#hopefully working on this will get my to work on Groomzilla as well

[purplemaple-xoxo]

Dog vs. Dog Chapter 1

A series of one-shot’s detailing the shenanigans that Amestris’ top dogs get into. Roy Mustang and Black Hayate compete for Riza’s affections, creating a world of shenanigan’s for the Lieutenant.

Thanks to @allisontherumorhargreeves for being my beta!

Also posted on FF.net

“Come on Hayate, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to come with me.” Roy’s tone was calm as he slowly approached the dog, a towel draped between his outstretched arms. He avoided using the dreaded ‘B’ word.

Riza’s words repeated in his head like a mantra.

“Remember to keep a tight hold on his leash, he gets excited when he sees mud. And he’s stronger than he looks.”

Roy mostly remembered scoffing at the idea. Hayate was only a few weeks old, he couldn’t be that strong.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

“Hayate, it’s just water. Don’t you want to be nice and clean when your mom gets back?”

Hayate sat calmly, his head tilted to the side at the mention of his master. His dark eyes barely distinguishable against the mud embedded deeply into his thick fur, he stuck his tongue out in doggy glee.

“I should jump him now while he’s calm. 1.. 2.. 3!”

Roy quickly lunged at the dog…only to land flat on his stomach. Hayate was already on the other side of Riza’s small apartment.

“Why did Fuery pick today of all days to be sick?!” Roy groaned as he slowly got up on his knees and crossed his arms, eyeing Hayate as he did so.

“You know your mom isn’t going to like that you got dirty and messed up her apartment.”

That seemed to get Hayate’s attention as his ears flattened against his head as he bowed forward.

“You’ve shown your hand, my dear friend.”

“I know you’re upset about Hawkeye being gone, but Catalina has dragged her out shopping. And I know I’m not as fun as Fuery but I know your mom wouldn’t be happy to know you didn’t listen to me.”

Roy tried to hide his satisfied smirk as Hayate ducked his head further in doggy guilt.

“Now come here Black Hayate so I can wash you up.”

Hayate slowly got up and walked over to him.

“That’s a good boy,” Roy spoke with pride as he went to scoop up Hayate “now let’s give you a bath.”

As soon as he spoke, he knew he messed up. Hayate quickly darted away when he realized what going with the Colonel meant.

Roy was able to grab Hayate around the chest but quickly let go when the dog gave a loud yip, afraid he had hurt the poor puppy. He watched as Hayate darted away, he laid down fully on the ground in defeat.

After a while, Hayate came out of his hiding spot and crept into the small living room. He noticed the dark-haired man was lying face down on the floor. He didn’t appear to be moving. He slowly approached and took a chance by sniffing his head. Yup, still alive. Hayate proceeded to sniff around the man before he was abruptly lifted off the ground and was quickly thrown in the bathtub, the psychotic man soon joining him.

Roy quickly turned on the water as Hayate tried desperately to grasp the edge of the tub to make his escape. He quickly grabbed some of Hayate’s soap and began lathering it into the frantic pups fur.

“Cut me some slack here Hayate! Let me prove to Hawkeye that I can do this!”

Hayate continued to scramble around the porcelain tub.

“That’s an order Second Lieutenant! I command you to sit!”

That got Hayate’s attention, and the pup immediately sat down. Roy let out a sigh of relief as he could now calmly wash the mud from his fur. Even though his shirt and trousers were soaked, he relished in the calm and actually took the moment to study the pup.

He could clearly see why Fuery had taken the pup in during the rainstorm. Those brown eyes were irresistible, much like his owners. Roy quickly shook his head of THAT thought, now wasn’t the time or place, and he returned himself to his task. Even through the dirt, Hayate’s fur was still incredibly soft, and who could resist those little ears?!

Once the runoff from Hayate’s fur was no longer brown Roy reached over for the towel he hastily discarded when he first charged through.

“Now that is over with, let’s dry you off.” As he was about to wrap the pup up in the towel Hayate got a burst of energy and launched himself out of the tub and out the door that Roy forgot to close in his haste.

“Just my luck. Hayate! COME HERE!”

Roy tried desperately to not slip on the hardwood floor as he skidded after Hayate. Both having trouble nearly colliding with furniture. When Hayate booked it around the couch to fast he slipped in a puddle, but before he would crash into the floor he was swept up and smothered with a towel.

“Yes, victory is mine Black Hayate! Now to finally dry you off before Hawkeye gets home.”

“It’s a little late for that sir.”

Both Roy and Hayate froze and slowly turned to the front entrance to see Riza standing there with her arms full of bags.

“Hi Lieutenant, how was shopping with Catalina?” Roy spoke nervously as he gently placed Hayate on the ground so he could greet his master.

“Sir, is there a reason why both you and my living room floor are soaked? And why is Black Hayate wet as well?” Riza asked as she bent down to deposit her bags before scooping the small pup up.

Hayate knew that his master’s attention was fully on him and wagged his tail excitedly, once Riza had picked him up he nestled into her neck and closed his eyes contently. Much to the annoyance of the sopping wet Colonel.

“Care to answer my question Colonel?”

“Well, it all started when I decided to take Hayate for a walk…”

-/-/-

“Hayate heal! The park isn’t going anywhere!” Roy tried to pull Hayate back without hurting him. But Hayate was determined to get to the park as quickly as possible. Not caring if the Colonel was struggling to keep up with the small puppy’s questionably rapid pace.

Roy just rolled his eyes as he sped up his gait and let Hayate lead him to one of East Cities many parks. Both the Colonel and puppy slowed down when they finally entered the park.

Roy let Hayate sniff around a section of bushes as he looked around the park. It was Saturday so many families were enjoying the sunny afternoon. It had rained the previous night, and both Roy and others were trying their best to keep their dogs and children out of the muk.

“That’s a cute dog there mister. What’s its name?”

Roy snapped out of his trance and looked over to see a little girl standing beside him. Her large hazel eyes were glued to Hayate as he finished his business and trotted back over to meet the child.

“His name is Black Hayate.” Roy responded as he watched the small child reach out a hand to let Hayate sniff.

“May I pet your dog? My mommy says you have to ask before petting a stranger’s dog.”

“Yes, you can pet him.” Roy smiled at the little girl’s enthusiasm as she gave Hayate scratches behind the ear and chin.

“Mary! There you are! Don’t go running away from me like that!”

Roy and Mary both looked up to see a tall red-headed woman making her way over to the pair. A scowl etched on her face.

“I’m sorry mommy! But I wanted to see the dog! This man said I could pet him!”

“I’m terribly sorry about my daughter, Mister?”

“Mustang, Roy Mustang.” Roy spoke.

“Mustang… as in Colonel Roy Mustang?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yes, I am Colonel Roy Mustang.” The way her face brightened made him nervous.

“It’s such an honor to meet you, you hear all these stories.” He knew that look and forced himself to stop from rolling his eyes.

“I can assure you, the papers tend to exaggerate.” He tapped Hayate’s back leg with his foot. He was Riza’s dog and therefore a genius, right?

He was just like his owner though, sitting down and watching him try to get out of a jam without Riza’s help. If he didn’t know any better the pooch was entertained.

“Not some things, Mr. Mustang.” She gave him a long, approving up and down. “You’re much more handsome than the pictures they print you know.” She looked about ready to eat him alive and Roy cleared his throat, reaching for his watch and flipping it open.

“I’m late to get him back to my fiancée, apologies. She’ll be worried I let him run off.” He gave her a trademark Mustang smile, which while almost automatic, didn’t help his case.

