un-beta'd.
you can find more of my work at malahmente tumblr.
happy holidays!
The file was slapped on Roy Mustang's desk at exactly 1001 hours.
"And this is?" he said, following the hand up to the face of one Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes.
Hughes shrugged, half-sitting on Roy's desk. "Read it."
Mustang dragged his eyes to Hughes' stiff bodyguards—Second Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Denny Brosh—before flashing back to his friend. "Will reading it explain why it's here?"
"It might."
Roy stamped down the sudden urge to burn his best friend on the spot and instead picked up the document. "Iacomus Kraust," he read aloud from the pristine white paper that was clipped unto the folder, "Age 34. One brother, parents both deceased. Last known residence was West Village. Likely involved in drug smuggling and human trafficking. No non-circumstantial evidence, no warrant out for arrest." He set the file down and steepled his fingers. "Doesn't explain why it's on my desk."
The bespectacled man leaned in. "Because I need your permission to borrow your incredibly effective team on this mission!"
"Absolutely not." Roy's gaze was flat. "My unit isn't loanable for missions."
Hughes gave a dramatic sigh and dragged his hands down his cheeks. "But Roooooooy ! You have the fastest-working team! And you're a full set!" He pointed to each person in the room. "Havoc's perfect for covert stuff, Fuery does great comms, Breda's a great strategist! And Hawkeye would make great bait—"
Riza's eyes flashed and clicked the safety off her gun.
"—and a fantastic secret weapon," finished Hughes nervously, releasing a breath of relief when she clicked it back on.
Falman frowned. "What about me?"
"Huh? Oh, right. You're great for... writing reports."
Falman scowled at that. "Hey, I can do more than just reports."
Havoc snorted. "Like what? Bore the mark to death with your endless trivia?"
"At least I have a steady girlfriend, you—"
"Boys," Hawkeye warned, adjusting her holster. Both men shut up immediately and continued on with their paperwork.
Roy, who was silently thinking as they bickered, spoke. "What's the objective?"
"Catch him in the act," Hughes answered, "Or at the very least get evidence that isn't circumstantial. It's very in-and-out, won't take more than 12 hours total."
Roy seemed to be mulling it over. "You need my whole team?"
Hughes smirked. "I need your operating your best. Does that need your whole team?"
Roy paused, and sighed. Addressing his men, he said, "Well, you heard the man. We're going on a field trip."
"Sweet," Breda said, stretching. "When?"
Hughes answered with a sly smile. "Tonight's as good a night as any."
How Hughes managed to get Administration to move the entire office's deadlines to next Tuesday, but as insufferable as the man's garble was about his wife, Roy had to admit it came in handy sometimes. Namely, when they needed to annoy Administration into moving deadlines.
"Fuery will stay here," Breda said, and next to him, Hughes encircled a house on the map with a pencil; he and Hughes came up with a plan half an hour ago. The rest of the team hovered around the map on Mustang's desk. "We'll set up at 1600—Falman, you stick with Fuery. Havoc, I need you at the bar."
"What about Hawkeye?" Mustang asked, his Lieutenant standing a little behind him as they looked over.
"We're setting up a trap to catch Kraust, right? Well, women are really good at catching men," Breda said with a shrug.
Hughes tapped the pencil to his chin and jerked his chin at Ross, standing by the door. "I'm sure Ross has a slinky little number Hawkeye could wear to lure in Kraust—"
"What?" Ross snapped, her face crumpling in distaste. Next to her by the door, Brosh smacked a hand to his face. "Please stop assuming you know what is and what is not in my closet, Lieutenant Colonel—"
"What?" Roy asked, copying Ross' expression to a T. "Absolutely not. Hawkeye will not play bait."
"She's not bait," Hughes said, ignoring Ross. "She's our secret weapon."
"Yeah, a secret weapon playing bait," Mustang huffed. "No."
"Oh, come off it. Let the lady choose, at least," Hughes said, waving his hand.
"I would like not to be bait," Hawkeye deadpanned. Roy threw Hughes a victorious smirk. "But," she continued, and Roy's smirk tensed, "I will do what is necessary to make sure the mission is a success."
The Colonel's jaw unhinged in the slightest, and Maes slapped the man's back in victory. "Perfect! Roy, you heard Hawkeye. Ross, do you have a dress?"
"Lieutenant Colonel, I just said—"
"What?" Mustang's head snapped to glare at Hawkeye, ignoring the two bickering officers. "Where was this—this compliance during the Miniskirt Day?"
"We said we'd never speak of that again," Hawkeye said sharply.
Breda and Havoc remained solemn. "Let's remember that day with utmost respect," Havoc said, beating his chest. Breda did the same with a nod.
Falman stepped away from both men at the memory, while Fuery squatted to cover a whimpering Hayate's ears.
"Don't mention that day around the dog," chastised Fuery.
"Miniskirt Day?" Brosh asked, confused. "What's Miniskirt Day?"
