As Lieutenant Colonel Mustang stared at the room before him, he consciously had to remind himself that he had stayed in worse places than this. In Ishval, there had been little more than a worn piece of canvas to separate him from the prying eyes of other soldiers, desert wind storms that clogged everything with barrel, and enemy combatants that had snuck behind their lines. And before that, it was the orphanage that took care of him while his Aunt Chris sorted out the custody arrangements; with its complete lack of privacy, or personal space, and the way they labored under the headmaster's paddle. There was no denying that he had stayed in places worse than this.

Still, this night would probably end up on the list of the worst places he had ever stayed.

"There's…only one bed," he said.

Mustang wasn't intending for anyone to respond to the comment he made out of shock. Talking to himself wasn't something that was entirely out of the ordinary for Mustang. Oftentimes when he found when he hit a snag in his alchemical research, he found talking through the problem would untangle the problem much faster than if he sat and stewed on it without. There was something about hearing the problem being said out loud that triggered a different way of thinking.

But when he heard the response, he had to fight his embarrassment from showing. He was the commanding officer, he shouldn't be so easily flustered.

"Yes sir."

Mustang felt the floor give under his feet as Lieutenant Hawkeye walked up from behind him to survey the situation they were in.

There was indeed only one bed. To the right was a nightstand with a single lamp and clock. A wardrobe stood in the corner of the room, one of its doors hanging down at an angle. And a single wooden chair stood near the window. The carpet was worn and nearly bare, and the room hadn't looked like it had been used for weeks, or months. Not if the dust they had disturbed when they walked in had anything to say.

Lieutenant Hawkeye walked around her commanding officer and opened the doors to the wardrobe and began to peel off the wet clothing she wore. Everything she removed was placed on one of the provided hangers and left to drip dry. Hawkeye was working on removing her military-issed pants when Mustang's brain finally processed that his lieutenant was stripping right in front of him.

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?" The Mustang that paraded around Eastern Command would have been ashamed at the crack his voice created when he got to Hawkeye's title.

Hawkeye paused and turned around to look at her superior officer, still standing near the door of their rented room for the night and creating a puddle of water underneath him. The corner of her lip twitched upward as she took in the face he had. She couldn't think of a time he had looked so embarrassed, except perhaps the time when he introduced her to his aunt for the first time.

Yet, despite her amusement, Riza Hawkeye kept her voice and demeanor completely under control.

"I'm removing all of my wet clothing sir. Sleeping in wet clothing would be an open invitation for illness. Plus, it would allow the wet clothing time to properly dry." Hawkeye punctuated her statement by drawing her legs out of the wet trousers and hanging them on a hanger. "I suggest that you do the same sir."

Had the process of rational thought not left him, Mustang would have surely said something witty and clever. Something that would have surely embarrassed Lieutenant Hawkeye about stripping so casually in front of a superior officer. Something that would have diffused some of the embarrassment from him. But he could think of nothing.

The only thing he could possibly process in his brain was the fact his lieutenant was stripped down to her black turtleneck she wore and her underwear. And that she told him to do the same. It was like he took a step out of reality and into his own dreams.

Roy shook his head. There was nothing going to happen that night that would remotely end up anything remotely like that. Lieutenant Hawkeye was speaking in a strictly practical, entirely professional, not-at-all in a way that his subconscious seemed to want, way of removing his clothes before sleeping in the same bed together.

Fuck, this was going to be so much harder than he thought.

Somewhat awkwardly, Mustang traded positions with Hawkeye to where he now stood in front of the open wardrobe and Hawkeye was left to examine the bed they were set to share. Which was fine. Roy could put all of the attention he possessed into prying the wet cloth from his body and he most certainly not thinking about how Hawkeye was just behind him, with no pants, getting into a bed they were set to share.

Until the springs on the bed creaked.

Roy froze in what he was doing and closed his eyes, wondering if this was some sort of test devised just for him to see how strong his will was. Whoever came up with this had a sick sense of humor, he decided.

Brushing that aside, Roy finished undressing. He was left in his boxers and an undershirt, both of which were slightly damp, but he was not about to crawl under those covers without any clothes on. Illness be damned, he was not going to be undressing any more.

Hawkeye was on the side closest to the door with her back to him. Presumably to give him some privacy that he neglected to give her. Roy swore to repay her somehow as he pulled back the covers and slid in. The mattress creaked underneath his weight, and made subsequent groans every time he shifted his weight to try and find a more comfortable position, while still keeping a fair distance away from his lieutenant a few inches behind him. Vaguely, he wondered what the little old innkeeper would think was happening in her room if she heard the obnoxiously loud bed they were on.

After a few more minutes of shifting uncomfortably, Roy finally reached a spot that seemed to be the most comfortable for a fitful night's sleep.

"Satisfied?" Hawkeye asked after a few moments of silence.

"As well as can be," he answered. The rest of his sentence remained unspoken between them.

"Well then. Goodnight sir."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

Taking a deep breath, Roy Mustang closed his eyes and did his very best to fall asleep. But visions of Hawkeye's appearance danced in his head, and the words of Hughes from the last time they went to the bar together swirled together and attacked his brain from all sides.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Roy had brushed off the question at the time, citing the alcohol they had both consumed, but now, with him and the alleged recipient of his affections both in some state of undress, within inches of each other under the blankets, and the soft little sounds that were escaping out of her mouth as she slept, he realized that perhaps Hughes had been onto something not even Roy could figure out.

Roy was slowly falling for his lieutenant. Fuck. It was going to be a long night.

A/N: This was just a fun little thing to write. Please leave a review.