“It was nice meeting you, ma’am.”

Roy quickly turned and lead Hayate away from the mother and daughter pair,  putting as much distance between them as possible.

“Well, that couldn’t have gotten any weirder. Don’t date Hayate.”

Roy looked down at his companion who didn’t really seem interested in the conversation, rather taking interest in the obscenely large mud puddles.

“Hayate no. Hawkeye said no mud for you. Now let’s go back home.”

Hayate stopped in the middle of the path, causing the Colonel to stop as well and stare at the puppy.

“Come on Hayate. Let’s go.”

But Hayate wouldn’t move an inch, he decided to sit instead.

“Hayate why are you doing this? I played tug of war with you, I fed you, I took you to the park. What more do you want?” Roy waited as Hayate seemed to contemplate the question before looking over at a puddle of mud.

“No way Hayate. Don’t you think for a second that I would let you NEAR that. We are heading straight home.”

Roy tried tugging on the leash to no success. Hayate wouldn’t budge, he just kept looking longingly over at the puddles.

“Don’t give me that look Hayate, I’m the one in charge here. I’m also your superior officer, therefore, I command you to return home.

Roy would later claim that the little dots above Hayate’s eyes lowered as if to challenge him. Roy raised his own eyebrows before Hayate was gone, the leash ripped from his hands and was halfway to the mud puddles.

“Hayate NO!” Roy yelled, but it was too late. Hayate was already rolling around in the mud, Roy could see it be smothered deeper and deeper into his fur. Turning the white of his fur a deep brown.

“Hawkeye is going to kill me.”

-/-/-

“That’s your story?”

“That’s my story.”

“So you think Hayate was being spiteful towards you because a woman was flirting with you? You shouldn’t let him take advantage of you Colonel. That’s how dogs develop bad habits.” Hawkeye spoke as she walked past the Colonel, Black Hayate still firmly nestled in her arms.

“He yanked his leash out of my hand! What was I supposed to do?!”

“Not let him. He is only a puppy, sir.”

“A freakishly strong puppy! Are you sure he’s not somehow related to the Armstrong family?”

Her laugh could light up the darkest of nights.

“Yes sir, I’m positive Buraha isn’t an Armstrong.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Roy watched as Hayate made direct eye contact with him as he enjoyed Riza’s affection. Making the Colonel scowl.

“Well, I better be going Lieutenant. I’m sorry for the state of your apartment.”

“That is quite alright sir. Thank you for watching Hayate for me.”

“It was my pleasure Lieutenant.” Roy spoke as he made his way to the door. Riza put Hayate down to escort the Colonel out.

“I’m sorry Hayate wasn’t well behaved.”

“He’s still a puppy Lieutenant. Besides, he seems to be quite taken with you.”

“Yes, I guess he has.” Riza spoke fondly as she turned back into the apartment to give the small dog a smile.

“Good night Lieutenant.”

“Good night Colonel.”

The smile she gave him before the door separated them stuck with him for the rest of the week.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Nine

Pairings: Bucky x Reader || Steve x Reader

Summary: A mission goes very, very, wrong.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. BLOOD AND GORE AND VIOLENCE (it’s a battle scene, y’all). Kind of graphic? Tread with caution, anyhow.

Notes: Uhhhh I don’t think ‘sorry’ cuts it this time. *mentally gearing myself up for the berating i’m about to endure*. Written for @hellomissmabel‘s challenge

Also — I have no clue how to write an action scene, no clue whatsoever. Hopefully, it’s not too shit. 

And as a final point: for those of you who were around when I did that AMUP spoiler thingie, this is the BIG EVENT™ I talk about in question 16.

“There’s two weeks left to the wedding and I still have to write a goddamn speech,” Nat grouses, plopping herself onto a kitchen stool and bringing her coffee mug to her lips.

“There’s two weeks left to the wedding and I still need to find a bridesmaid’s dress,” Wanda groans, gazing mournfully into her cereal.

Sam sighs, rubs the back of his hand over his eyes sleepily. “There’s two weeks left—,”

“Don’t you say anything, Wilson,” Bucky growls threateningly, sending Sam a vicious side-glare.

“I was gonna say two weeks left before all this fuss is over!” Sam protests, holding one hand up in defeat. “Go make your oatmeal, old man,”.

“Fuck you,” Bucky grumbles, turning his attention back to the stove and stirring his breakfast around with a wooden spoon.

It’s Saturday morning brunch time at the compound. This is one of those rare weekends in which everyone is on-site and not halfway across the world on some mission or other. Bucky’s fixing himself some oatmeal, and will probably do some eggs, or maybe pancakes after. He’s feeling hungry this morning and what the hell — it’s brunch.

“Two weeks and then Steve will stop being a low-key bridezilla,” Sam murmurs absentmindedly, as he pops a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. “Or is it groomzilla? Does that even exist?”

Wanda chuckles.

There are indeed exactly 14 days left before your wedding and Bucky…is not exactly sure how he feels about that. He’s got his suit dry-cleaned, his dress shoes polished and a speech half-written, because he’s Steve’s best man, but something feels off. He’s not as joyful about the occasion as he probably should be — and understandably so, in his opinion.

“Bucky, could you hand me my coffee?” Wanda asks sweetly.

Bucky turns back to look at her over his shoulder. She gazes back at him with wide eyes and bats her lashes pitifully.

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles, leaning across the countertop to pick up Wanda’s pink mug before handing it to her. “But only ‘cause your ankle is injured. M’not going soft on you,”.

Wanda rolls her eyes. “You’re not going soft on me, you’re going soft on everyone,” she retorts.

“Hey!” Bucky protests.

Everyone looks up as heavy footfalls thud down the corridor. Steve strides briskly into the kitchen, tablet tucked under one arm and jaw set in a grim line. Bucky is immediately on edge; the expression on Steve’s face does not bode well. Bucky switches off the stove and turns around to face Steve, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“We’ve got a situation,” Steve says, his tone clipped.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changes. All traces of grogginess evaporate. The room snaps to attention.

“What is it, Cap?” asks Sam.

Steve purses his lips as he whips out his tablet, turning it on and tapping some buttons on the display.

“I’m sending you a briefing pack now,” he explains, “Biochemical facility in Kinshasa — government-funded, pretty buried in the books — was fully evacuated two hours ago. No confirmed reason as to why,”.

“Why’re we concerned about it?” Wanda asks, looking at Steve curiously.

“Intel suspects a chemical leak,” Steve answers.

“Do we know what kind?” asks Nat, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That’s the thing,” Steve sighs, raking his fingers through his hair, “They’re a biochemical research centre, but behind that front they’re rumoured to be developing bio-weapons for use in the military,”.

“Shit,” Sam mutters, “I don’t like where this is going,”.

“Me neither,” Steve admits, “Funded by the government — of the DRC, no less — so who knows what they’ve got going on in there. Intel says there’s a strong possibility of the leak being a gaseous neurotoxin,”.

“So gas masks, then,” Bucky murmurs, mostly to himself. He winces internally at the idea. He doesn’t like wearing gas masks — or masks of any kind, for that matter. They remind him of the restrictive muzzle that his handlers made him wear.

Steve’s eyes flick to his, grim understanding in those bright blue irises. “Yeah. We’re not taking any chances,”.

“What’s the call, Cap?” asks Sam.

“Our priority is to determine whether or not there is a leak and if so, contain it as much as possible,” Steve replies, setting his tablet on the kitchen island and resting his palms on the edge of the counter. “Intel states full evac, but it can’t hurt to give a cursory sweep. Sam, Nat, Bucky, you’re coming with me—,”

“Hey!” Wanda interrupts.

