Author's Note: Hello again! Still Causmicfire and Bizzy! We still don't own FMA, just playing with the characters.
If you don't know where Mustang learned Flame Alchemy, this story contains spoilers!
Continuation in the Spinning Out verse; takes place immediately following the Ishval war (imagine this as a direct continuation of Spinning Out)
Guess what, guys? This story was supposed to be funny too.
Hawkeye sat staring at the wall, gripping the back of the chair with such force she was surprised she hadn't snapped the wood, gritting her teeth as the nurse scrubbed at the burn on her back. It took a lot of effort not to swing around and deck the poor woman, because the painkillers just didn't work and the gentle movement of the soft fabric against the burn on her back was like pouring acid onto an open wound. She'd been adamant to the few visitors she'd had about when they were allowed to visit, and the time of day in which the nurses did wound care was the only time she wanted privacy. Even Liuetenant Colonel Mustang, who knew exactly what had happened and how, was not permitted the luxury of coming and going as he pleased.
Which explained why Hawkeye almost started throwing curses at the door-instead of at the back of the chair-when someone knocked while the nurse was only just starting. Her vision was splotched with dark spots when she turned her head, and the nurse quickly pushed Hawkeye's head back to face forward.
"Don't move, sweetheart." Without missing a beat, the nurse turned and shouted at the door. "Sorry! Unless you're the rotating physician, nobody's allowed in here!" The friendly nurse, who for all intents and purposes really was a nice woman, was using her left hand to keep Hawkeye pressed against the chair-with surprising strength. "I know it's difficult, but this would be so much easier on you if you could stay still, Second Lieutenant. And if you keep fighting I will have to ask for an orderly to help. I'm trying to protect your privacy just like you've asked but you are making it verydifficult."
Hawkeye gritted her teeth. "Trying," she hissed, trying not to writhe out of the nurses' grip as she scraped at the dead skin. "Who's...door?"
"I don't care who it is! This is a sterile procedure, so, like I said, unless it's your doctor, they aren't coming in." The nurse used both hands to push Hawkeye forward. "Now stay still and be quiet, sweetheart, you aren't making any sense anyway."
Armstrong waited irritably outside, not particularly pleased that she was denied entry to the hospital room. She could hear the cadet-second lieutenant, she had to correct herself-cursing, and wondered what sort of 'friendly fire' the young woman had been subjected to. Whatever was going on, it was clearly quite unpleasant.
Fifteen minutes later, the nurse appeared at the door, chipper as can be, holding a basin with dirty washcloths, water, and bandages. Armstrong cringed when she realized those were the supplies for cleaning the dead skin off of a burn wound. "All right, General, she's all yours; she gave me the okay to let you in." The nurse sighed, "just be patient, she's a sweet girl but tends to be very cross after dressing changes...and a bit confused from the medication, too."
Armstrong pushed past the nurse, surprised the woman was able to read her epaulets, (usually they didn't come that competent outside of Briggs) to find Hawkeye seated in bed, staring expectantly at the door, bent slightly forward. The young blonde raised a weary hand to salute, but her eyes were slightly crossed and she was a bit off.
"At ease, Second Lieutenant," Olivier all but barked.
Hawkeye dropped her hand. "'ello, General...wasn't expecting to see you. Ma'am."
"I got your letter."
Hawkeye nodded, but she looked rather stuck on what she wanted to say next, as if the gears were turning but the sentence wouldn't quite form.
Armstrong sat down, giving the woman a moment to think. Unfortunately, it was staring to seem as if a moment or two was not going to be long enough. Small for her age, Hawkeye was typically relatively incoherent for a good hour or so after the morphine dose, which was why she rarely accepted it. "Sorry, ma'am." She hesitated, blinking, "I'm...the morphine..." Her frustration was evident, and Armstrong couldn't help but feel at least a bit of pity for the woman. By the look on Hawkeye's face, it wasn't often she found herself tongue-tied. After a few more moments, Hawkeye seemed to surrender to incoherence, and rested her head against her hands, leaning forward so as not to have the fresh bandages touch the back of the bed.
Armstrong wasn't paying much attention to the blonde's words. Her seat gave a view of the Lieutenant's bound back. There wasn't a single inch of skin showing from her neck to the waistline of her underwear.
