A/N: What better way to start a series of challengeshots than with a glimpse of most of the major players? This particular submission is more a general 'family' piece; don't you worry, there will be plenty of Royza later on. :)

One - Military Personnel

"Whoa!"

A sudden weight colliding with him from the side sent Roy sprawling on the floor amid a snowstorm of papers. He sat up just as Riza stepped between him and the young man who'd knocked him over; the latter was madly scrambling to get all his documents back together, blushing bright red.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I couldn't see where I was going, it was an accident, I swear it was!" A mass of paper clutched to his chest, he looked up, expression desperate. "Are you all right?"

Any retort Roy had been prepared to spit out faded as he got a good look at the unfortunate soldier; he was just a kid. "Don't worry about it; accidents happen." He caught Hawkeye's gaze, nodding that everything was okay; she immediately crouched, helping to gather the young man's papers.

"Um . . . sir? Are you going to report me for this?"

Roy gave a quiet laugh. "Why would I do that?"

"Well . . . ." The kid looked down, ordering the papers in his hands. "The same thing happened before; I fell into General Grand a month ago. He reported me."

"I'm not Grand," was the wry answer. He held out hand. "Colonel Roy Mustang."

That finally drew a shy smile. "Sergeant Kain Fuery. Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Hey; I was wondering if you could help me out?"

The man behind the desk, hair half silver, half black, looked up. "Of course, sir. What can I do for you?"

Leaning on the high edge, Roy folded his arms. "I was just down here about an hour ago, and I dropped off a stack of files — about eight or nine — but I forgot to get the case numbers off of them for my records. Do you know where they would be?"

Expression turning apologetic, the man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Major, those files have already been taken down to the archive room. You'll need special permission to go down there."

Grimacing, Roy ran a hand across his face. "Damn. Hawkeye's gonna kill me for slipping up like this. Do you have the information on file here?"

"Not . . . officially . . . ." the man said, obviously reluctant. "But . . . well, I glanced through them before they went down to the archives. I remember the case numbers."

Roy stared for a moment. ". . . Each of those numbers is nine digits long," he said at last, his tone a giveaway as to how impressed he was. "Altogether, that's eighty-one numbers . . . ." He tilted his head to one side in curiosity. "What's your name?"

"Sergeant Vato Falman, sir."

"Any idea what's wrong with it?"

Dealing the truck tire a blow with the toe of his boot, the driver — a Sergeant-Major with a shock of sandy-blond hair — shook his head. "Sorry, sir. This is one of the oldest trucks that East Headquarters has; she breaks down a lot for any number of reasons." Turning, he climbed back up into the cab with his two passengers. "I radioed the base; they'll have another ride for you out here in an hour."

"Thanks." Silence descended for a moment, before Roy spoke again. "Got a name?"

The younger man winced slightly. "Sergeant-Major Jean Havoc, sir." He hesitated. "I suppose you're asking because you'll be filing a report on this incident?"

"Nope. I'd just rather not refer to you as a pronoun for the next hour." Leaning forward in his seat, Roy held out a hand. "Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Havoc answered, shaking the profferred hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Damn; nothing bad, I hope." Roy grinned, settling back in seat as he indicated the woman sitting between them in the cab. "This is Second Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Hey, Havoc!"

Glancing quickly toward the door to the inner office, and his two superiors within, Havoc got up from his desk and headed for the door. "What are you doing? You trying to get me in trouble?"

Leaning on the doorframe, Heymans Breda grinned. "Since when do you care about getting in trouble? You get out of the motor pool and into an office, and suddenly you're too good to slum it with the rest of us in the lower ranks?" He shook his head in mock sadness. "You've sure changed since the Academy."

"What's this - a roommates' reunion?"

Both men looked toward the inner office to find a smirking Lieutenant-Colonel crossing toward them, trailed by a blonde Second Lieutenant who was studying a file. Both Havoc and Breda came swiftly to attention.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang; Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye — this is Sergeant-Major Heymans Breda," Havoc explained. "Not a roommate, sir, just a friend from my class at the Academy."

"Sorry to just drop by, sir," Breda put in. "I didn't mean to drag Havoc away from his work."

"No problem; sometimes it's better to take a break once in a while," Roy answered, shrugging easily and ignoring the doubtful glance that Hawkeye shot his way.

"It is with great pride and pleasure that, in recognition of meritorious conduct and service to her country, the Amestrian Military confers upon Riza Hawkeye the rank of First Lieutenant."

As the announcer finished the sentence, Führer Bradley took a small, thin black case from a waiting assistant and passed it to the new officer standing to attention in front of him. He shook Riza's hand briefly, with a murmured "Congratulations," and then moved on to the next person in line on the platform.

Seated three rows from the front of the audience, Roy watched as those brown eyes searched him out, smiling as they found him. He gave a small nod to show his pride in her; her expression remained mostly neutral, except for the gratitude in her eyes that only he could see. Gratitude to him, and the rest of their little "family" for coming today.

As if he would have missed it. Not for the world.