“Wanda, you’ve injured your ankle,” Steve says, voice unforgivingly commanding.

“It’s practically healed,” she whines, “I can—,”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t risk it,” says Steve, his tone inviting no further protests. “We could use your help, but I don’t want to risk aggravating your injury,”.

“Fine,” Wanda grumbles, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest. Bucky smirks, despite himself.

“Anyway, like I mentioned, they said this was a full evac,” Steve continues, “Which means no personnel guarding the facility itself. We bust in, sweep the site, get out as soon as possible. Leak is supposed to be coming from south wing, basement two, lab 4. Blueprints are included in the briefing pack,”.

“This pack seems very skimpy on the info, Steve,” Nat comments, as she thumbs through the documents on her phone. There’s a small crease between her perfectly manicured brows.

Steve sighs. “I know. S’not a lot to work with, but if it is a neurotoxin leak, then we need to jump on it as soon as possible,”.

“So what’re we waiting for?” asks Bucky, pushing away from the counter.

Sam clasps his hands together and rubs them excitedly. “Avengers, assem—,”

“No,” Nat interrupts sharply, glaring at Sam through narrowed eyes. “We do not say those words,”.

Steve chuckles. “Suit up, guys. Wheel up in 15,”.

———————————

Bucky downs his — somewhat cold — oatmeal in four and a half mouthfuls, then makes his way over to his weapons locker. Everyone living in the compound has one of their own. It’s something of a glorified storage room, filled with an assortment of guns, knives, grenades and whatever toys Stark decides to put together.

Of course, Bucky keeps some of his gear stashed in various hiding places in his room, and around the compound in general — a guy’s gotta be able to defend himself in the event of a surprise attack — but the majority of his things are kept in his locker room, under lock and key. It’s an unassuming door, marked with a simple grey plaque with ‘Barnes’ inscribed on it in black font. He punches in his key code, lets FRIDAY do the biometric scans, then twists open the handle.

He pulls on his uniform with a comforting familiarity, tightening straps and snapping buckles into place. His gear is nowhere near as tight and unforgiving as what HYDRA forced him to wear, but still protective in its own right. Bucky runs his fingers over his — disturbingly large — collection of knives and picks out the few he wants to bring with him, tucking them into various hiding places on his form. He tucks a couple of guns into their holsters, slides a couple of grenades into his utility belt and finally, secures his hair back into a neat bun.

Satisfied with his preparedness, he opens the door to his locker room, about to step out into the hallway.

He pauses.

Steve is on the other side of the door, his back to Bucky. He’s fully suited up, sans his harness and shield. Bucky notes with approval that he’s wearing the navy suit. Good. More stealthy. The red might be Cap, but it’s too flashy for Bucky’s liking. He’s speaking in hushed tones to someone. When Steve shifts to the side a little, Bucky gets a glimpse of your hair. Bucky hastily ducks back into his locker room, pulling the door closed after him. He doesn’t close it all the way, though, allowing him to listen in on the conversation.

“…coming with you!” you’re saying.

“No, sweetheart,” Steve sighs, “You can’t—,”.

“Like hell I can’t, Rogers,” you hiss. “If this is a neurotoxin leak, my immune system could resist it!”

“Yes, but you’ve not got enough experience, honey,” Steve says, tone calm and placating.

“But I could—,”

“I know, but you’ve not had enough training with us as a team,” Steve explains, “Bucky and Nat and Sam have come with me on hundreds of missions — we’re like a machine, at this point. And, for a mission like this, with limited intel and one hell of a time crunch, I—I just don’t have time to come up with a proper attack strategy, so you just can’t come. I’m sorry,”.

You sigh heavily, tipping your head forward to rest your forehead on Steve’s muscled bicep. “I know,” you sigh, “I just wish you didn’t have to,”.

Bucky takes that as a good enough opportunity for him to step out. “Bad guys really don’t have any consideration whatsoever for superhero weddings, huh?” he remarks.

You and Steve pull apart, a tight smile on both your faces. “Evil waits for no one,” Steve quips. He turns to you, gaze softening as he hooks his arm over your shoulders. “You can come with us next time, ‘kay?”

“Fine,” you grumble. The corner of your lips twitch into a smile when Steve presses a kiss to your temple.

Something inside Bucky’s chest tightens.

Bucky would say that it’s his heart, but his heart doesn’t really exist anymore.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, punk,” you mutter, petting Steve on the cheek affectionately. “Least not ’til you get back,”.

Bucky snorts. It seems that some of his overprotectiveness has rubbed off on you.

Steve chuckles, catching Bucky’s gaze and shooting him a mock glare, before turning his attention back to you. “How can I?” he replies, “M’ leaving all the stupid here with you,”.

You jaw falls open in feigned surprise as you give Steve a playful swat on the arm. Bucky laughs, amused by your antics. You catch Bucky’s eyes and give him a tender smile, a hint of wistfulness in your gaze.

“You keep safe too, okay, Buck?” you murmur, reaching your free hand out to touch Bucky’s shoulder. “I need my groom and my best man around for this wedding to happen,”.

Again, that weird tightening feelings comes over Bucky’s chest.

“Sure doll,” Bucky replies, placing his hand on top of yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll do our best,”.

———————————

It’s a bust mission.

It’s a fucking bust mission.

That’s all Bucky can think of as he ducks behind an overturned desk, in order to shield himself from the onslaught of bullets raining down on him.

To be fair, it hadn’t started off as a bust mission.

The facility had indeed been abandoned when the team arrived; not a human soul around for miles. The sun had long disappeared from the sky when the wheels of the quinjet touched the ground, approximately four kilometres south of the facility. The plant itself is located several miles northeast of Kinshasa, on the periphery of the Congo rainforest. After doing their final weapons checks, the team had trekked through the forest, entering the compound via the main gate, since they hadn’t needed to be particularly stealthy with their entry.

The layout of the facility is rather simple. Each wing is shaped like a hollowed-out square, with a grassed courtyard in the centre of each one. Offices, laboratories and storage rooms are arranged on the out-facing wall, whilst essential wiring and plumbing has been built into the wall that overlooks the courtyard. It’s a rather drab building, all hard edges and bland concrete. The compound is split into a north and south wing, each four floors high; two aboveground, two below ground.

Once inside, the team had split up. Sam and Nat had gone downstairs in search of the lab, so as to determine whether or not a leak had taken place. Bucky and Steve had covered the first and ground floors, with the two aims of firstly, ensuring that no civilians were still trapped in the building and secondly, determining whether or not there were places where a gas could have escaped the confines of the building.

Things had been going to plan, up until about five minutes ago, when the entire facility was plunged into darkness.

Never a good sign.

Before Steve could even call Sam and Nat to reconvene, ominous clanking noises had rattled through the building. Panels on the wall had retracted, revealing the mounted machine guns hiding behind them.

Aforementioned guns are currently raining hellfire on Bucky and Steve.

A trap. They’ve walked straight into a trap. And, if they’re not smart about it, it’s going to be a one-way trip.

“Sam? Nat?” Steve shouts, yelling into the comm piece on his wrist.

“Kinda busy here, Cap,” Sam huffs. In the background, Bucky catches the rhythmic rat-tat-tat of gunfire. Then again, that could just be the guns on his end.

“Is it safe to remove gas masks?” Steve yells, dodging left behind an office desk as a spray of bullets narrowly misses his ear.

“Yeah. There’s no leak, Cap,” Nat says crisply.

Thank fucking god.

