Chapter started: 3/25/07

Chapter finished: 3/25/07

Disclaimer: Rallalon does not own FMA. Nor does she own any of its places, characters or items.

I would like to refer to this chapter as a writing spasm. That is all.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"How long d'you think it'll be until the usual place is rebuilt?" Jean asked, chewing on a coffee stir.

Hawkeye shrugged, not listening too closely. "A few more weeks, probably. I can't see a coffee shop being that high of a priority." If Jean was going to keep the conversation a light one, she wasn't about to complain.

"Never underestimate the power of an addiction," he replied, his foot tapping away.

A Thursday routine, the pair had been taking their lunch break out to a coffee shop which was a reasonable distance away from the office. Originally Jean's effort to make sure that her life was more than her job, the brisk walk and open air lunch had become part of post-Mustang life. For the relaxing building and comforting plaza to be destroyed on the same day of her colonel's return was –

a perfect fit a total match almost to be expected

– disquieting.

"First nicotine, now it's caffeine," she remarked, inwardly wincing at the accidental rhyme. "We're never going to wean you off."

It was Jean's turn to shrug. "At least coffee smells good. One less reason to get dumped for."

Riza made a noncommittal noise, turning in her chair to look out the front window the replacement coffee shop. No fresh air, no sandwiches, no friendly wait staff that knew them both by name as well as favorite food… At least there was a view. And decent lemon tea. It could've been worse. She could be –

watching him watched by him

– back at the office. Back at the office and not getting any air or a chance to use her legs. It wasn't cramped here, that was all. ld be -

o friendly waitstaff that knew them both by name as well as favorite food...

Slowly, the silence between the pair grew awkward, the increasingly common trend between them. It hadn't used to be like this. No, silence used to be companionable, but now…

Riza didn't like to admit it, but she was far more inclined to ignore the reason behind the awkwardness than acknowledge it. It wasn't Jean's fault.

Finally, chewing all the while on that coffee stir, Jean found something he was comfortable saying. "What's your opinion on scones?"

Realizing that he was getting up, her reply was a short one. "Blueberry."

"Coming right up. My treat," he added with a nervous smile as she reached for her wallet.

"I'll buy next week." The words came out too quickly.

"Sure." It practically sounded as if he was reassuring her.

…She wanted her life back to normal. Nearly two years of rebuilding it and now- now he was back and everything was wrong. Everything had focused on him for so long that when he left…

He wasn't the central pillar of her life any more. He hadn't been in a long time. There was no point now, no reason for it, no cause. Her life had long since ceased to be focused around Colonel Roy Mustang and his grand ideals.

And yet, it still felt like was.

It wasn't, of course. Not in the slightest. But she couldn't shake the feeling, that sense of should be which never seemed to match up with her view of what actually was.

"-of blueberry."

Riza startled, surprising Jean in turn. "What?"

"I said, they're out of blueberry." He took the coffee stir out of his mouth before he said this, just to make sure she got the message.

Oh. "Never mind. I'm not hungry."

He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing to make his entire expression a question. "Didn't you say you skipped breakfast this morning?"

…Note to self: do not give Falman information unless all concerned parties are meant to know.

"I'm not hungry," she repeated. She was, actually, but hunger and appetite had recently become to entirely different matters for her. Besides, there was a part of her that wanted to be childishly contrary towards Jean. It stemmed from a jealousy of the most immature kind, but it was there all the same.

Jean gave her another questioning look before taking his seat across from her, also scone-less. "Riza, don't you think you-"

"No."

"You don't know the whole question yet," he insisted.

Hawkeye looked at him.

"Don't you think you and the colonel should talk?"

"No." Not yet. Not now. Not with... not with everything the way it was right now.

Jean sighed, turning towards the window as well. He chewed the coffee stir furiously, habit giving away his mood. "He's asked after you," Jean said at last.

Riza looked down and stirred her tea.

"Seems that something's missing, but he can't put his finger on it."

Calmly, she removed the spoon from her mug of tea. Set it down on a paper napkin.