Havoc was about to answer through his lit cigarette when a flash of gunmetal caught his eye and he clammed up. A loud smack unexpectedly reverberated throughout the room, and a twitching, irate Ross stood as calmly as she could next to her commanding officer, who was now sporting a bright red handprint on his cheek.
"So Ross doesn't have a dress," Hughes said, adjusting his glasses, "which means we need to buy one. Preferably black with a slit. Something mouthwatering." He paused. "I hope that's okay with you, Hawkeye."
"It isn't, but I do understand the objective." She mulled over what she was about to say. "I may have a dress. Not dangerous or with a slit, but a dress."
"A dress?" Mustang's jaw dropped. "Since when?"
"Since I became a human woman," she said flatly, not looking at him.
Falman and Fuery snorted, while Ross brought her fist to her mouth and widened her eyes. Hughes flat out cackled.
Brosh managed to disguise his laugh with a cough. Breda hissed, while next to him, Havoc shook his head with a hearty laugh. "Damn. Good one, Lieutenant!"
"Shut up," Mustang growled, snapping his fingers. Havoc's cigarette instantly burned down to the butt.
"Are you done yet?"
"Sir, for the last time," Hawkeye answered from one corner of the room, "Just let me get ready."
"Hawkeye's right, Colonel," Havoc said, already changed into a casual shirt and slacks like the rest of the men. He propped his feet up on the desk and let his head hang back as he tipped the chair. "Girls take forever to get ready. Too much hair to deal with."
A hair brush came sailing from Hawkeye's corner of the room and hit Havoc at the side of the head, and the remaining standing legs of his chair slipped. Havoc came crashing down with a groan.
Breda cackled.
"Help me up," Havoc cried.
"No, man! You deserved that!"
"Excuse you, sexist pig," Ross, still in her military blues, groused irately. She gently dabbed her finger over Hawkeye's closed eyelids. "I've only been here five minutes!"
Hughes poked his head into the room. "Are you done yet?"
"ARGH!" Ross cried, throwing her hands up. "Can everyone just shut up and let me work in peace?!"
"I didn't even do anything," Brosh said in a small voice, holding Ross' brush case. Ross ignored him and plucked a brush to glide over Hawkeye's cheeks.
"Are Fuery and Falman in position?" Mustang asked, looking out into the darkened city from his window.
"How's Gracia's cousin's dress, Hawkeye?" Hughes asked, shutting the door behind him.
"Fits fine. I think I can run in it, if worse comes to worst."
"Open your mouth," Ross instructed gently. Riza followed, and a stripe of red filled her lips.
"Okay. I mentioned we'd use it for a mission, so I think she's accepted that she's not getting it back." Walking over to Hawkeye and Ross, he crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. "Hey, not bad! You look... great."
Hawkeye raised the mirror she held in her lap to her face. When she caught sight of her reflection, she sighed. "You can say slutty."
Havoc perked up from the floor. "Oh ho ho, this I gotta see."
"Wearing makeup doesn't debilitate my shooting skills, Second Lieutenant," warned Hawkeye.
"On second thought, I'll stay right here. Floor's pretty great. Aren't floors great?"
"You pathetic man," Breda said with distaste at his blond comrade.
Mustang finally turned and set his eyes on Hawkeye.
Her blonde hair was down, sweeping past her shoulders. A flattering red adorned her lips, and a little bit of kohl lined her eyes. It was definitely new, very different from the fresh face he was used to seeing against the blues of the uniform. Now it was red, lined eyes, and an… interestingdress that he knew Hawkeye wouldn't put on willingly. Still, Roy wouldn't call it slutty. He'd call it…
"Very alluring," he said, passing it off as a casual comment. "Good job, Lieutenant Ross."
Ross gave a formal salute, despite it being after hours, and she and Denny packed up. Hawkeye fussed with the earrings that Hughes leant to her—big, baroque pearl things, adorned with gold and hung on the sides of her face—while she stood stiffly to the side as Hughes, Breda, and Havoc went over the floor plan.
Mustang strode over. "Nervous?" He phrased it as a question, but it came out like an observation.
She glanced at him, and he could tell she was holding in a smile. "I don't know why I'm surprised you can tell."
"I can always tell," he said seriously, and in a voice only she could hear, "You look beautiful."
"Thank you, Sir," Hawkeye said in her usual deadpan, face betraying no emotion.
Mustang chuckled. "At ease, Lieutenant. It's after hours."
She furrowed her brow. "How can it be after hours if we're about to go on a mission?"
He shook his head good-naturedly. He'd forgotten how incredibly adept his Lieutenant was with playing dumb. "You're right. Of course, as always."
"Roy!" Hughes called, beckoning him over. "Let's go. Ops said he'd be there by nine."
"We'll be there by nine-thirty," Mustang said confidently.
"Go over the plan," Hughes instructed.
"I'll escort Hawkeye in as my date. Havoc enters sixteen minutes before us, while Breda will be there playing bartender."