Bucky rips off his constrictive gas mask and slides it across the floor, away from him. “I’m gonna fucking kill this intel person!” Bucky shouts to Steve, as he moves into a crouching position behind the desk.

“Not if I get there first!” Steve yells back.

“We were fucking played,” Sam grunts, “Fuckin’ played,”.

Bucky shakes his head in frustration. He can think about killing intelligence personnel when he’s gotten them out of this life-or-death situation. For now, he closes his eyes and listens to the rhythm of the bullets as they’re spewed from the guns. He didn’t manage to count how many there guns he’s dealing with before he was forced to take cover, but he estimates that there must be at least six on this corridor alone.

It’s a situation that fucking sucks. He and Steve are on the topmost floor of the north wing, which is comprised entirely of offices. Sam and Natasha are about as far away as they can be, in basement two of the south wing. The team has been split up and it’s going to be one hell of a challenge to make it back to each other without being ripped to shreds by these bullets.

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces himself to think logically. The guns currently firing at him and Steve are mounted on the wall facing the row of offices. Each gun is fully automated and must be mounted on some sort of pivot, in order to be able to swing from left to right. Bucky studies the wall behind him, which is steadily becoming riddled with bullet holes. The holes themselves seem to be in a fairly consistent band, thereby indicating that the guns have a limited range of movement; they’re only moving from side-to-side, and not up-and-down. There also seems to be something of a blind spot between each gun, because there’s a thin column of wall which has not been chewed up by bullets whatsoever.

Perfect. That makes his life easier.

That means that Bucky only needs to worry about the gun directly in front of him. He times how long it takes for the bullets to move from right to left, then back again. 12 seconds, tops.

Bucky pulls out a knife from the sheath on his thigh, feeling its weight in his palm. He twists his body, preparing himself to launch from behind the desk at full force when the window of opportunity presents itself. Bucky waits until the bullet spray has passed the leftmost extreme of its arch then jumps, vaulting over the desk like the graceful assassin he is. He sprints like a madman for the gun mounted on the opposite side of the corridor.

Bucky leaps onto the wall above it to save himself from being clipped by a bullet, then jams his knife into the turning the mechanism, so as to stop the gun from being able to rotate. Once he’s immobilised it, Bucky grips the barrel in his metal arm and physically wrenches it upwards, deforming the metal into a ninety degree angle. The machine lets out a few half-aborted clicks before sputtering out completely.

Bucky removes his knife from the pivot and is about to leg it to the next mounted gun when all of a sudden, the gunfire ceases. His ears ring with the ghostly echo of gunshots.

“What…the hell just happened?” asks Sam.

“Bucky disabled one of the guns,” Steve replies smoothly, appearing from behind the mangled desk he used as cover, one wrist held up to his mouth. “Whether or not that’s connected to the rest of them stopping I don’t know, but that’s what’s happened,”. As he speaks, Steve swings his shield around and clips it into the harness on his back.

His shield. His vibranium shield. The one that’s bulletproof.

“Hey, why couldn’t you have handled the gun dismantling?” Bucky asks, as he dusts himself off and re-sheathes his knife. “You got that shiny shield of yours to protect you for a reason, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Too tight a space and too many bullets flying ‘round. The ricochet could’ve hit you. ‘Sides, I didn’t have enough room to swing it properly,”.

“Excuses, excuses,” Bucky grumbles.

“Boys,” Nat interjects, “I don’t think Barnes crippling one gun would’ve shut down the entire system,”.

“And I take it you did nothing on your end, Romanoff?” Bucky asks, as he and Steve begin to cautiously make their way back to the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

“We did nothing,” she confirms.

“And it’s not ‘cause they ran out of ammo, either,” Sam adds. Bucky glances to his right as they pass one of the guns. Wilson’s right.

“So…what?” asks Bucky, “You saying someone shut it down?”

“The question is: who?” Steve murmurs softly, a tense note to his voice. A vein in his neck twitches and his jaw is tightly clenched. He bring his wrist comm to his mouth, “Sam, Nat, if you’re finished downstairs, meet us on the ground floor. Bucky and I will—,”.

He gets cut off by the sound of shattering glass.

Bucky curses and drops into a defensive crouch, a knife appearing in his flesh hand, his metal hand hovering above the holster on his thigh.

“Cap? Barnes? What’s going on?” Sam asks worriedly.

Though the hallway is in darkness save for the measly emergency lights signalling the fire escapes at either end of the corridor, Bucky can still tell that there are several big, burly, heavily-armed agents climbing in through the smashed window and stalking towards him and Steve.

“We’ve got company,” he grits out.

“Who are you?” Steve calls.

Nobody answers. What a surprise.

Because of the darkness, Bucky can’t tell exactly what kind of gear they’ve got on, but if they’re storming into a place like this to fight four of earth’s mightiest heroes, then it’s not unreasonable to expect full body protection. The standard stuff: ballistic vests, probably with a steel plate inserted. If this is a planned attack — which, judging by the coincidental timing of everything, seems to be quite likely — they’ve probably got night vision goggles too. He can’t tell how many agents there are exactly, but a conservative estimate would be about a dozen.

“Yeah, we’ve got company too,” Sam announces.

“Priority is to get out of here alive,” Steve replies calmly, “Don’t do anything stupid,”.

“Copy that, Cap,”.

As Steve hooks his shield onto his arm, he catches Bucky’s gaze.

“You ready for this, pal?” Bucky asks, as the shadowed figures steadily advance.

Steve rolls his shoulders back and holds his shield up in front of him. “I can do this all day,” he replies. He gives Bucky a curt nod, and then—

—they charge forward, as fast as a lightning strike, hoping to take the agents by surprise. Gunshots ring out in the cramped hallway.

Whilst these agents might have the upper-hand in terms of artillery power and night-vision goggles, Bucky’s got enhanced speed and agility, not to mention decades of combat experience. These agents, although clearly not untrained or lacking in experience, are simply no match for Bucky, let alone Bucky and Steve combined. He switches his mind to autopilot, letting his body run mostly on pure, adrenaline-fuelled instinct. It’s not the same blank, cold and ruthless headspace he fell into when he operated as the Soldier, but neither is it dissimilar — Bucky thinks of it as him fighting like the Soldier with a conscience. Bucky works efficiently, methodically darting between bodies, slamming his knives into muscled thighs and between pieces of body armour. He pushes off from the wall and uses the momentum to slash the throat of one of the agents. Bucky will always prefer using his knives in close-combat situations like these; they’re practically an extension of his arms, at this point.

Although Bucky’s focus is mostly on keeping himself out of harm’s way, he’s always got five percent of his mind listening out for Steve, making sure that the punk’s not gotten into too much trouble. They work like a well-oiled engine, the pair of them, having had so much experience charging into battle side-by-side. Inseparable, they are, and whatever bullshit the Smithsonian decided to come up with when describing the two of them together.

To be fair, the words aren’t entirely untrue.

Somewhere off to his right, Bucky catches the clang as Steve’s shield collides with someone’s helmet. He smirks inwardly as the agent on the receiving end of that blow yowls in agony.

Bucky grunts as an agent slams the butt of their rifle into his sternum. In those precious milliseconds where he is momentarily winded, the agent presses forward, backing Bucky into the wall, punch after punch colliding with his ribs. Bucky grits his teeth and clenches his metal hand into a fist, ready to knock the lights out of this bastard. Anticipating this, the agent twists them to the ground, kneeling on Bucky’s metal arm to pin it down. The metal plates whirr and click in protest. Blows continue to be rained down upon him.

