Lemon Drops
Alright, first off, this fic has nothing to do with Lemon Drops, whatsoever. I drew blank as to what I wanted to call it, so I named it Lemon Drops. I personally like Lemon Drops. Any case, it's supposed to be funny, but it took a more fluffy turn near the end. I have a thing for moonlight dances without music. It's rather over used and it's pretty unoriginal, but I wrote it anyways. . ; Well, enjoy, RR!
Traveling to the cafeteria just for a drink was completely unnecessary, but paperwork, ninety degree weather, a broken ceiling fan and the invention of central air conditioning half a decade away convinced Roy Mustang otherwise. Standing in front of the vending machine, scanning listed products, he dug into his uniform trousers for change. Three quarters, two dimes, four nickels and a bunch of pennies later, he secured a painfully over priced can of carbonated beverage. The condensation from the chilled can came as a relief as Roy pulled back the metal tab with little resistance and poured the soda down his throat.
Walking away with a feeling of immense satisfaction, Mustang followed a pair of lieutenants out of the cafeteria.
"Give it up, Will. You know they say she has a date already." One of them spoke up.
Walking innocently behind them, one hand habitually tucked into his pocket, the other holding the now half empty soda, a devious grin formed across his face as he pressed the metal to his lips, tilting back for a sip. One word rang across his mind, gossip.
Spying at the pair over the horizon of his soda can, he caught sight of, presumably, Will's profile as he turned to address his friend, "She does?"
"Yeah," The other replied, one eyebrow raised at the naivety of his companion, "Haven't you heard?"
"No!" Will proclaimed, eyebrows furrowed in despair at the news. Mustang chuckled silently to himself. He's never had trouble with women. For personal reference sake, he cited a few snapshots from his memories. What can you say, he was the Flame Alchemist. Curiously enough, one particular woman was missing from all of these snapshots.
"Well," the other continued, "from what I heard it's some upper echelon state alchemist jerk, a total womanizer."
Slightly stunned, Will blinked several times. After a pause he managed to comment, "Wow. I didn't think she'd go for that type."
"I didn't think she had a type," the sergeant chuckled. Will, still reeling from the news simply shook his head.
Trailing close enough behind them to hear, the almost empty soda dangling from one hand, Roy gave an amused grin. They have a long way to go, kids these days. He thought back to his younger days. The random parties Maes dragged him, all the women, all that liquor and all the hangovers the morning after.
As they reached a fork in the hallway, the two unsuspecting lieutenants and the eavesdropping colonel were about to part ways, almost out of earshot, Will exhaled and grumbled, "So much for asking Riza Hawkeye to annual ball."
"What!?"
The two officers, as well as several passerbys, turned to the source of the anguished, panic stricken and horrified shout. Realizing that he had voiced his mental unrest out loud, Roy blinked several times, at a loss for words.
"I thought this was Sprite," he chuckled nervously holding up his Coca-Cola can.
------
"I can't believe this!" Roy exclaimed, pacing up and down his office. It was driving him insane, he was ready to pull his hair out just thinking about it. The mere notion, the idea, the implication, he was going to throw himself off a bridge.
"You can't believe what, sir?" Havoc asked, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth wavering as he spoke. He watched his commanding officer's form sail from one edge of the newspaper, across a sea of printed headlines and pictures, to the other edge, and back again. It was usually him going insane over women and Mustang listening, rather pretending to listen, in on his problems. He sighed and straightened out his paper, there's a first time for everything.
"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" Roy demanded, slamming his fists into the table.
Havoc looked up at him, "It'd be a lie if I said yes, sir."
Roy sighed, head hanging limply between his shoulders, he crumpled into his chair. "Oh, what's the use?" He was going to spend the rest of his life in misery while some, and this is to quote, "upper echelon state alchemist jerk, a total womanizer" eloped with her.
