The question was simple enough, "Oi, Havoc, who do you think is the bravest person you've ever met?"
But it was the seed from which chaos would spawn.
"You know, Breda, it'd have to be the Colonel. Hands down, no doubt about it."
"Wow… so confident about Mustang? Breda gave an incredulous look, "What does he even do all day? Sit as his desk, pretends to work – at gun point, mind you,-- slacks off, signs a few documents, and when he's asked to do any more work, he says he's too tired because he's been 'working just oh so hard all day.' And to top it off, he leaves early for another date. I have to say, I wonder about your definition of brave, Havoc."
Havoc strokes his chin and chews on the end of his cigarette, "Hmm, I can't really argue with that first bit."
"I guess you must have thought about the war. I suppose he did –"
"Oh no, no, no, not the war, I'm not thinking of the war. Not the Ishbal war, at least."
"But… then…"
Havoc leans closer, looking over his shoulder, then whispers, "The Shorty."
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING SO DAMN SHORT THAT HE CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE RUSTLING OF PAPER?"
The pair froze. They slowly turned to look each other in the eyes, saying a silent goodbye, and prepared to high-tail out of the office.
"DAMN YOU COLONEL, I SWEAR I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR BLODDY LONG LEGS AND THEN WE'LL SEE WHO'S SHORT! YOU SMIRKY, SMUG, BLOODLY MANIPULATIVE BASTARD WITH A FREAKING GOD COMPLEX!"
Havoc and Breda let out a squeak; that was the closest to a sigh of relief they could muster. Still very shaken and pale, Breda dared to speak. "I think we just brushed by death."
"I think I saw the other side."
They both looked at Colonel Roy Mustang's office door, then at each other. "Dead man walking."
A/N: this is actually pretty old… about 5 months at least? Haha. It's a joint work between me and Anmery …. Actually, I think it spawned through one of our whacked up conversations… again .