The agent is an idiot for not knocking the knife out of Bucky’s other hand.

Though Bucky is busy trying to dodge the man’s punches, he somehow manages to embed his blade into the man’s shoulder, causing him to fall off Bucky, howling in anguish.

Bucky silences him with a deft flick of the wrist.

There are fewer footfalls now, in the corridor, indicating that most of the agents are either dead or incapacitated. Fallen bodies litter the ground, creating a human obstacle course, of sorts. Some parts of the floor are slippery with blood.

Heavy grunting noises waft down from the other end of the corridor. Bucky assumes that Steve is not, in fact, having sex with one of these agents and therefore, could be in need of help. He heads over there to check if he can be of any assistance. Judging by the heavy thuds and thumps coming from that side of the corridor, their grapple must be pretty intense. Bucky jogs a little bit faster to the source of the sounds.

Steve has gotten himself pinned into something of a sticky situation when Bucky gets there. He’s on his back with the agent’s legs around his neck in a chokehold. One of Steve’s hands is shoved between his neck and the agent’s thigh, trying to edge it away from him. The fingers of his other hand are scrabbling for the knife he’s strapped to his outer thigh.

Bucky sighs.

This seems to be the last agent standing and the sooner they dispose of him, the sooner they can go check on Nat and Sam. Bucky adjusts his grip on his knife, takes aim and, with a smooth flick of his wrist, embeds the blade into the side of the man’s throat. His legs go slack immediately.

Steve shoves the hulking brute off his body and takes in a deep gulp of air. He looks around wildly, catches sight of Bucky and breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Why do I always have to finish your fights for you, Rogers?” Bucky drawls, wiping his blades on the heel of his boot before tucking them back into their sheaths.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve sighs, readjusting his helmet as he gets to his feet. He picks up his shield from where it has fallen on the floor, slinging back into its harness.

“Sure you did,” Bucky says dryly.

“Did we get all of ‘em?” Steve asks, glancing around the corridor. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell exactly, but Bucky’s fairly certain that every agent is permanently out of action. There’s no telltale moaning or groaning of someone in pain. Nonetheless, he strains his ears, listening for a hitched breath, or subdued footfalls, or perhaps even the click of a gun cocking.

He hears nothing of the sort.

“Think so,” Bucky replies quietly.

“C’mon. Let’s find Sam and Nat, then get the hell outta here,”.

“For once in your life, Rogers, you’re talking sense,”.

Bucky stalks ahead of Steve, rifle drawn and senses heightened. He picks his way through the corridor littered with bodies, taking care not to slip in any pools of blood. Behind him, Bucky hears Steve matching his every footstep, covering his six. They head towards the stairwell at the far end of this wing, so that they can cross into the adjacent one and find Nat and Sam.

Something whistles past Bucky’s ear.

He tenses. There’s a beeping noise that sounds distinctly like a—

“Bomb!” Steve yells, shoving Bucky forward just heartbeats before an ear-shattering explosion rips through the building. The force of the blast sends him sprawling backwards. He collides with the wall with a sickening crunch. It’s very possible that he fractures a rib.

He’s disoriented for several precious seconds as the dust settles around him. He coughs, wincing as the motion jars something in his chest. There’s an incessant ringing in both his ears. His hearing’s muffled, probably because his ear drums have been severely damaged. They’ll heal up in a few minutes; he knows this from experience. Bucky squints his eyes, trying to see through the debris and darkness, in order to locate Steve.

The blast was concentrated, making it all the more powerful. It seems to have not compromised the structural integrity of the building itself, but did manage to blast a gigantic hole in the wall. At least the hole has the added bonus of letting in some light from the outside world, so they’re no longer working in complete darkness.

Though it looks like nothing is going to come crashing down on him, Bucky is still tensed up. Somebody had to be around to toss that bomb in their direction and chances are, they’ve got to be lurking around somewhere. They’ll probably want to make sure that Bucky and Steve are permanently disposed of.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky catches a flicker of movement — a shadow, flickering on the wall of the stairwell.

He gives chase, rifle held up in front of him. Bucky leaps over the railing, jumps past five steps and lands in a crouch on the floor below. He hoists his rifle to his shoulder, sights, then opens fire, catching the agent in the back of the thigh as he runs down the hallway. His finger presses the trigger again, letting another bullet fly; this one catches the man in the back of the knee. He topples, collapsing to the floor.

Bucky draws his knife as he stalks to the man with brusque purposefulness. He disposes of the agent in a brutal but efficient manner, slitting his throat in one gracefully swift slash. The agent is dead before his head even hits the ground. After glancing up and down the corridor to ensure that no one else is going to spring up on him, Bucky races back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Natasha’s voice crackles in his ear. “Barnes, come in, Barnes!” she yells.

“Romanoff,” he says gruffly as he stores his knife away.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Bomb,” he replies tersely, “Punched a hole right through the wall,”.

“Cap?”

Bucky hesitates. “Status unknown,”.

A pause, then, “Find Steve, we’ll get to the quinjet!” Sam calls.

“Already on it,” Bucky mutters.

Bucky clambers over bits of concrete and dead bodies towards the hole in the wall, because that is where the centre of the blast was. It’s where Steve must be. He cups his hand around his mouth and yells “Steve!”, ignoring the fact that his voice sounds a little bit hoarse and anguished.

He gets no response.

He’s just knocked out, Bucky reasons, as he steps over a particularly large block of concrete. No need to panic, Barnes.

Bucky yelps when a hand closes around his ankle.

“Steve!” he cries, sinking down to his knees beside the man in question.

Steve’s not doing too good. His eye’s swelling over, his lip’s been busted open and blood is trickling from his nose and various other cuts on his face. His body is wedged at an awkward angle between a concrete block and the door to one of the offices. His legs are askew in front of him, uniform covered in a thin coating of dust. He looks a little bit like a rag-doll.

That’s not even the worse part.

No. What’s worse is that there’s a huge ass steel pipe embedded in his thigh.

It’s at least three inches in diameter, jagged and pointy at both ends. It’s pierced Steve’s right leg, just above the knee. He’s sitting in a growing pool of blood, and the entire leg of his uniform is quickly getting soaked in it.

Bucky is agape.

“What’d I say about not doing anything stupid, punk?” Bucky says weakly. He can’t help it. It’s the first thought that pops into his head.

Steve chuckles.

“Shit, pal, hold on,” Bucky mutters, as he lifts his wrist to his mouth. “Natasha?”

“Yeah?” she responds, sounding a little bit breathless.

“I’ve found Steve. He’s not too good,”.

“What happened?”

“Got a steel pipe sticking out of his thigh,”.

Nat curses. “Alright, keep him stable. I’ll try to call in a medic,”.

When Bucky turns to look back at Steve, he finds that his head’s lolling to the side and his eyes are sliding shut. No, no, no, that’s not good, that’s not good, he needs to stay awake; the last thing Bucky wants is for Steve to go into shock because of the blood loss.

“Hey pal,” Bucky says, lightly slapping Steve on the cheek. Steve grunts, tries to twist his head away. “Steve, hey, hey, no, stay with me pal,”.

Sam’s voice crackles in his ear. “Medics en route,”.

“ETA?”

“5, maybe 10?”

“Tell them to hurry the fuck up,” Bucky snaps.

Steve attempts to shift himself and hisses in pain, clutching at Bucky’s arm frantically. “Yeah bud, hang tight, we got help on the way,”. Bucky looks around the barren corridor in search of something — anything — that he could use to staunch the bleeding.