"Friendly fire?" she spat. "What did you do, Lieutenant? Roll in a celebratory bonfire?"
Hawkeye's head snapped up, and she winced. Her gaze was dark, and she shook her head slowly. The nurses might buy her excuses, but she had a feeling that General Armstrong was too perceptive for that. She chose to say nothing except deny the bonfire comment. "No ma'am."
Armstrong raised an eyebrow, waiting for the Lieutenant to explain. Hawkeye stared for a moment or two, before pressing her forehead back to her hands, sighing. There was no explanation, even if she could put together the words in her head to try and make one up.
It wasn't long before Armstrong realized the Lieutenant couldn't even explain if she wanted to; the woman was practically asleep, and there was no use trying to keep her awake. As if to prove the point as it crossed her mind, Hawkeye yawned, wobbling just slightly as she leaned forward. She sat up a bit, pressing her hands on either side of her to stay upright. She appeared to be waiting for Armstrong to demand whatever she wanted to demand, because she wasn't awake enough to infer the demand on her own.
Armstrong stared at Hawkeye for a long moment, and then stood. "I will be back, Lieutenant," she told her, giving her words an edge of warning. She would get an explanation by the end of the day.
"I hear you had a visitor today," Mustang greeted her, hanging his coat over his arm as he entered the room. He still wasn't used to seeing the aftermath of his work on a living human, so he busied himself by pulling a spare chair to the foot of her bed, so he wouldn't have to see the bandaging through the open back of her gown.
Hawkeye didn't turn from the window until she heard him relocating the chair, nodding slightly. Without any comment, she sat back in the bed while his gaze was elsewhere, wincing and swallowing the hiss of pain as her back made contact with the mattress. She managed to hide the expression of pain by the time he was looking at her again. "Someone didn't pass along the message of not coming first thing in the morning. The nurse in charge said she'd try to intercept people."
Mustang nodded. He'd make a point of sweet talking the nurses again. Maybe just some flowers thanking them for keeping his subordinate from having to deal with any visitors while she was in pain.
"Go easy on them, sir. They're busy." She could see the look in his eye, and she disapproved. "Besides, a charge nurse is in no position to stop a General on a mission." She frowned, knowing that she'd have to explain who the visitor was eventually. It was better to broach the topic now than continue making pointless smalltalk.
Armstrong stopped short of opening the door. She liked that quip. General on a mission fit her quite well.
"General on a mission?" he echoed. That seemed to fit the nurse's description of the woman, but he was still curious. He didn't know a blonde general, and other generals just shook their heads and smirked, as if he had heard an inside joke and was not privy to the punchline.
From outside the door, Armstrong peeked in the small window, and saw a man, a Lieutenant Colonel, sitting across from Hawkeye. As much as she wanted to go in and demand an answer from the Lieutenant, she also wanted to figure out if this was the infamous 'he' from the letter. Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.
"If she comes back, please be polite, sir." Hawkeye paused, looking upward, but that didn't keep her from hearing Mustang clear his throat as if she'd offended him. Hawkeye rolled her eyes, but didn't move to meet his gaze.
Armstrong could hear the pleading in Hawkeye's voice, and almost wanted Mustang to be rude to her, so she could put him in his place for disrespecting a general.
"When would I ever be impolite to a General, Second Lieutenant?"
Armstrong's brows knit together. Was this man flirting with his subordinate?
Hawkeye turned her gaze to meet his, and frowned. "I am very serious, sir. I owe her my life, the least you can do is respect her for that." She could feel Mustang's quizzical gaze more than she saw it, and she stiffened. "I was only in the Academy for six months before I was deployed and she's the one who made it crystal clear to General Raven that I wasn't ready to be in the field alone."
Mustang looked down at his feet. Only two women in the world could make him feel like such a child. At least Chris was half a country away. He was, however, stuck with Hawkeye, and she was more efficient in chastising him than Chris was any day. "Understood, Lieutenant."
Armstrong couldn't help but chuckle at the man's words...oh, she could feel his shame.
Hawkeye nodded, resting her head against the pillow. She thought she heard something from outside the door, but wrote it off as the everyday chatter of a busy hospital, and turned her attention back to their conversation. "Thank you. I believe she said something about getting the letter I sent her, but I can't quite be sure. And something about a celebratory bonfire, though I haven't any idea what she was talking about." She sighs, "I don't quite remember if I said much to her, either."
