I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

With Roy having fled to the bathrooms on yet another tearful rampage, the ever-loyal Second Lieutenant Havoc was but a few seconds behind. He grimaced as he stood before the bathroom door, the familiarity of the situation most definitely unwelcome. He pushed it open and was thankful to see that it was devoid of any people, but to prevent anyone else entering in the time he was consoling Roy, he hefted the heavy metal bin over to the door from the corner in which it usually sat.

"Roy, it's just me," Havoc said and only realised when Mustang made his response.

"Woof! I'm a dog of the military!" His words sounded strained, voiced through a throat which had felt as if it had tightened enough to cause asphyxiation.

"Sorry, sir…Are you all right?"

A sniffled sounded from the closed cubical which he approached. "…She was so mean to me…and I thought we were getting along really well. It really hurt my feelings. But I can't seem to help the things I do…I just wish that she knew that too…I didn't want to make her angry because she was starting to become a really close person to me. Looks like I've screwed that up."

"Ahh, c'mon, chief; you know that's not true. Nothing's been screwed up. She was just tired and got a bit too angry, that's all," the blonde excused but panicked when he heard someone banging on the door. Roy merely moaned.

"Hey, is this place open?" came a voice from the other side of the blockaded door, but Havoc made no response, not being able to come up with a competent explanation as to why he had locked the bathroom door with just himself and his superior inside that wouldn't sound even remotely suspicious.

"But forget about all that, Jean."

The smoker looked back to Mustang and frowned. "Huh?"

"Hey! I hear voices in there! Open the door!"

"A-ahh, we're busy! Just…We won't be long, okay?"

"Jean, I love you."

Silence. No noise from Roy, as he waited for a reaction of some sort, no word from Havoc, too concerned about the people outside hearing and what Roy might do to him, and no word from anyone outside, though whether they were still there or had left was unbeknownst to Jean. Then the lock slipped out of place on the stall's door and it swung open to reveal the same puffy-eyed Roy Jean had seen the other day, although he was now staring at his subordinate with a rather intense, loving gaze.

"I love you, Jean," he reiterated louder, to which aforesaid man promptly shushed his superior. "No! I want everyone to know it! I'm not ashamed!"

It was much to Jean's chagrin when his superior leapt and tackled him to the ground just at the same time that two men burst open the door. Nor did it help when the loud bang from the door made Roy moan loudly. Pinned down by his dishevelled moaning superior. It probably didn't look too good from another perspective. All four men sported expressions akin to a deer caught in headlights. None moved for what seemed an eternity. The two men still standing then turned and promptly left. Havoc felt the desperate need to cry. And the desperate need for a cigarette.

"Sir, please get up," he sighed, and Roy obeyed rather easily.

"I apologise…but at least now others know just how strongly I feel for you."

"Whatever you say, sir," the man then dismissed, knowing all would go back to normal—well, normal as possible while Roy was still hypnotised—when they got in the presence of other people. He really needed that cigarette. "Let's get you back to the office."

Jean managed to get Roy back to the office after setting the bin he had moved in the bathroom back in its original spot.

"Please try not to upset him again," heaved the blonde, too despondent to even care about the possible repercussions of what he'd said to the woman who had been so irate prior to the leaving of his room, however Hawkeye didn't pay the comment any heed as she pushed the envelope on Mustang's desk to its now-seated owner.

"Please have a look at that, sir," she said, concern evident enough in her tone to warrant Havoc's attention.

"…A letter of invitation?" he noted as the dark-haired colonel opened the letter. The sound of paper rustling and that alone ensued as all the colonel's subordinates waited patiently for the ranking officer to explain the letter to them.

"An invitation…to speak to the brass. Or rather, they want to speak to me. Tomorrow. Eleven-hundred hours sharp."

A letter to appear before the brass was reason enough to fill a soldier with dismay at the best of times, but all in the room were familiar enough with the conditions of Roy's 'situation' to know that a bigger problem stood in the way.

"But, sir, you can't go in front of the brass!" the one bespectacled man expressed.

"…I don't have a choice."

All the minds in the room were desperately attempting to puzzle out a way to avoid the situation and potential catastrophe which would come of having Mustang in a room with near a dozen superior officers. It wasn't as if rescheduling was an option either: if the brass want to speak to you then come rain, snow or volcanic eruption (not that there was a volcano anywhere in the vicinity), they would speak to you.

And what was it they wanted to speak to him about anyway? Was it what happened Wednesday at the competition? Was it the rumours which were wildly flying about? Regardless of what it was, it wouldn't bode well for Mustang to spend the duration of the meeting solely grunting at the ranking men.

One by one the soldiers peeled away from their thoughts and resorted to other tasks, other tasks being work for all except Hawkeye and Mustang, the former going to the nap room to try and finally get some rest and the latter content with just frowning at the letter.

Thankfully, the end of the day came upon them without further incident and the weary soldiers all retired to their homes, with the exception of the weary woman who continued to sleep in the nap room. Mustang was assisted in getting home by Major Armstrong and once the burly man had left he got himself into bed, but he couldn't prevent his mind from fearing just what trials he would be facing come morning.

Okay, first of all, I apologise gravely for the delay. I had most of this chapter typed up months ago, also, I just hadn't got around to finishing it off. I'm much more a fan of writing oneshots than chapter fics, but I still feel as if I'm obliged to continue this fiction, so that is what I intend to do. Apologies for it being so short and anti-climactic also, but there wasn't really more I had intended to say about this day, and even a majority of the plan I moved about and such for later intentions and this was just to conclude the day. I also lament that the chapter title just make it sound like I'm referring to constipation.

Regardless, thank you for reading!