“Gonna take more than this to get rid of me,” Steve mutters. He coughs wetly, forcing another trickle of blood out of his nose. Bucky grimaces.

“It’s okay, Stevie—bud, just stay with me,” Bucky soothes. He feels helpless. Bucky’s got some basic first-aid training, of course he does, but for goodness’ sake — in what universe is this situation considered basic? Who the fuck thinks that extracting a goddamn steel pipe out of someone’s leg is basic first aid training?

“Bucky?” Steve asks, squeezing Bucky’s forearm to get his attention.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Y/N I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding,”.

The broken pieces of Bucky’s heart crumble to dust at the sorrow in Steve’s voice.

“Listen here, Rogers—,” he starts.

“Bucky—,”

“No, shuddup, you punk,” Bucky says fiercely, moving in a little closer so that his face is right in front of Steve’s — that way, there is no way that Steve can miss the fierce determination in his expression. “You listen here, punk,” Bucky growls, “You are gonna make it to your wedding, ya hear me? Even if I have to haul your ass there to—,”

Bucky cuts himself off when Steve coughs again, another spurt of blood dribbling out of his nose. Steve wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood in streaks across his cheek.

“Bucky?” says Steve, quieter this time.

Bucky swallows. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,”.

“For what?”

“For sticking with me,” Steve replies, the corners of his lips curling up into a tired smile. “’Til the end of the line,”.

Hot tears prick at the back of Bucky’s eyelids.

“S’not the end, pal,” Bucky protests, fighting to keep his voice steady, “Stevie, you gotta—fuck,”. His voice cracks, mirroring the way in which his heart is shattering inside his chest. “No, no, no, this ain’t the end of the line, Stevie, we got this far, you ain’t dyin’ on me now,”.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Steve says weakly, letting his drooping eyelids slide shut.

“No!” Bucky shouts, his voice wavering unsteadily. He cups Steve’s face in both hands, trying to be as gentle as he can so as to not aggravate any potential neck trauma. “You keep your eyes open an’ you keep ‘em on me, yeah? Jus’ hold tight ’til the medics come, alright?”

“Barnes,” says Sam’s voice in his ear.

“What?” Bucky says curtly.  

“Barnes, I got a missile incoming,” Natasha informs him, a edge of panic to her voice.

Bucky’s blood turns cold. Beneath him, Steve’s eyes flash open.

“W-what?” Bucky croaks, “Romanoff I—I can’t leave Steve,”.

“Barnes you need to get outta there!” Natasha insists, “You got two minutes, tops,”.

“Two minutes?!” Bucky squawks.

“Two minutes,” she confirms, voice grim. “Barnes, get out of there,”

“We’ve powered up the quinjet,” Sam adds, “We’ll land it a little closer to the compound,”.

“Bucky, just go, get out of here,” Steve grits out, pressing a hand to Bucky’s chest to shove him away.

“No!” Bucky roars, slamming his fist into the crumbling concrete out of frustration. “Not without you!”.

“Buck—,”

“Fuck this shit, I’m carrying you outta here,” Bucky grumbles, shifting back so that he can scoop Steve into his arms.

“Buck you’ll be faster without me!” Steve protests.

“Like hell I’m leavin’ you behind, punk,” Bucky snaps.

“Please, Bucky,” Steve begs. There’s something in his voice that makes Bucky pause, look directly into Steve’s eyes. There’s clarity in his gaze, that trademark Steven Grant Rogers stubbornness shining through a cloud of sorrow and regret.

“Please, Bucky,” he repeats, softer this time, the remorse evident in his voice. “Don’t—don’t fight me on this one. For Y/N. You gotta—you gotta tell her,”.

The mention of your name brings up a whole host of emotions that Bucky most definitely does not have the time for. The truth between you and him balances precariously on the tip of his tongue. Bucky wants, oh, he so desperately wants to tell Steve the truth. The full truth and nothing but the truth, because…goddammit, he owes it to his best pal, but—but Steve’s about to die and Bucky can’t spring that on him in his last moments.

There’re so many things I never got to say to you.

“Barnes, now,” Natasha growls, her tone desperate.

“Barnes, you gotta find cover,” Sam insists.

“Take the shield,” says Steve, his left hand twitching in the direction in which it has fallen. “Take it, it’ll protect you,”.

Bucky looks in the direction Steve’s gesturing in. The red, white and blue disc glints at him from down the hallway. If Bucky can get to it in time, he can bring it back and use it to protect Steve from the blast but — fuck it’s too far away. Even if Bucky sprints to get it, he won’t make it back in time to save Steve.

“Go,” Steve urges, his expression broken and resigned in a way Bucky’s never seen before.

He swallows thickly. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, he realises. “Steve, I—,”

“You’re with me ’til the end of the line, right?” Steve murmurs.

Bucky nods mutely.

“Well, I’m telling you this now — my line doesn’t end here,” Steve says, “Y/N’s gonna keep it going for me,”.

“Steve—,”

“Hold on, lemme finish,” Steve breathes, “I know you love her. You can tell me no, but I know you, Barnes, known you all my life. So I…I give you…my permission to…to do what you think is right,”.

Bucky’s heart is doing all sorts of flips in his chest. He—he doesn’t need to hear this now, his brain’s too overwhelmed as it is. Bucky files this information away in a folder in the back of his brain for him to re-examine later.

“You wanna stick with me ’til the end of the line? I’m asking you to keep her safe,” Steve murmurs. The corner of his lip twitches up into a lop-sided, bloodied smirk. “You keep her safe, okay?” Steve pleads, “Tell her that I love her, and that I’m sorry. And—and, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too,”.

Bucky sobs hoarsely, clasping Steve’s blood-streaked hand in his own, squeezing their fingers together. He tries not to think about the fact that this is the last time he’ll ever get to do that. Bucky ducks down to press a soft, parting kiss to Steve’s forehead — a single gesture which is nowhere near enough to convey everything he needs to say to the one man that matters most to him, to the one one man who deserves so much more — before jumping up, giving Steve a parting half-wave, then sprinting for the shield.

“30 seconds,” says Nat.

Bucky runs and runs and runs, forcing himself to not think about Steve. To not think about the fact that he is abandoning his brother in every sense of the word, to not think about the fact that he’s a terrible friend. There’s nothing he can do besides run. Bucky pours every last scrap of energy into the sprint, pumping his arms to propel his body forward. He picks up the shield when he passes by it, then holds it out in front of him as he heads towards the window. Bucky leaps through the glass, curling his body into a ball and twisting the shield so that it hits the ground first, in order to absorb the force of the impact.

“10 seconds,” Nat murmurs.

“We’ll miss you, Steve,” Sam sniffles.

Bucky ignores the pain lancing through his chest and shoulder, ignores the ruthless ache in his heart, ignores the dull throbbing in his thigh. He pushes on, aiming to at least get clear of the facility’s grounds, into the trees behind it.

“3,”.

Bucky vaults over the low brick wall—

“2,”.

—tumbles into a ditch—

“1,”.

—and gets the shield above his head to protect himself from the hailstorm of debris.

The explosion rocks the ground beneath him. A wave of raw, uninhibited energy rips through his body; his entire being get pummelled by an unforgiving wall of force. Flickers of bright orange and burnt red dance at the corner of his eye, and his skin is seared by the white-hot lick of flames.

When the dust begins to settle, Bucky slowly pushes himself to his feet to survey the damage.

What he sees is utter devastation.

The facility has been levelled to the ground. Only a few crumbling support pillars remain standing; nearly everything else has been turned to dust or fine rubble.

He swallows.

There’s no way Steve could have survived that.