He tried to suppress a chuckle at his Lieutenant thoroughly drugged. "Still a lightweight when it comes to morphine, Hawkeye?"
A growl tried to escape Armstrong's lips at the Lieutenant Colonel's words, but she repressed it, wanting to hear if the conversation was going to the burns.
"That isn't funny, sir."
He nodded, chagrined. He knew that Hawkeye refused pain medication most of the day so that she could be coherent, and poking fun at her for taking it in the morning with her dressing changes bordered just slightly on being cruel. For a man who played with fire for a living, he'd never burned himself enough to require medical attention-certainly not enough to require the amount of medical attention Hawkeye was receiving anyway. The doctor had informed the woman yesterday that she'd remain admitted for at least another two weeks-this on top of the two weeks she'd already spent there. Quietly, he murmured, "I apologize, Lieutenant. I know you're in pain."
"Stop blaming yourself, sir."
Armstrong had heard exactly what she was waiting for, and burst through the door.
Hawkeye jumped, hissing in pain, though that didn't stop her from pulling the pistol she kept hidden from the nurses under her pillow and aiming it at the door.
"So, you're the celebratory bonfire," Armstrong accused, sword drawn.
Mustang visibly sank in his seat, not even making a move to defend himself. Hawkeye didn't even have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face; they both knew that he was holding himself personally accountable for Hawkeye's extended hospital stay. When she confirmed that it was just General Armstrong, she clicked the safety back on and slid the weapon back into its hiding place, gritting her teeth. She wasn't appreciative of the sudden intrusion.
"Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist," Armstrong hissed, using the last ounce of her self control to keep from slicing the man from nose to navel.
"General Armstrong!" Stuck in bed and not confronted with a real enemy, Hawkeye could do little more than hold her hands up in protest, frowning. "Please...we are in the hospital."
Armstrong closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she sheathed her sword. The last thing she wanted to do was give Hawkeye a heart attack. The blonde looked about ready to leap from bed, hidden weapon drawn, if she didn't back down. Bodyguards were too willing to sacrifice their own well being for the superior under whom they were assigned, and she made a mental note to remind Buccaneer not to be quite as stupid as Hawkeye was.
Mustang was looking between the two women, slightly perplexed. He knew the rank of a general when he saw one, and though Hawkeye had made mention of it, he still couldn't reconcile that they knew each other, nor that the woman was of any relation to Alex Louis. He knew General Armstrong's name-and that she was stationed far North in Briggs. How exactly had they met-and why exactly did Armstrong want to kill him?
It was quiet for a few moments, before Hawkeye lowered her hands, wondering why she was the one who had to mediate the pending disaster-she wasthe one in the hospital, after all. "How can we help you, General?"
"I told you I would be back."
Hawkeye tilted her head. "You...did?"
Armstrong sighed. "Your burns," she clarified. "I can tell from your conversation that they weren't the result of rolling in a celebratory bonfire."
If there was a desk, Hawkeye had the feeling that she'd want to bang her head against it. "General...I thought I just remembered what you said incorrectly...of coursethey aren't from rolling in celebratory bonfire."
Mustang looked between the two, frowning. Just how long had this woman been listening from the doorway?
Armstrong stared at Mustang. She wanted to hear it from him, but the look on his face reminded her of a cadet she'd once trained. A cadet that was about to have a nervous breakdown over being shipped out to war unprepared, so instead, she turned her gaze back to the Second Lieutenant, and arched an eyebrow.
A year ago, that was probably all of the prompting to speak that Hawkeye would have needed. Now, however, her gaze simply hardened. "Wounds I received in battle are not of your concern, General. I came back alive. That was what you wanted to ensure, correct?"
Armstrong's hand went to the hilt of her sword, but she knew the Second Lieutenant wouldn't take it as the threat it was. The Lieutenant Colonel, however, might. Just as she expected, Mustang was fumbling for his gloves. Was the Academy's favorite activity to promote and deploy new graduates into the field without the experience they needed? She would need to have a stern talking-to with some of the training generals regarding the training plans. No wonder this blundering fool needed a bodyguard-even one who was currently bed-bound.
