Hiii... first FMA fanfic. Also first fanfic/update I've done in the last.. year? Fics have always been a "must be in the mood" type of thing for me so I hope this one lasts cuz I like this one~
I was debating to myself whether to have a main Ed/Winry fic.. or go for one of the minor characters. And I thought, poor ol' Havoc needs some love in the fanfic community so here it is :)
Please review. Havoc will love you. XD
I have a bad habit of not listening to details when it's necessary…
"My name is Addison Robin."
And listening too much into things that aren't necessary…
"Military scum. Take responsibility-"
Sometimes I wish I had better timing in life. But hey - you don't always get what you wish.
Chapter One | A Bed of Nails
The dead deciduous trees of winter were swayed to and fro by the howling wind. It spat snowflakes on every window of Eastern Amestris, and only three weeks till Christmas, the weather was getting colder every day. South from the Eastern Military Base, the clinking of beer glasses could be heard in a small but homey tavern. The place was nice; men roared with laughter and puffed cigars over the snooker table, carefree without their wives for the night. Sat by the polished oak counter, two men twenty years apart conversed so casually, like long life friends.
"So punk…how's military life for ya?" The skin-headed, muscular man chugged down his beer, wiping the froth from his lips. He took a cigarette out, and directed the packet towards the younger.
His companion, a man of nineteen years old grimaced at the tobacco. "No. You know I don't." He nodded at the bar man for another swing, "Anyway, not quite what I thought Oz old man… but the shooting hall is good – I guess."
Oz chuckled. He gave the 'kid' a light punch for the "old man" comment but disregarded it – mostly. "What, the Jean Havoc bored already?"
"I'm not bored. General Raven is just a…"
"Jerk?"
"Woah Oz – he's not a jerk. That's my new commanding officer you're on about. He just has jerk-ish and dick-ish qualities, but besides that – yeah okay, nice man."
The two men looked at each other than laughed. Oz had recently quit the military for his family of a newborn son and twelve year old daughter. It was an easy process; he wasn't very high in the military pyramid. The younger Jean Havoc, was a ripe graduate from the military academy. He was known for his smarts, "make-do" attitude, and stunning firearms ability.
"Enough about me," said Havoc, one arm leaning lazily on the counter. "What's your son called again? How's the missus doing?"
"Adrian. And Missus Penny is doing fine…Big Sis – what we call my daughter now, is a great little helper when I'm not around." The man that was built like a wall always had a softer tone of voice when talking about his family. It made Havoc wonder if he'd ever have the privilege to feel that way.
"I thought you quit the military to get more time with them…?"
"Well. Yeah. But my job now has… odd hours. I'll stick with it till I find another."
"Oz," Havoc took a gulp of beer, "where do you work any-"
Simultaneously with "where" Oz called for another beer. "Enough about me. When do I say 'how's the missus' to you?" He grinned, "I mean, what happened to your last girlfriend?"
Havoc's eyebrow arched in a sceptical manner in retort to the "last" as if suggesting Oz already knew he was dumped. But he couldn't, after all Havoc knew he wasn't that predictable. "S-She wasn't really my girlfriend, we were just seeing, testing, so, there was no feel, we moved on…"
"You mean she hooked up with someone else?"
"Yyyyeea – No."
"No. No, I'll listen. Just please, please don't hurt her anymore." His expression in full agony, and the whip marks still burning fresh, the scary-looking man did not look so scary anymore. Oz searched into the eyes of his beloved Penny, bound in rope. Those grey-green orbs blinked, then blinked again slowly. It was Penny's way of telling him she was okay. But they both knew she was far from 'okay'; the never-ending tears and bleeding bullet wound in her foot told him that much.
"Ta fer understandin' Oswald. Now, you're not cahootin' wiv'em any time soon… right?" The speaker was covered by a human barrage of men that looked like the average Joe, all wearing eerily sincere smiles, but a weapon of some sort in each hand. From his accent Oz could tell the man was from the far southern areas of Amestris, but it wasn't like that helped with the situation.
The man behind the retainers gave a sinister sounding chuckle. "'Cause m'boss aint as kind as me and I got no guarantee about wifey's safety here if I gotta call the big-man."
Every shift of the feet or mutter under the breath could be heard in this room. It echoed slightly, and hearing the stifling cries of his wife repeating in his ear made Oswald think.
"Yer know what to do right?"
Time was ticking. Him against the clock.
Again, Oz searched his wife's eyes – they were always full of answers, always logical, weighing the pros and cons. She blinked away the tears, eyes now full of drive. She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed – it was Penny's way of telling him not to be reckless, her way of telling him not to do whatever he was thinking, because he was a man that worked on instinct, not logic.