“Barnes? Status report?” Natasha prompts.

His hand trembles when he brings it up to his wrist. “Impact confirmed. Steve…he—he couldn’t have made it,”.

“May he rest in peace,” Sam whispers.

Bucky feels sickened, chilled to his core. He feels hollow, yet way too full, all at the same time — he is devoid of emotion, whilst simultaneously feeling far too many emotions. Bucky collapses to his hands and knees, fingers digging into the cracked dirt and dried grass in front of him. He retches violently, lungs contracting and heaving like bellows, but nothing comes out of him. He slams his fists into the ground, thrashes and sobs violently, even howls into the still of night like a wolf. Grief crashes through his system, pounding him again and again in forceful, unrelenting waves.

Steve is gone.

——————————

Natasha and Sam eventually have to come and haul him out of the ditch, because Bucky finds himself too shell-shocked to move.

“We have to go check,” Bucky says brokenly, shaking his head no when Natasha tries to coax him to come into the quinjet.

Sam opens up his pack and pulls out a small handheld device. It’s a thermal sensor. He hands it to Bucky, who aims it at the remnants of the building.

The screen reads nothing.

No heat signatures whatsoever.

Bucky swallows back the nausea rising in his throat. “We gotta go check,” he insists.

——————————

They end up spending at least an hour trawling through the rubble. It’s laborious and difficult work, and most of the concrete pieces are too large for the three of them to lift together — even with Bucky’s enhanced strength — but he stoutly perseveres, nonetheless. If Steve—if there’s even a fraction of a chance that he’s alive, they’ve got to find him.

But when Bucky catches the worried and somewhat doubtful look that Sam shoots in Nat’s direction, he knows that that chance is growing thinner by the second.

Eventually, Bucky has to admit defeat.

He hates that. He hates himself for failing the one person that always came through for him. He hates how he never got to tell Steve the truth, hates how he’ll never get to see Steve’s smile, or hear his laugh, hates how they’ll never be able to spar together, or laugh at stupid jokes together, or reminisce about two young, innocent boys from a time long gone together.

The Smithsonian was wrong, he thinks. Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.

Turns out, they were inseparable in just the one.

The flight home is eerily quiet. Bucky’s glad of that. He doesn’t want to talk.

Natasha’s flying the jet, with Sam sitting in the co-pilot seat beside her. Bucky’s sitting in the back, slouched against the wall. Snippets of murmured conversation from the cockpit reach his ears, but Bucky pays them no attention. Steve’s shield leans on the wall opposite him, new scratches marring the white star. Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from it the entire flight home.

Maybe, if he stares at it hard enough, Steve will return.

——————————

Natasha lands the jet with practiced ease. She powers down the engines, then turns around to give Bucky a tight smile. He thinks it’s supposed to be a show of support. With a heavy sigh, Bucky gets up, picks up Steve’s shield, then leads the trio out of the quinjet.

In the distance, Bucky sees you and Wanda racing over. His heart starts to race a little faster; this is what he has been dreading. As soon as he steps off the ramp, you launch yourself at Bucky, eyes manic and expression concerned.

“God, guys, you look like shit!” Wanda exclaims, “What happened?”

“Where’s Steve?” you ask Bucky, craning your head around to look over his shoulder.

Bucky looks to Nat and Sam, helplessness written all over his features.

“Where’s Steve?” you repeat, your voice wavering slightly. It is then that your eyes flick downwards, and you notice that Steve’s shield is being held in Bucky’s loose grip. You snatch it out of his hand.

“Bucky, why do you have this?” you ask sharply, “Where’s Steve?”

Bucky bites his quivering bottom lip and keeps his eyes downcast, unwilling to meet the anguish in your gaze. Your fingers hook into the straps on the front of his uniform, yanking him forward so that your face is just an inch away from his own.

“Barnes, don’t fuck with me,” you growl, “Where. Is. Steve?”

Bucky swallows, trying to force his mouth to shape the words that he has been unwilling to say. Saying them aloud makes it final, makes it a fact — one which he doesn’t want to admit. Though Bucky may have lied to you a lot in recent months, this is not a situation which he can bluff his way out of.

“He’s dead,”.

End Note: Steve’s death (or the manner in which he died) was inspired by this post. 

---------------

Tags are open, but I’m only accepting them from PMs or asks. Requests from replies/comments to posts will be ignored. 

[purplemaple-xoxo]

Groomzilla Chap 2

Slowly getting back into writing! Doing these revisions have helped a bit, which I’m grateful for! Hope you enjoy and let me know if anything is extremely OOC (a lil bit is expected with this) ENJOY!!

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

"Sir, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't breathe down my neck like this. It's quite distracting." Riza spoke from her desk in Roy's office. Roy was currently leaning over her shoulder trying to see how she was doing with the plans for the reception in 4 days.

"I'm simply observing what you are doing. It's not like you haven't done the exact same thing since you started under my command." Roy mumbled the last part under his breath. Unfortunately for him, it didn't go unheard by Riza.

"Stop being so childish, just because I'm finishing the plans and you're left to deal with the work you're supposed to be doing. Speaking of which, aren't there still some forms regarding trades with Creta that you could be doing rather than focus on me picking place cards and whether the Armstrong's should all be at one table for the reception."

Riza smiled inwardly as Roy begrudgingly straightened up and stomped back over to his desk. He began to start on his paperwork, a deep scowl etching his features. A little while later, an unexpected guest burst through the door.

"I'm surprised you two are working. I would have thought you would be finishing up the plans for the big day." Grumman spoke as he strode into the room.

"I'm suspended from even seeing the plans for the wedding. Apparently, I've been impulsive in regards to the plans." Roy’s scowl grew deeper.

"Don't forget you also scared away some florists and chefs because you freaked out over their selections.”

Roy threw his arms up in the air in a huff, before pointing a finger at the other occupants in the room.  

"Okay first off, the florists were completely screwing up the flower arrangements I asked for, secondly the chefs were going to offer Ginger Glazed Breast of Chicken instead of the Beef Bourguignon that I like. That was not what I was going to pay for, so I politely excused them from the premises."

"I wouldn't categorize it as being polite. More like forceful."

"Hey come on you two, don't fight. That's not supposed to happen until well past the honeymoon."

"He's just being a perfectionist. He'll get over it."

"I think there's a better word to describe him, dear," Grumman whispered into Riza's ear, eliciting a small chuckle from her and a frown from Roy since he couldn't hear the exchange.

"I don't know what you said, but I don't like it." Roy's frown deepened when Riza and her grandfather exchanged a glance laced with humour.

Just as Riza was about to try and console her fiancé, someone knocked on the door.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Captain, the photographer is here to see you regarding the locations for the wedding shots after the ceremony," Fuery spoke from the door.

"Thank you Warrant Officer, I'll be out there in a moment," Riza responded with a small smile. Fuery bowed slightly before closing the door behind him.

"I better go deal with this. Keep working on your papers, sir." Riza made sure she maintained eye contact with Roy before leaving the room.

"I was hoping we could have a chess game but I see you have quite a bit of work to catch up on my boy. Give me a call when you have some free time."

And just like that, Roy was left alone in his office with his pile of paperwork. Roy huffed as he slouched in his chair. As he was about to reach for his pen, something caught his eye. He threw a cautionary glance at the door before picking up the item.

-/-/-

Riza was busy discussing the location of where she wanted the photos to be taken and the cost of his services when Havoc interrupted them.

"Hey, Hawkeye. You suspended the Boss from planning the wedding stuff right?"