She turned her gaze on the alchemist. "I just want an explanation. And seeing as I'm the reason your subordinate even made it far enough to get those wounds from 'friendly-fire', I deserve one," she hissed. "Don't think I won't go above your heads and order one."
Mustang looked like he was about to be sick, and Hawkeye was starting to look as if she'd seen a ghost. There was a secret here that went beyond the friendly-fire that Hawkeye claimed had happened, and Armstrong was determined to get at it. After a moment, Mustang composed himself, clearing his throat. "Medical records are not the property of superiors, General. Even if you order us, we have the option of not sharing the information."
"Like hell you do, Mustang!" Armstrong was nearly shouting, and the last remnants of her self control were withering under his open display of insubordination.
Mustang shook his head, "I know the rules, General Armstrong. If Second Lieutenant Hawkeye doesn't want to tell you, she doesn't have to."
"Don't make me court-martial you!" By now, the entire hospital floor probably knew something was going on, and it was a miracle the nurses hadn't turned up to shush them.
The General and the Lieutenant Colonel were on their feet, glaring daggers at each other, as if willing the other to back down. Hawkeye's eyes darted between the two of them, attempting to come up with some method to diffuse the situation.
"You can't file a court-martial for insubordination if the information you are asking for does not belong to you!"
"Don't even temptme, Mustang-there are other ways to get information than through you two!"
"I made the same mistake I did in training, General Armstrong, ma'am. I was cornered." Hawkeye paused, knowing she had to tell the story flawlessly to prevent being caught in her lie. "Lieutenant Colonel Mustang knew my location, and when I did not report in as ordered, he came to find me."
Hawkeye tried to level her gaze and willed Mustang to play along. If he didn't back her up, the story would fall apart within seconds; Armstrong was too sharp to let inconsistencies pass her by.
Armstrong looked from Hawkeye to Mustang, and that split second gave Mustang the opportunity to see Hawkeye's eyes pleading with him to pick up on her line of thought.
"The sniper towers were all supposed to be in green zones, but sleep is an commodity that one can't afford to lose in battle, so I went to make sure she wasn't overworking herself. She was stuck in a squadron with no relief and she had a reputation for working longer than she should have." Turnabout was fair play, and if Hawkeye was going to force him into playing into her lie, she would have to tolerate his attempt to keep the story straight. He tried to ignore the slight flush to her cheeks, if only because he knew that this story might as well be true. He'd never met a workaholic quite like Hawkeye.
Armstrong frowned. She knew she should have had a conversation with the sniper about making sure she got a decent amount of sleep. Even if there wasn't another sniper on her squadron, someone else should have been up in another tower with the proper view to take over for a few hours.
From behind Armstrong's back, Hawkeye was shooting Mustang a death glare. He did not know that she'd overtrained at the academy and had gotten in quite a heap of trouble for it, and she certainly wasn't going to dredge up the story now. She only had a moment before Armstrong would round on her, and she needed to keep up. Sheepishly, she looked at the sheets. "I didn't see the Ishvalan coming up behind me, and by the time I noticed him I was blocked from the exit."
"A glint from the tower's window alerted me that she had stayed late. And it wasn't the first time, so I continued to the tower, but she never emerged. I heard scuffling when I entered, and Hawkeye was pinned against the wall directly across from the door, an Ishvalan Warrior choking her with her own rifle."
Armstrong looked from Mustang to Hawkeye, staring at the Lieutenant's neck for signs of fading bruises, and bumped the foot of the bed as she leaned in for a better view in the dim lighting.
Hawkeye stiffened at the unexpected movement, her breath hitching in her throat. In the haze of pain, she completely forgot what she was about to say. With Armstrong looking at her expectantly, she knew she couldn't wait for Mustang to pick up her slack, and she said the first thing that came to mind. "H-had the Lieutenant Colonel not stepped in and cut him off, he may well have killed me."
Armstrong narrowed her eyes and stopped trying to spot the imagined bruising. "Cut him off?" she repeated. "I thought he already had you pinned against the wall?"
If there was any word to describe Hawkeye's expression, it was trapped. She was sitting stiff as a board and wincing, and her eyes trailed desperately over to Mustang as if he could come up with some miraculous explanation that would get her out of this trouble.