And the only person capable of understanding the severity of his despair is, simply put, not here. And the second person possibly capable of understanding the severity of his despair is reading the Business Times. Roy groaned, since when did Havoc start reading the Business Times?
"Who are we talking about again, sir?" Havoc asked nonchalantly, perusing over the paper with no real interest, and no real understanding.
"You know damn well who we're talking about!" Roy snapped as his hand made contact with his face accompanied by a loud smack. Why did he tell Havoc this again? Whatever happened to "he doesn't have problem with women"? Another mental sigh.
"Oh yeah, I do." Havoc blinked several times, cigarette tipping dangerously. "Well," Honestly looking up from the paper, Havoc added, "Have you tried talking to her about it?"
"No," Roy replied at a lower decibel with a fringe of annoyance and concern, "No, I haven't tried talking to her about it."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" Mustang repeated, taken aback by the remark, forcing him to find a reason. Why didn't he talk to her about? The consequences of said inquiry and pursuing conversation would result lingered in his mind. Somehow he had a foreboding feeling that, "It'd just turn out badly."
"Well, whatever course of action you choose, sir," Havoc concluded, "You'd better do it fast." He pulled back the cuffed sleeve of his uniform to reveal a watch. Glancing at it, he added, "You've got four hours and twenty minutes until that upper echelon, state alchemist, womanizing jerk waltzes away with Lieutenant Hawkeye."
------
Jean Havoc never really understood the appeal of a tuxedo. He felt oddly penguin in sauna as he sat in a cushioned chair off in the corner. He glanced up at his superior officer, holding a tall stemmed glass of champagne, leaning against the wall with a hand in his pocket, as always.
The massive chandelier descending from the ceiling bathed the room in heavy golden light. The springy notes of the melody floated between the dancing couples, circulating like a breeze through the room. The annual summer ball, Jean Havoc never really understood the appeal of a ball either. It was like his high school prom all over again. No date, no dice.
"Sir, may I ask why we're here?" Havoc finally spoke up over the string quartet and the chatter in the ballroom. He pulled open his collar and exhaled, at least he was still breathing.
"We're conducting an experiment." Mustang replied, voice monotone, eyes glued to another seated figure across the dance floor.
Riza Hawkeye sat gazing out one of the five large balconied windows that spanned the length of the ballroom. The white strapless dress she wore had a way of accentuating her curves, hugging her body in all the right places, but at the same time maintaining a classy elegance. The gentle curls of her hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back. Two surprises in one night, Riza in a dress, Riza with her hair down. Strike that, three surprises, Riza in a dress, with her hair down, waiting for a date.
Havoc sighed. He looked from Roy to Riza and then back to Roy. He let out another mournful sigh, head dropping as he propped his elbows up against his knees.
"I don't get it," Roy thought out loud. "She's just been sitting there the entire time, as if she's waiting for someone." Waiting for that "upper echelon, state alchemist, womanizing jerk", who has yet to materialize. How dare he keep her waiting like this!
"I don't get it," Havoc said, watching a large group of women diligently following the Colonel's every move. Sometimes, one of them would glance shyly in the Colonel's direction, only to retract back into the group to continue squealing about Havoc's commanding officer. What was Roy's high school prom like? King Roy, crown, scepter, throne and ego, all in one. Havoc sighed again.
"Who can she possibly be waiting for?" Roy questioned no one in particular. He took a sip of his champagne, eyes never leaving Riza.
"Have you ever considered," Havoc began. "Have you ever considered that she might be waiting for you?"
"Are you calling me a 'womanizing jerk'?" Roy turned to his subordinate, champagne glass in hand, face void of expression.
Havoc, giggling nervously like a high school girl, edge back farther into his chair, both arms up in the air to offer some sort of protection, "Of course not, sir. I was jus kidding. I'd never call you that, sir. You're definitely not a womanizer or a jerk, or both, sir."
Roy gave him an amused chuckle and with another sip of his champagne turned back to Riza.
