so i had this dream
It was an FMA dream, and obviously I'd been proofing fic way too much.
Still, happiest dream I've had in years, so whatever. And now I'm interminably proofing FMA fic again, and it reminded me of this dream, and so I thought I'd go ahead and post something based on it.
The dream was pre-102, and therefore doesn't take it into account. In fact, it's pretty spoiler-free. Also short and silly.
Be warned that it follows dream logic, which is to say not much logic at all. But I woke up laughing, despite the improbability of Hawkeye allowing this to happen. :D
I almost forgive my subconscious for that one time with the child chain gang. Almost.
It's a Party
Once Edward became legal, the number of office outings to the pub went up exponentially. Possibly this was because Edward was really fun to take to a pub. For mysterious reasons, he instantly became bosom buddies with every bartender they tried him on. If the place had pool or darts, Edward was all over that, ready to humiliate all comers. If not, he generally sat with Havoc and Breda, getting smashed and earnestly discussing the Meaning of Life (as filtered through alchemy).
Hawkeye wasn't convinced that this pub-going trend was a good thing. Edward might be made for pub life, but the rest of them hadn't changed. Fuery still disgraced himself every time he was drunk, Breda had a tendency to leer, Havoc made an ass of himself with women, the Colonel went maudlin and impossible, and Hawkeye...
Well. She didn't drink, that was all. Because it always ended badly.
This was a special occasion, though. Hawkeye couldn't begrudge Edward this one-it was the first time they'd gone out since he'd gotten his brother's body back, and he was entitled to some mild debauchery. It was a shame that Al wasn't there. He was a steadying influence on his brother, for one thing, and it was his party, for another. But he was hideously weak still, and Edward refused to let him experiment with alcohol just yet.
No, Hawkeye couldn't begrudge Edward. But she could begrudge the rest of them, and she did.
The Colonel was hunched over what had to be his fifth scotch, scowling and muttering at the scarred surface of the bar. Breda was asleep or unconscious. Havoc was (predictably) attempting to hit on a horrified woman. The tragedy of it was that if he'd approached her sober, she probably would have welcomed it. Fuery, meanwhile, was singing. On a table.
Singing was not among Fuery's many talents.
And perhaps Hawkeye had had a few drinks herself. Perhaps that had been a mistake, but she'd been happy for Edward, too, and it had...seemed like a good idea at the time.
All she had to do was remember not to pull a gun on anyone. That should be simple enough. It didn't have to end like last time. And the time before that. Everything would be fine as long as she kept her temper under control.
God help them all.
She interrupted these thoughts to wonder where the guest of honor was, anyway. He wasn't with Havoc and Breda, he wasn't at the bar or the pool table. He was missing?
No. No, there he was. Sprawled on the disgustingly sticky floor under the bar beside the Colonel's feet. Hawkeye was fairly sure the Colonel didn't know he was there.
She considered the stickiness of the floor, and then her other options when it came to companions. She shrugged and went to sit beside Edward.
The Colonel didn't even notice her go by. He was useless when he was maudlin.
"Edward," she sighed. "What are you doing?"
"That guy," he announced, gesturing vaguely upward, "has been frowning at me all freakin' night. Like this." He demonstrated the Colonel's worried face. "'S bullshit. S'posed to be happy, stupid bastard." His face lit up abruptly. "I got Al back!"
Hawkeye smiled at him. Yes, it was obvious why people dragged Edward to a pub at every opportunity. "I know. Congratulations." She gave him a moment to beam happily to himself. "But why are you hiding under the bar?"
"It's better."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. I can't see his face this way. But I can still see him, so it's like...he could be happy. Like he's supposed to."
There was a flaw in this logic.
"Breda's asleep, but that's okay. He likes to sleep. Havoc's gonna be happy until that lady throws her drink in his face. Fuery's happy." He considered Fuery. "Poor bastard. And you, you're smilin. You never smile, so I figure you gotta be happy."
Oh, she was. And she would be, too, until someone mildly irritated her, and then she'd try to kill them.
Alcohol: emotional magnifying glass. If she did kill someone, she was planning to blame Edward. Or possibly Breda, whose idea all of this had been.
"I'm happy for you, Edward. And for Alphonse. How is he?"
"He's great! Well, he can't stand up but he thinks he can and he keeps pitchin' over into things. I had to cover all the furniture with that foam stuff. Gracia lent it to me from when Elicia was little, right? S'like havin a little kid around. But he's great! He can actually smile with his actual face!"
Most of this had been delivered in something approaching a shout, and it had finally managed to catch the Colonel's attention. He leaned sideways and peered down at them, and sheer bewilderment managed to kick aside some of the maudlin.
"What in God's name are you two doing down there?"
Edward giggled. It was an infectious giggle, and what with that, and the horrified expression on the Colonel's face, and the wretched alcohol, Hawkeye had quickly joined him. From there it escalated until the two of them were slumped together howling with laughter, while Roy knelt in front of them saying, "What? What?"
As irritating as it could be, the pub certainly had its moments.