Amrstrong looked over her shoulder at the alchemist.
"I may have exaggerated?" he offered sheepishly, sinking back into the chair behind him. And he'd thought hewould be the one to drop the wrong line.
"You were doing very well there, Second Lieutenant. And here I thought you'd finally been able to think creatively on your feet." Armstrong glared at the pair, now more certain than ever that they were attempting to hide something from her. She smirked at them, waiting for excuses to spill out of their mouths, but the Lieutenant's face had gone stiff, and the Colonel might as well have checked out for the night. If she didn't know better-and she did know better because she'd seen Second Lieutenant Hawkeye reach her breaking point-she would've thought that the young woman looked near tears. For now, she would do what she did best, leave them squirming. "I know you two are hiding something. And you can be sure I'll have someone watching you, just waiting for another slip up," she threatened. She stared at them for another moment, and then marched out of the room, leaving them to wonder.
Armstrong strode through the halls, her eyes roving the corners for the nurse's desk she knew she'd passed on her way in. From the corner of her eye, she saw the cheerful nurse who had bustled out of Hawkeye's room earlier, and directly stepped into her path. "Hello, Nurse," Armstrong peered at the name tag, and mustered the sweetest smile she could fabricate, "Shirley."
The nurse smiled flatly. "How may I help you, General?" She straightened her cap, tilting her head expectantly.
Armstrong knew she had to pick her questions carefully. As loathe as she was to admit it, Hawkeye and Mustang were correct-medical records were private, and she had no power to demand the information from them or from the hospital. This, of course, was not going to stop her from trying. "Eastern Headquarters is requesting a report on Lieutenant Hawkeye's wounds for an investigation," she lied.
The nurse narrowed her eyes. "All queries for medical files come from Central, and go through the attending physician," Shirley informed Armstrong, denying her the information she sought. "Besides, even if you were her commanding officer, I'm not permitted to give the document to you. Confidentiality, I'm sure you understand." Something about the nurse's expression screamed that she was pleased to turn down Armstrong's request.
Armstrong glared at her for a moment, willing herself to look like the scary general she was, as if this would encourage the small nurse to comply with her request.
"Looking scary is not going to convince me to break the law, General." Shirley smiled brightly, straightening her apron. "Now if you'll please excuse me, I have patients to attend to."
As the nurse rounded the corner, she paused, turning back to Armstrong. "Don't bother asking the charge nurse, she'll give you the same answer!" With that, she ducked into a patient's room.
Armstrong stared after the nurse in complete and utter shock. She wasn't used to being dismissed so easily, nor having her demands denied.
Armstrong found a dark corner in the hallway and sat, hoping that waiting would pay off. Eventually the nurses would have to change shift. In the meantime, a quiet little student nurse hurried past her, holding a clipboard and anxiously straightening her cap. The girl scurried into Hawkeye's room, and did whatever it was that nursing students were allowed to do to patients while Armstrong waited in the hallway.
Nothing might have happened, even, if the student hadn't been called suddenly from the room-by Shirley, no less. The student, Ellen, almost bolted out of Hawkeye's door, stopping quickly at the nursing station to deposit her clipboard before running down the hall to the nurse.
Armstrong stared after the pair a moment, making sure that neither realized the mistake and turned to amend it. Once they were behind a closed door, she practically leapt to the nurses station and grabbed the file. With the folder in hand, she strolled through the hall as if it were part of Briggs.
The temptation to take the file with her was great, but she would never do that to the hospital. It was asking to get caught. Besides, this chart was possibly the only copy in the building and removing it could put Hawkeye's medical care in jeopardy. Armstrong searched for a waiting room and slid in nonchalantly. She pulled a notepad and a pen from her pocket, sitting at the table and preparing to take notes.
After all of the effort to gather the document, it was not worth it. Aside from clarifying a few details that she didn't know already-Hawkeye was 17, an only child, and various other mundane details that were not of interest-the only thing of importance was some explanation of the burn itself. The intake form was signed by a field physician whose name was unintelligble. The wound was described as a 'posterior third-degree burn' that took up 'approximately 13% of the patient's body according to the Rule of Nines'.