"But honestly, have you considered that it may just be you she's waiting for?" Havoc repeated with a new sincerity and seriousness in his voice. In his mind, there was only one "upper echelon, state alchemist, womanizing jerk" that'd ever be with Lieutenant Hawkeye in the center of gossip.
"No," Roy replied, once again in monotone, "Not really."
Havoc let out an exasperated sigh, and he thought he was dense when it came to human emotions.
------
By the end of the night, Roy had spent the entirety of the ball watching Riza, a large group of women spent the entirety of the ball watching Roy, Havoc spent the entirety of the ball watching the group of women watch Roy, and Riza spent the entirety of the ball watching nothing in particular. No "upper echelon, state alchemist, womanizing jerk" had shown up to whisk her away, providing Roy much needed relief. Perhaps it was just a rumor, perhaps he overreacted.
As the ballroom emptied slowly of people, Riza rose from her seat and strolled out on to a balcony. The night sky fanning out above her, sprinkled with twinkling stars that stretched infinitely past the brilliant pale moon. Roy sat his empty champagne glass mutely on a table and followed her out. Havoc, who was ready to drown in his loneliness and total nonexistence of a love life, jerked up instantly when he realized Roy wasn't there anymore.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it sir?" She asked as she heard his footsteps approach. After years of experience, recognizing his footsteps was easy.
"Exquisite," he whispered, turning to look at the woman next to him. "I didn't see you on the dance floor."
"I'm not much of a dancer." She replied with a small chuckle.
"Me neither," he confessed, with a sheepish grin as Riza turned to look at him in surprise. The moonlight fell at angles across the contours of her face, framing her delicate features. Warmth crept into his eyes as he met her gaze. He had the urge to grab her hands right there, pull her into him and spin with her, awkwardly, strangely, haphazardly across the balcony, without the music, without the formalities, only with her.
"Want to give it a shot anyways?" He finally asked, one hand reaching up to scratch his head, almost a universal sign of nervousness. Charcoal black eyes focused on the strikingly beautiful woman as he waited for a response.
"But there's no music and I-" Before Riza could finish, he took her hand into his and wrapped another around her waist. "Sir, I don't-"
"C'mon, it can't be that bad." He mused, leading her on in circles. Her shoes clicked against the marble balcony, hair swaying as she moved. Spinning and whirling, the two continued in their improvised dance. Feeling so childish, delighted by such trivial action, a smile crept across Riza Hawkeye's lips. Being in the arms of her superior officer, no, being with Roy, gave her comfort and safety she's never found in anything else.
"See, it's fine." He coaxed. "Just like this, one, two, three, one, two, three," he counted to no particular time, to no particular beat. He really wasn't sure where he found the courage to do this. This, even to him, wasn't normal. Then again, her place in his heart wasn't exactly normal.
'Have you ever considered that it may just be you she's waiting for?' Is she waiting for me, the "upper echelon, state alchemist, womanizing jerk"? He gave a small, hopeless smile. Then the thought was replaced by a single word, rapture.
Slowly, the two stopped, but neither let go of each other. A most enchanting look across her face, Roy was not sure what spell she had cast upon him, whatever it was, he fell head first for it.
"I think," he whispered, his breath tickling her lips, "I think I'm in love with you." Before she could protest, or do anything else, his lips found hers and caught her in a kiss.
Jean Havoc was always prepared, for every occasion, every time. As he followed Roy out to the balcony, he was abruptly stopped by the sight of the colonel and the first lieutenant, standing together in an embrace. Creeping stealthily along the wall, he tucked himself behind a tall potted plant. Whipping out a camera instantly, he focused the crosshairs of the pocket sized machine at the couple. Waiting for just the right moment, the shutters clicked just as their lips met. It was a Kodak moment, a Hughes moment, one that he certainly would appreciate on film, wherever he may be.
Someone once said that love was the closest thing humans had to magic, right then and there, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye couldn't agree more.