Series Title: Games without Frontiers
Series Rating:: PG - NC-17
Main Characters:Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye
Other Characters: Various other members of the Peanut Gallery called Fullmetal Alchemist
Word Count: 1,482
Warning: potential overdosing of crrrrack.
Synopsis: What people do on their own time is their own business, right? Especially when it involves a big bowl of steaming crack.
Author's Notes: The story is completely AU. My own little private timeline; my own private little world. Yeah, and, just to add, my own little crackpot theories. Nothing else related to any episode of any kind, except the usage of the character(s) in question, though some events in some episodes will be used out of context as artistic license. I try not to make the events I use too spoilerish, but if I can’t help it, you’ll get a warning. Commentary is certainly welcome and tends to make me go “you like me! you really like me!”
II. Like a Bullet to the Brain
Riza let the hot water pound at her for all of ten minutes, letting the hot water ease the itching of the scars on her back. Then she took care of the necessary ablutions, climbed out of the shower, brushed her teeth, toweled her hair dry, and padded back into the bedroom toward the discreetly-wrapped package on her the top of her dresser.
Naked and dripping, she reluctantly untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper slowly. Opened the lid of the box and looked inside. Then she recalled a few more of those choice words, even as she pulled one of the pieces of ‘equipment’ from the box.
The tailor had to have been an expert. The tiniest row of buttons she’d ever seen trailed up the side. On her, the hemline would have reached somewhere obscenely near mid-thigh.
A little black dress. Part of her equipment included a little black dress. Something that, supposedly, every woman worth her salt owned, but she had only seen from the other side of the dressmaker’s window.
“Bastard,” she snarled. “Son of a motherless bitch.”
She instinctively stopped and looked around, appalled that such words even escaped her deepest thoughts, then recalled she was alone in her own house and could say whatever the hell she wanted to say.
That fine print on her job description? That little line that said and other duties as assigned? It could kiss her ass. People took much too much advantage of such phrases. People knew that when Riza committed herself, there would be no question of her following through.
Was such an elaborate display necessary? She asked herself. Couldn’t she just walk in, do the deed, and leave? The note said her prey was in a discreet location; who would see her? Why did she need such an elaborate, obnoxious disguise? She hated this!
But, that annoying voice said once again, you promised.
Apparently all promises, like shit, rolled downhill. Well, this promise had to be at the very bottom of the shit pile of a life that she suddenly knew was in store for her.
The offending garment found its way in the middle of the bed with the scrap of paper. As did just about everything else in the box. Especially the lace... She held up something that resembled nothing less than a...a sling shot. Where the hell was she expected to put that...piece of string? Oh, hell no. She’d eat dog food first! In fact...she whistled.
Black Hayate appeared, tail wagging questioningly. She pitched the obscene thing at him, and soon he was happily wrestling with it in a corner of her room.
The only things she kept were the nice, shiny new shoulder holster, the intriguing domino mask, and the satiny chemise. When she ran the thing through her fingers she couldn’t resist.
And, at the bottom, under the tissue was the last thing she would need.
A gun untraceable to her. Something that Riza Hawkeye would never own, simply because it was a gun that the military would never requisition. It was too small and impractical, a snub-nosed thing that would fit in the palm of a large man’s hand. It was a weapon meant for covert action. She took a moment to admire it.
It would do the job.
The phone rang, jarring her out of her admiration. She moved to the front room, picked up the receiver with a nervous hand. “Hello?”
“There was a fire at the library. In Central.”
She stiffened. The voice on the other end was hoarse, clipped, and angry. “A fire? How–what happened?”
“No information yet.”
She fingered the receiver, choosing her words carefully. “Are we... cancelling the plan?”
“Absolutely not. However, proceed with caution.”
Riza’s lip curled. “But–?”
“All will be taken care of in the morning.”
“The plan is still in motion,” the voice snapped, tight, like a noose around her neck. “Just don’t lay it on as thick as we originally planned.”
Riza started, the glared at the receiver. “If the plan is still in motion, how will everything be taken care of in the morning? Things will be... different then.”
“In a sense. But trust me. It will be taken care of.”
Riza was silent, unable to argue, also unable to account for the suspicious prickle behind her eyes. Her eyes flicked to the clock again. She was down to one hour and forty-five minutes and, thirty-seven seconds. “I have to go. I am on a close schedule.”
There was a pause. Then: “You will be rewarded for your actions, First Lieutenant. Believe me. You will be rewarded.”
"Yes, sir. By the way, sir. I don't wear slingshots."
She hung up before she told them what she really thought of this whole plan. Reward indeed. Well, her first reward would be that she was not going to wear that ridiculous disguise supplied her. She would create one of her own.
She snatched open her closet door and considered her choices. On the right side hung ten perfectly pressed and starched uniforms. It paid to be the one who passed the paperwork to the Colonel. He would sign anything she placed in front of him, and hadn’t even noticed that he’d given her permission to requisition two more uniforms than she was supposed to have. That event had made her day; she even managed to scare all of them with her secretive little smile.
On the left side of the closet hung her off-duty clothes. Boring little scraps of cloth, to say the least. Boring, but practical. Slacks, blouses, one skirt (that came to her knees, thank you very much), and....
The second smile of the day touched her features as she pulled the last article of clothing out of the closet. A clandestine purchase; almost no one knew she owned it. She’d planned that shopping trip to the second, and only took the pup with her.
It, like the gun, would do.
The suit was black, which was the assigned color. Tailored for her trim form, it was fine, lined linen. Perfect for her assigned task.
She dressed in record time. She’d taken a few seconds to choose the most practical, soft cotton white panties she could find in her drawer. Braless, the chemise followed, then the shoulder holster, then the jacket. Deceptively created to look a bit too big for her, it buttoned perfectly an inch below her breastbone, cut close to her waistline and flared slightly at her hip. With the beige chemise, it look like she wasn’t even wearing a shirt from a distance.
That would certain draw attention away from parts of her that were more recognizable.
She wasted another moment to admire the look in the mirror. Powerful. Brilliant. Overwhelming, even. An illicit thrill filled her. And when she was finished, no one would recognize her in it, even if they looked her right in her face. No one would even connect her with such a scandalous wardrobe.
The clock told her that she had one-hour to go.
She moved to the mirror and made short work of her face. There wasn’t much she could do with ram-rod straight blonde hair. She left it hanging free, chewing on her lip for an idea. She snapped her fingers finally and rummaged in the top drawer of her dresser. Hair fixative judiciously applied, and she’d coaxed it into a radical style. Side parted, a length of her hair fell over the side of her face, obscuring her features just enough to offer a hint of mystery.
Even if someone should try to look closely at her, the hair would be in their way. With the hairstyle, she found she could discard the domino mask. It went the way of the sling shot.