This didn't sit right with her. Armstrong had seen medical documentation before, and this simply didn't contain the detail that she knew it was supposed to. Aside from the brief wound description, a medical history, and progress notes, there was nothing else to see. It was time to bluff, and hope that she could pull a strong enough one to smoke the truth out of the two officers.
Before leaving for the night, she stopped at Hawkeye's door, once again, and placed the file into the door's file holder, as if it had always been there.
Hawkeye was staring at the door as Armstrong left, white as a sheet. Her gaze slowly trailed back to Mustang, who was still attempting to regain his composure.
"You're sure the file is clean, sir?" Her voice was tight, strained. "If there's even a sketch from admission...the General is very observant..."
Mustang nodded somberly, "I checked myself."
The woman slowly sank back in bed, biting her lip. "You're absolutely-"
"Yes, Hawkeye, relax."
She shot him a glare, "I don't find this to be a very relaxing situation, sir. Very few people know why I'm really here and I would ideally like to keep it that way."
He sank back further into the chair. The guilt of his war crimes was the only thing keeping him from reminding her that this had been her decision. "I'm doing the best I can. I saw the file when the nurse left it for you to read-it was right after you were admitted, so I doubt you remember seeing it. I can't babysit the document since I'm not supposed to have access to it, but your nurse has sworn up and down she's seen nothing and there's no reason not to believe her. Just trust me."
Hawkeye sighed, slowly easing herself back against the bed. She was flushed just slightly from all of the fuss, and her shoulders were shaking a bit. Two weeks on strict bedrest made her feel as if she'd lost all of her strength. "I'm trying, sir."
He nodded, letting the tension in his shoulders go for the first time since General Armstrong had appeared. "I know," he said in a half-whisper.
"I managed to leave the academy with nobody knowing." She hadn't quite explained to him the extent to which she attempted to keep the tattoo hidden. Explaining how desperately she fought to keep it hidden would eventually lead to reminding him why she would've done anything for him to burn it, and she could tell his guilt from the event was far too fresh to go to that point again. Even still, she couldn't stop the whisper that followed the train of thought: "I can't thank you enough, sir."
"You shouldn't thank me at all," he murmured, averting his gaze to the window once again.
Hawkeye coughed, boring holes into his back until he finally turned to look at her again. "Stop it, sir. You're starting to make me question my sanity. I asked this of you." The sternness in her voice weakened just slightly, and she shook her head. "From where you are standing, it seems like a ridiculous request, but from where I am...you freed me from a burden that I don't think I ever really understood."
The private conversation was very suddenly punctuated by yelling from the hallway.
"Where is the file, Ellen?"
Hawkeye turned, feeling a bit lightheaded just at the thought of what her nurse was hollering about. Shirley might be tough, but she didn't typically scream-least of all at students. She breathed out a quiet 'oh no', before straining her ears to catch the conversation.
"I...I swear! I p-put it at the n-nurses' station! I was holding it when you c-called me, and I p-put it right here!" Ellen sounded like she might faint from sheer anxiety, and had Hawkeye not been so worried about herfile being the one missing, she would've pitied the student.
"Well it's not here! Where the hell is it?"
The two nurses appeared at the window of the door to Hawkeye's room, and both occupants could hear the student exclaim anxiously: "I...I didn't leave it here! I knowI put it on the counter!"
Shirley said something quietly to the student, and then the door to the room opened. Ellen looked considerably anxious, almost in tears, and Shirley was looking as apologetic as Mustang and Hawkeye had ever seen her.
"That General friend of yours...I think there is a chance she got her hands on your file."
"Let me see the file!" Mustang was on his feet in a heartbeat, and he stood a good head taller than the student, who was sheepishly holding the folder in her hands.
Ellen shuddered, looking to Shirley, who in turn looked to the very ill looking Hawkeye on the bed. Hawkeye nodded weakly. "It's fine," she breathed, just wanting to know the file was as clean as Mustang claimed it was.
"Ellen, go find something else to do that does not involve losing a patient's confidential medical records." The student handed off the file and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. "Thankfully, we keep the full chart at the nurses' station in a file is bare-bones, just as I've promised to keep it."
Armstrong had her best 'don't mess with me' glare on as she marched towards Hawkeye's room. The right corner of her lips turned up into a malicious smirk when she saw Mustang standing guard the Second Lieutenant's door.