Southern-accent man sighed. "Or, we can…"
"No!"
"…What'cha say…?"
"No – Yes. Have it your way."
"Well err... that's mighty dandy Oswald. Let's wrap this up fella's."
He didn't need logic. He needed Penny - alive. He looked into Penny's saddened eyes and whispered "I'm sorry."
"'I'm sorry, I think I have to be somewhere…'" mocked Breda, putting on a girly pose. Then, with the voice of a Sports commentator, he then roared, "Then Mustang pulls up the curve, diving in for the kill, and scores!"
"And then-" continued Fuery, "He does that twinkle-eye-grin thing,"
"Yeah," Falman nodded as if having experience in this matter, "and then she says 'Oh, it's not like I didn't like you-'"
They, Breda, Falman, and Fuery burst into laughter, with, but mainly at their colleague Jean Havoc. His figure seemed to turn white to his co-workers as the scene replayed over and over again in his head. Three words: Dancing, Feet, Spaghetti. Let you imagination run wild.
The door slammed against the wall, and with the airs and graces of a Commanding officer, Colonel Mustang strolled in. First lieutenant Riza Hawkeye followed, carrying a stack on papers.
"Second Lieutenant Havoc." He ordered.
The ash at the end of Havoc's cigarette crumbled and fell onto the stack Riza Hawkeye had placed there. The twenty-five year old was still zoning out, recalling last night's failure of a date. It wasn't the first time, he should be used to the shock – but still.
"Havoc." repeated Mustang, his patience wearing thin. He swiped the cigarette from Jean, and put it in the ash tray that Riza was so readily holding. "Look – don't expect sympathy from me, your failed date had nothing to do with me this time."
Behind him, Breda and Fury had the expressions of gossipy house wives mouthing "oh really?"
Mustang gave a glare to them, and turned to Havoc who was now paying attention. "So," he smirked. "Finish the stack here (at this point Havoc was looking at the stack grudgingly) and report to me after lunch. It's important."
"It's important that no one there gets out."
Havoc stood in station as General Raven barked (Yes, literally barked, Havoc decided the General also had dog-ish qualities) his orders. It was a very sudden mission, three days after Havoc met up with his pal Oz infact. But they had been alerted by "trusted" sources that some gangs specialising in drug dealing were meeting up in a pub called "Purple Dragon".
Havoc couldn't help but roll his eyes at the name.
"And if it wasn't obvious enough…"
He wasn't honest about it, but he was a little nervous. Just a little. This was his second field mission, and he was the only one in the squad that had less than three years experience. He excelled in stealth, so General Raven counted on him. That's what Havoc hoped. He didn't know the man had ulterior motives to this mission.
They made their way through the guards with ease. Hitting nervous systems or head on K.O-ing people was child's play. The walls were filthy with a blackish grunge and as they made their way down to the basement of the pub, the sound of their footsteps was drowned in the clashing of metal on metal and guns. Havoc's heart beat galloped faster than he did as he clutched onto the Walther PP handgun, and even seemed to do a double summersault flip which nearly rendered him immobile when the shrieking voice of a woman pierced his ear drums. Would he make out of this alive? Would any of his comrades? He didn't want to think about that detail, and just focussed on getting the job done; have all members sustained.
The now team of three (other two were standing guard) stood outside of the metal door. On the signal, Havoc shot through the lock and kicked the door down.
Focus, Havoc told himself. Objective One: Shout cool entrance phrase.
"Freeze!" (He always wanted to say that at least once)
"Jean!"
Objective Two: Assess situation calmly.
"Oz!"
His comrade shoved past him. "Don't just stand there Havoc, shoot 'em!"
Objective Three: Take action by tackling the weakest links…
Havoc felt the weight of a thousand bricks topple onto his head, and he fell to the ground.
…of your opponent.
Oh god. The damn details.
Just incase you're wondering...First few lines in the centre are Havoc's thoughts... or something like that :D
Little strokes fell great oaks: even though something may seem impossible, if you break it up into small parts and take one step at a time, you will succeed.
A Bed of Nails: if a situation, especially a job, is a bed of nails, it is difficult or unpleasant He resigned last week, describing the post as a bed of nails.
I think I'm gonna have each chapter theme type of thing as an idiom/phrase... well, that depends how long I can go for finding a relevant one for each chapter XD
Hope you enjoyed my first FMA fic... please review, and stay with this if you're interested to review on the OC later on- I hope its not a mary-sue!