keep the relationship a secret. "I didn't want anyone treating me differently because of it," she explained to Mustang. "I'd rather be judged on my own merits."

That was the Hawkeye he knew, at least. He smiled at her. "That's quite a story," Mustang said. "I had no idea."

She looks happy here, he thought. Hawkeye and Grumman seemed to share a genuinely affectionate bond. She was more relaxed, and smiling more often, than he had seen since before the war.

The general emptied the last of the wine bottle into his glass. "Hmm, we're out. Riza, would you mind heading down to the cellar and getting a fresh bottle?" She nodded pleasantly, and left the room.

"So," said Grumman. "This really was news to you, wasn't it? I would have expected you to investigate your subordinates more thoroughly."

"I was sloppy," admitted Mustang. He had conducted background checks on all the other team members, but hadn't done so with Hawkeye, since he had known her for so long. "But why go to these lengths, General? Why not just tell me?"

Grumman smiled, but his eyes were deadly serious. "Lieutenant Colonel, I wanted to impress on you just how very important my granddaughter is to me." Mustang swallowed and nodded. The general continued, "I understand that she's a soldier, and no one can keep her entirely out of harm's way. But I want to make sure that nothing like Ishval ever happens to her again. She's an extraordinary young woman, and I won't see her used and abused to further the ends of corrupt men.

"You seem like an honorable young officer. That's why I took a chance with you, and made sure her file appeared in front of you when you were assembling your team. I'm expecting a lot of you, Lieutenant Colonel."

Mustang was learning quite a bit of new information tonight. "I won't let you down, sir. I give you my word," he said. He meant it sincerely.

"So we understand each other." The older man smiled in earnest now, his mood lightening. "She was livid when she found out I'd pulled strings to arrange that posting," he chuckled. "But she likes working for you, so I think she's forgiven me."

Hawkeye's footsteps sounded in the hallway as she returned from the cellar.

"What did you bring us, granddaughter?" asked Grumman. "A Drachman merlot from '07," she replied, presenting the bottle with a shy smile. "Good choice," the older man said.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, with no new surprises or revelations. Grumman spent much of the time regaling them with stories of his years as a young military officer. He had a theatrical storytelling style (which no doubt included some embellishments) that made his tales genuinely entertaining.

When the evening drew to a close, Mustang offered to drive Hawkeye back to her dormitory. It might have given the wrong impression if anyone were to see him dropping her off, but most of the personnel were away for the holiday, and the risk seemed minimal. They thanked the general for his hospitality and said their goodbyes as he walked them out.

Without thinking, Mustang found himself holding the passenger door of his car open for Hawkeye, and closing it for her after she was seated. A silly bit of formality. During work hours, he usually made her drive while he sat in the back seat. The dress was throwing him off, he decided as he started the car.

"You and General Grumman seem to get along well," he said as he steered out onto the road. "I'm happy that you were able to find another member of your family."

"Thanks," she said. "I feel lucky to have found him."

"What do you think of him?"

"He's a sweet man. A little strange, but sweet. And he could be a good asset to the mission, sir. He's smarter and better connected than he looks." That was Hawkeye, ever the tactician.

After a few moments, she continued hesitantly, "There's one other thing, though…even though I feel disloyal saying it." Her brow knitting slightly, she took a deep breath. "I don't trust him completely. He's been nothing but kind to me—it's just a gut feeling." She frowned. "He knows a lot about what goes on at Central Command. I'm certain he's got informants. And as you saw earlier this evening, he loves to play games."

Her gut feeling matched his own. "I definitely had the feeling of being moved around like pieces on a game board this evening," he concurred.

She added hastily, "I don't think he's evil or anything. But—watch your back just in case, sir. At least when I'm not there to watch it for you."

"I'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant."

They rode in silence for awhile before arriving at her dormitory. He pulled the car up to the sidewalk in front of the building, where they said goodnight and wished one another a happy holiday, one last time. He decided to let her open her own door this time. Best not to get confused.

He watched as she walked up to the dormitory, fumbling slightly with her key before pushing the front door open. Before disappearing through the doorway, she paused and gave a brief wave. And just for a moment, she wasn't his subordinate and fellow soldier. She was a lovely young woman in a black velvet dress, waving goodnight after a date, and he felt a sudden stab of possibility.

And then she was gone. He forced himself back to reality. She wasn't just any young woman, she was his subordinate and fellow soldier, and their history together was painful and complicated. If there had ever been any such possibility between them, he told himself as he put the car into gear and pulled away, it lay buried in the ashes of Ishval. Now the only thing they shared was their mission.

The road ahead was dark, illuminated only by his headlights. His mind began to wander…maybe someday, after the mission was completed…Stop it.

Until the mission was complete, until he met his goal of becoming Fuehrer, of righting the wrongs of Ishval and setting the country back on the right path, he couldn't afford to think about that. He had no time for personal distractions, he reminded himself as he turned his car onto the road toward home.

But she had looked awfully nice in that dress. Think about something else.

Mustang rubbed his eyes as he walked into his unit's office the next morning. He hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, but that was nothing new. He was running a few minutes late (well, a few minutes more than usual), and his subordinates were all at their desks already. "Good morning," he said with a vague wave as he headed toward his own office. They returned the greeting.

"Hey, boss, how did your dinner go?" Havoc asked with a grin. "Did you meet the general's granddaughter?"

Mustang stopped cold. He had forgotten that he had mentioned it…whatever had possessed him to share that information with the men? Now they were all looking at him expectantly. Hawkeye, he noted, was pretending to read a report, but was watching him over the edge of the folder, her eyebrows raised. He was going to have to choose his next words very carefully.

He smiled. "Everything the general bragged about was true. She's an amazing young woman."

The men seemed impressed. "Did you ask her out on a date, sir?" asked Falman.

"No…" he hesitated. "Unfortunately, it seems she's…off limits."

"Do you mean she already has a boyfriend, Lieutenant Colonel?" asked Fuery.

"Something like that," he smiled. He continued the rest of the way to his office, pausing at the door to throw his coat on the coat rack, and turned back toward the outer office. The men looked disappointed at the lack of further gossip. Hawkeye had returned her attention to her report, but behind the folder, he saw that she was silently laughing.

"All right, team," he grinned. "Holiday's over. Let's get back to work!"