"Yes." Why did she have a bad feeling of what Havoc was going to say.

"And you said that if he got involved he was banned to the couch."

"What are you getting at First Lieutenant?”

"I just walked past the door and I could have sworn I heard him discussing stuff that sounded an awful lot like wedding details."

Riza pursed her lips and took a deep breath before turning her attention to Fuery. Her voice extremely calm.

"Warrant Officer would you tap the Fuhrer's telephone line please."

"Sure thing Captain."

Fuery began to tap the Fuhrer's line through one of the phones in the outer office. Riza stood by his desk, her arms crossed and her eyes closed. Breda and Havoc gave each other worried looks before discreetly passing betting money to each other. The photographer stood slightly to the side, not sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing.

"All clear," Fuery whispered as he held up the phone to Hawkeye. She took the phone in her grasp and placed it up to her ear. She could hear Roy's quiet tone through the phone.

"...so after the ceremony, the reception will be held in Central City's Grand Hotel in the first ballroom.”

"Yes your Fiancée established that, and the Carnations will be situated..”

"Carnations?! I specifically asked for Tulips for both the ceremony and the reception. Change that at once. And they better be red. Also, add lavender roses to the arrangements."

Riza didn't even bother to wait for whoever Roy was on the phone to respond as she slammed the phone down on the carrier and marched into his office.  

"You IDIOT!" She shouted at him from across the office. Roy immediately slammed the phone down into its cradle, not even bothering to speak another word to the person on the other end. He had a bigger problem to deal with.

"Hey, Ri." Roy could hear his own voice shake as he spoke.

"Don't you 'Hey Ri' me. I specifically told you that you weren't allowed to partake in any wedding preparations! But did you listen to me? Of course not! You are so obsessed with every single detail that you have even gone behind my back! What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"Sorry Riza, I just want everything to be perfect on our special day."

Riza took a deep breath before exhaling and walking over to her desk, her hands clenched at her sides.

"I'm going out with Rebecca, I better not see you at home until all of your paperwork is done."

Roy just sat there as he watched Riza's tense back leave his office. Riza was so filled with rage that she didn't fully register the outer room's occupants as they scurried out of her path.

"First Lieutenant Havoc, make sure he finishes his work. I'll personally pay you overtime if need be. And make sure he stays away from the phone."

And with that, Riza marched out of the office. Leaving three nervous subordinates, a guilty Fuhrer, and a confused photographer in her wake.

"Hear that Mustang looks like I'm in charge now so.. HEY! Put that phone down!" Havoc shouted at Roy, who quickly threw the phone down, completely missing the cradle.

"This is going to be harder than I thought." Havoc mumbled to himself, "Hey Captain, he's doing it again!" Havoc shouted after Riza.

"Shut up Havoc!"

-/-/-

"He's that bad huh? Roy-boy gets that from his father for sure." Madame Christmas spoke across the bar to a stressed out Riza and an amused Rebecca.

"I just can't get over the fact that you're actually going through banning him to the couch! You have him wrapped around your little finger!" Rebecca spoke with a laugh.

"He went behind my back. I'm doing this for his own good."

"You know he is going to try to pull every charm he has in his arsenal tonight."

"Yes, I'm aware of that Rebecca."

"It's a good thing you've developed an invincibility of sorts to his charm then," Christmas spoke as she cleaned a glass with a towel.

"I just can't wait for this all to be over. That way we can go back to the way things were before." Riza spoke as she leaned forward slightly on the counter.

"I hate to break the news to you Riza, but your life hasn't exactly been normal." Riza just rolled her eyes at Rebecca’s comment as she took a sip of water.

"You know he has developed a new little quirk."

Rebecca and Christmas raised an eyebrow at the random comment.

"He can get quirkier?" Rebecca asked astonished. "I thought the quirkiness stopped at the Miniskirt clause."

"When he is stressed he massages his palms, the right in particular.It's most likely due to the multiple scarring on that hand.. I only saw him do it on occasion before, but now he does it almost constantly. Especially within the last month.”

"Want me to have a talk with him? I could straighten him up a bit." Christmas spoke as she lit a cigarette and took a drag.

"I have no doubt about that, but I can handle him. Hopefully, he won't be too stubborn."

"Trust me Riza, once Roy knows how worried you are, I'm sure he'll snap out of it. If you haven't noticed, he will always put you first and it tears him apart if something is wrong with you. He'll back down."

"Thanks, Rebecca, I guess that's what I needed to hear."

"As I said before, he certainly is a lot like his father. I remember how stressed he was over every little detail and making it perfect for Roy's mother. I actually had to knock him out the night before the wedding so he would actually get a decent amount of sleep." Christmas took a long drag from her smoke before giving the women in front of her, her full attention. "I can do the same thing to Roy if you want."

"I'll take that into consideration," Riza spoke as the clock across the bar chimed.

"We better go, Rebecca, we still have quite a lot to do, thank you for the drinks, Madame," Riza spoke as she got up from her bar stool.

"Anytime but before you go, could you please come here for a moment Elizabeth."

Riza raised an eyebrow as she approached the Madame who had walked around the counter to stand in front of her. Christmas then took her hand and placed it on Riza’s shoulder.

"Just remember that he is acting this way because he loves you. He's just making up for lost time." The corner of Christmas' lip quirked into the Mustang smirk as she squeezed her hand. Riza returned the smile before heading out the door after Rebecca.

-/-/-

Riza groaned when she heard the bedroom door creak open and buried her face into her pillow, she was tired from running around with Rebecca finishing errands for the wedding after talking with Madame Christmas and she didn't want to put up with this at 2:00 in the morning.

"Roy get back to the couch." Now that sounded familiar.

"Unfortunately I planned on it, just came to get your pillow," Roy spoke as he grabbed the corner of the pillow in which Riza's head resided on.

"My pillow? Why do you need my pillow?" Riza asked as she felt her upper body be raised slightly off the bed.

"Because if I can't share a bed with you, the least you could do is provide me with something that smells like you. I love the way you smell." Roy responded.

Riza finally opened her eyes and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You know I usually sleep nuzzled in your hair and I can't do that now since I really messed up. At least take some pity on me and give me your pillow." Roy responded.

"I don't know, you didn't listen to me so you have to pay the price." Luckily the dark gloom of the room hid Roy's devious smirk. Before Riza knew it, her pillow was deftly swiped from under her head.

"ROY!" But before Riza could reprimand him, she felt her pillow get placed over the back of her head and a mass drape itself over her body. It was a Roy sandwich.

"This is way better than the couch." Riza could hear Roy's voice through the fabric as she felt him nuzzle into the pillow on her head, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"I'm going to give you to the count of three Roy," Riza spoke venomously.

When Roy didn't move and she felt his body relax she started to countdown.

"Three... two... one... Hayate!"

Before Roy knew it Hayate, who was previously fast asleep at the bottom of the bed, barrelled right into Roy's side, the force shoving Roy off of Riza and onto the floor. Unfortunately, with Roy's arms still wrapped around her, Riza fell down in tandem, landing directly on top of Roy and dazing them both.

"After all of that, do I still have to sleep on the couch?" Roy spoke after a couple minutes of silence. He waited for an answer but one never came.

"Riza?" Roy gently brushed her fringe away from her face, realizing that she had fallen asleep.

“She is so exhausted and it's all my fault.” Roy carefully stood up and lifted Riza back onto the bed. He returned her pillow and covered her with blankets once again. He took a moment to study her features before bending to kiss her on the cheek, grabbing his own pillow and walking out of the room in search of his new arch enemy, the dreaded couch.