Ugh. This didn't really go anywhere. i was feeling under the weather from FMA 107. What's going to happen to Roy and Riza?? Anyway, this is a short random Royai-ish oneshot. Set in the East.

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East city was not a large one. You could get anywhere on foot within 30 minutes, so the narrow streets were devoid of heavy traffic. Instead, people crowded the roads. It was for this reason Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye usually walked to and from work.

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At 0700 hours, she would wake to the neighborhood dogs barking at the newspaper boy delivering paper. It never failed. She found it very useful. One time her alarm clock had failed to ring. But only because the battery had died in the middle of the night, failing to ring. (Riza Hawkeye never ever forgot to set her alarm clock, because Riza Hawkeye was never ever late.) She would still set her alarm clock as a precaution, and she would find herself contemplating getting a dog, but shooting down the idea when she would realize she would not be able to take care of it while at work.

She would get up to wash her face and brush her teeth. Having washed her hair the night before, she would take her blonde locks, twist here and there and clip it up in practiced motions. Folding up her pajamas, she would don her soft black shirt and military issued pants. Then she would prepare a cup of tea, down it, grab some toast, and make her way to the door. Deftly taking her coat and the purse hanging next to it, she would start towards headquarters.

She would glance at her wristwatch- 0745 hours- more than enough time. He would be late anyway, she would think to herself.

At 0700 hours, he would press the snooze button on the alarm clock by his bedside, relieving himself of hearing the annoying din of metal clanging against metal. Just as he's about to drift back to sleep, the sound would start again. Irately, he would slam the snooze button again. And again. And again. The noise won't quit. Semi awake, he would realize it's the alarm clock that's on his desk, across the room. Getting off the couch-bed, he would scramble towards the offending object. One the lieutenant presented to him on his birthday a few months ago.

Still half asleep, he would sigh. He would robotically make himself a cup of coffee. While waiting, he would grab the most wrinkle free shirt he could find, and haphazardly dress into his military blues. He would down the cup of Joe, regaining full consciousness. He would catch a glimpse of himself in the small mirror in the hallway. Running his hands through his hair always seemed to do the trick of getting rid of his bedhead. He would then make a face at the rest of his appearance and smooth down the wrinkles on his uniform.

He would glance at the clock on the wall- 0800, it would say, and he would curse. Barely remembering, he would make a dash for his jacket, swing open the door, get out, slam it close, and start to walk, briskly. (What would Roy Mustang look like, running to work, as if he were late? Roy Mustang was never late. Well, at least he never looked late.)

She would glance up to find the slightly panting colonel. She would smile to herself, mentally laughing at his unbuttoned jacket. He so obviously rushed to get there.

He would see the lieutenant standing next to the wall of the building on the corner of 10th and 14th street. She would be standing stick straight, even when she wasn't on duty. 'Has it never crossed her mind that she could lean against the wall?', he would ask himself. In spite of that, he would smile at her self discipline. How typical of her. He would then cross the street hurriedly to meet her.

She would salute him, and he would acknowledge it with an apologetic expression. She would ignore it, and hand him the sandwich she had picked up for his breakfast. She would assume he didn't have the time to eat. She would also bring her hands to button his coat up. He would smile gratefully, and they would walk, side by side, just two officers in the bustling streets of the city.

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On particularly busy days, they might finish up at 2200 hours. Quite late. She would glance at her commanding officer, who has probably dozed off. She would get up from her seat, done with all her work. She would approach him, and gently call his name. To be specific, his title.

"Colonel, wake up." she would say to the sleeping form while gathering up the scattered paperwork strewn over his desk. He would start to come to by the time they were all cleared and stacked neatly at the edge of his table.

He would get up groggily and make his way out the door. He would glance at the lieutenant, who would be shutting her desk drawer.

She would take her purse and follow him out, walking beside him once again, something she did not get to do during office hours. She made it a policy to keep a respectful distance behind him when she was escorting him around the headquarters.

They would make their way down 14th street, then stop at 10th street. This corner was the midpoint between their places. He would start to head left, to where her apartment was, while she would turn right, to where his house was.

They would argue about who would walk who home. She should walk with him to his house, because it was her duty as his bodyguard. He should walk with her to her apartment, because it was dangerous for a lady to walk alone this late at night. She would refuse, stubbornly, while he would also refuse, proudly. So they would compromise to part ways there at that very corner.

She would salute him once again, a salute good night. He would acknowledge it and turn away. She would start to walk away.

He would turn around, but he would realize it was too late, once again. She would have just gotten far enough. He would whisper her name, "Riza", and would lift his arm, reaching out toward her.

She would not hear him. Instead, she would keep walking.

He would sigh and start to stalk away in the other direction. He would have told her he loved her. But it would be all wrong. He would scold himself, tell himself it was his fault she got into this. He would tell himself that he didn't deserve her. That she didn't deserve him. She would meet someone better someday. Someone who would be good for her.

About fifty feet along, she would glance over her shoulder at the retreating back of the man she loved. The man she would do anything to protect. The man she would never have, she would reprimand herself.

She would stare longingly at his silhouette until it disappeared into the night. She would convince herself that he would make it to his home okay, that nothing would happen to him on the way there. Then she would stride purposefully towards her own home.

Tomorrow would be another day. Another day to try again.

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I don't expect anything to come from this. Sorry if I wasted your time. But I hope you enjoyed anyway. :)