"After six minutes," Havoc answered, "the Colonel will head to the toilet and Breda will slide Hawkeye a drink under the guise of me buying it for her. I come over and she rebuffs me." He pauses in thought. "Actually, can she entertain me even just a little bit—"
"Meanwhile," Mustang continued, speaking over a dejected Havoc, "Hughes will chummy up to Kraust and point him in the direction of Hawkeye. If that doesn't work, Hawkeye will…" Roy looked like he struggled with finishing his sentence, before finally conceding. "Hawkeye will dance."
"I hope that part of the plan happens," Havoc said hopefully, straightening with a smile.
"Keep it professional, Havoc," Mustang snapped. The blond slumped again.
"It's just a back-up, anyway," Hughes said, waving his hand.
"We'll be connected through comms operated by Fuery if anything happens, and at 2200 hours, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes will arrive with back up," finished Hawkeye.
"Good, good. No other questions?"
"None, sir," Hawkeye answered for everyone.
"Great, let's go. Ross, you're free to go. Thanks for all your help."
Ross saluted. "Yes, Sir. Good luck."
Brosh followed in her suit and relaxed when the Lieutenant Colonel returned the gesture. He herded all of them out, leaving Hawkeye and Mustang in the room. The blonde immediately started tidying up the office. Roy sighed, doing his part by clearing his own desk.
"We leave in five," Mustang said from his office chair, glancing at the clock. It took her a beat too long to nod, and he caught up with it immediately. He turned to her and found her looking over the case file. "Something on your mind?"
She pursed her lips in thought. "The name Kraust," she thought aloud, "It sounds familiar to me."
"It's the most common of names, that's for sure."
She shook her head. "I may be overthinking it."
"I'm sure it'll come to you." He got up and slid his chair under his desk. He grabbed his coat and let it rest over her shoulders, leading her away with a hand at the small of her back. "Come on. We're late by thirty seconds."
The plan, expectably, went off without a hitch.
Breda was brilliant, and even if the plan was quite simple, it was effective—everything was followed to a T, except the part where Kraust was supposed to approach Hawkeye at the bar. But they had a back up for that, too.
Hawkeye dancing, Roy thought. It was… unusual, as it wasn't tried and tested—unlike Roy's flirting to get girls to talk—but Breda had faith in it. Hughes had confidence in her. Both weren't unfounded. The mission was a sure success, as all missions that were assigned to them, but in a different way. Mustang could have attributed to the dress, but he knew that the glory belonged to the woman wearing it.
Havoc was staring shamelessly, Roy could see from his vantage point. But Roy couldn't blame him. Hell, he couldn't blame any man for staring. He wasn't exactly innocent, either.
Roy dragged his eyes up her body in a way that would guarantee a bullet to the brain on a regular day, but from his spot, hidden near the toilets, he was free to do as he wanted.
She was beautiful, he'd always known that. He'd told her on several occasions, too. It wasn't like she didn't want people to acknowledge that she wasn't bad looking. It was just… not important.
She never weaponized that beauty, either. Instead she used her hands and her guns and her aim. It wasn't a loss, per se. Roy didn't particularly care; she was free to do as she pleased. But tonight, she could definitely include 'hip-swaying' to her arsenal.
The dress was mobile but form-fitting, showing off her legs but covered her chest. The blood red color made her look even more alluring. She was soft and pliable and seductive on the dance floor, not at all like the hardened soldier she had grown to be. Roy thought back briefly to this morning, when she was still in her uniform. It was almost like he'd stepped into an alternate universe.
A movement at the corner of his eye signaled that Havoc had moved into his back-up position, while Breda arranged glasses aimlessly on one side. Roy looked back at the dance floor. Riza was near the target, slightly out of reach, but he was playing straight into her hand, leering and staring up and down her body.
They'd catch the bastard tonight, no doubt about it.
Fuery's voice, distorted by some static, carried from his comm. "Back up has arrived. The snake can strike."
Roy let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He pressed a button near his ear. "Copy that." With a sharp glance at Breda, the man nodded and passed behind their target, who was leaning on the bar.
Hawkeye, on cue, sidled up to the man and whispered something in his ear. He grinned lecherously and led the way to the back, but not without trailing his hand from her backside, all the way up to her neck, and back down. The dress covered the expanse of her back, but the material was thin. If Kraust wanted to cop a feel, he'd definitely get it.
Roy's fingers twitched, feeling naked without his gloves.
He froze when Hawkeye met his eyes with a sharp stare, and the glint from below his line of vision—her gun on her thigh holster, he could tell—relaxed him somewhat. Wait, she communicated silently, and he stepped further back, letting her drag Kraust out via the backdoor. It calmed him some. She could handle herself.
Havoc stood up and silently followed a few seconds later, Breda taking his empty glass and wiping tables. It was done so inconspicuously that it made Roy smirk. He had a fantastic team. Hughes had been right in getting them for this mission.
Minutes later, Hughes' victorious voice came in through the comm. "The snake has bitten the hand. We're done here."