"He knows enough to guess, though."

She lifted out the teabag, let it drip a moment. It joined the spoon on the napkin.

"I mean, it's getting really obvious to him."

The napkin slowly soaked through, the white paper stained into tea-tinted transparency.

"Riza."

She looked up, met his eyes.

"He needs you," Jean said.

"I don't see why he should," Riza replied, finally addressing what perhaps had pained her the most over the past few weeks.

"Maybe because he always-"

"Because he never confided in me the way he does you."

There. She'd said it. Completely childish and immature as it was, she couldn't get it out of her head. And it wasn't just that he was counting on Jean this much nowadays.

It was that he always thought he had. He thought that Jean Havoc was foremost in the group of his trusted aides. He thought that Jean Havoc was the one he had always leaned on, second only to Hughes. He believed that. And half the time, it wasn't even as if he knew –

I met you first I promised you first I killed for you first was there for you always longest no matter what even when you tried to keep me safe I was there always always always took care of you how can you not know that not care not realize not care not care not care at all

– she was there. He ignored her. He was physically pained when he thought about her. How could she even expect him to want anything to do with her?

And how was it that she still wanted to hand on, despite that? Two years of rebuilding and in a matter of weeks, it was all gone.

"Look, Riza," Jean began after a considerably long pause. "It's not that he confides in me, per se. It's more like, well…"

Hawkeye gave no sign of helping him through this conversational minefield.

"Breda told me." After that little declaration, Jean hurried to explain. "He and the colonel are playing chess together again. Breda said he just makes conversation and sees what topics make the colonel play the worst. You know how well Breda can assemble little clues like that." He leaned forward, switching the coffee stir from one side of his mouth to the other. "No one's confiding in anyone."

It was her turn to be silent for a moment. "I almost wish he was," she admitted at last.

"Yeah," Jean agreed, his expression getting across his meaning far more than his single word could.

For the first time in weeks, they faded into a silence that was comfortable, Riza sipping her tea and Havoc switching to his third coffee stir of the afternoon. It was starting to get a little stuffy in there as more people came in for something resembling lunch, but no matter, they would be leaving soon anyway.

"I wasn't lying," Jean told her as they picked up their jackets to leave, "when I said he'd asked after you."

Holding her uniform jacket rather than wearing it, she couldn't bring herself to reply to that, not directly. Not when the first words to come to mind were "Maybe someday he'll ask me directly." No, not something she was going to say aloud.

"I believed you," she said instead by way of reassurance.

Jean nodded to her, the pair exiting the small shop and emerging into the fresh air and sunlight. As walks went, it was an uneventful one, nothing at all out of the ordinary occurring. No giant ships burst forth from the ground, no suits of armor came barreling towards them and there was a noted lack of their old fallback, scarred serial killers.

Havoc enjoyed pointing this out to her. "At least something is looking up."

"Like the weather."

"That too." And once again came the lapse into companionable silence, comfortable and familiar.

As the headquarters office building came slowly into sight, Jean stopped abruptly, looking at her with an odd expression.

"What is it, Jean?"

"You've heard about how they found the remains of the gate underground, right?" he asked. "That huge square frame with only half-solid gunk inside it?"

And burn marks scorching the surrounding area. "A little about it, yes."

"Well, I've been thinking for a while about..." Jean trailed off embarrassed.

She looked at him, both patient and demanding.

"It sounds so cliché," he replied.

"What does, Jean?"

"Equivalent Exchange and all that," Havoc explained. "When you think about it, he saved the world, at least in a way. It makes sense that he would have to lose it too."

Hawkeye was silent for a short moment, just a small pause. "You're right," she said. "It does sound cliché."

.-.-.-.

Later that night, sitting in her bed with Black Hayate at her feet and a paperback romance in hand, it occurred to her that a cliché could be just what a person needed to get them through the day. Or even the night. She set down the book, turned off the light. Black Hayate was shooed onto the floor with almost a smile.

She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to dreams old and unfading.