"You can't go in-"
"Try and stop me," she growled, reaching into her coat in anticipation.
Mustang had his hand poised and ready to snap, but she doused him with her open canteen. "No smoking in hospitals," she hissed as she pushed past the soaked alchemist.
Armstrong was barely in the doorway, Mustang on her heels, when Hawkeye let out a muffled curse and Shirley appeared in Armstrong's way. She's sans apron today, and it quickly became clear that she'd just thrown it over Hawkeye's back on the way to the door.
"Are you out of your damned mind, General? This is a sterile procedure! Don't make me call the security officers from downstairs! That door was shut for a reason. Now take your sorry ass outside, and wait until I let you back in here." Shirley was a tempest when she was angry, and she was clearly not going to tolerate this behavior. "Both of you! Lieutenant Colonel, I thought you knew better!"
When nobody moved-except for Hawkeye, who was trying to hold the strings of the apron over her back-Shirley stepped directly into their path. "Get out. I know where Riza keeps her hidden weapon and I do know how to use it!"
Mustang and Armstrong were both caught unawares by the hands on their shoulders, but neither one of them was in a position to fight the guiding hands of the orderlies, unless, of course, they were going to work together. Since that was clearly not going to happen, they had no option but to allow themselves to be lead out of the room, while Shirley returned to Hawkeye's side, all the while murmuring something about how she'd have shot them herself and then denied them treatment.
About a half an hour later, Shirley appeared in front of the two chairs of the waiting room occupied by Armstrong and Mustang, fuming. Armstrong noticed that the apron that had been hastily removed earlier was now back in place. "So help me, if she develops an infection because of your idiocy, I will kill you two myself. I'm done for now, but if I hear even a peep from Riza's room I swear I will have you both kicked out of here faster than you can blink. Am I understood?"
Armstrong couldn't believe the audacity of this nurse, but she found her opinion of the woman leaning towards a grudging respect. "Understood."
Like a scolded child, Mustang echoed Armstrong's response.
Shirley was tempted to make the pair hug to show good faith, but knew that would be a far more cruel of a punishment for them then it was for her children. After giving them both a nasty glare, she turned on her heel and stalked down the hall to continue her rounds. She stopped, turning her head. "And Riza's still a bit loopy from the medication, so play nice."
Mustang lead the way, no longer focused on Armstrong and her mission. He hesitated at the door to Hawkeye's room, peering in the window before he cracked it open. As he expected, Hawkeye was leaning forward druggedly in her bed, glaring very pitiful daggers at him. "N'body's supposed to visit now."
"I know, Hawkeye. But General Armstrong is here, and it's clearlyvery important." He looked over his shoulder and shot Armstrong a nasty glare, before stepping into the room. "We'll wait until you're feeling a little bit more awake. Is that all right?"
The younger blonde blinked, and then nodded. "S'okay with me..."
Crossly, Mustang pointed at the chair next to Hawkeye's bed while pulling another to the foot of the bed. "Since you thought it would be brilliant to come while Second Lieutenant Hawkeye was being treated," he snapped while peeling off his sopping wet gloves, "then I suppose you don't mind waiting an hour or so until she's a bit more awake."
Armstrong shrugged off his condescending tone, he'd be changing it when she let them in on her secret. "Her being clear headed would be preferable," Armstrong agreed, sinking into the empty chair.
"Of course it would be preferable. That's why the Lieutenant asks that nobody visits first thing in the morning," Mustang quipped, crossing his arms. He'd had a feeling Armstrong was going to turn up, but not this early. Hadn't she come this early yesterday and found there was no such thing as having a coherent conversation with Hawkeye? As much as he would prefer to wait here all day if necessary, he did have other work to attend to.
Armstrong looked around the room, but nothing jumped out at her. She'd never been one to sit still, not unless battle called for it. She studied the hilt of her sword. "This is an Armstrong family heirloom. Passed down to me from my grandfather," she began, not even caring if Mustang was listening. She did note that Hawkeye was no longer staring at her blankets, and was watching her rather blankly as she spoke.
"It wasn't supposed to be mine," she explained wistfully, reliving the tale for the first time since the sword had been handed to her. "You see, women, especially Armstrong women, are supposed to be prim and proper. It's not that I can't be, it's just that Father wanted a son so much, that he raised me as one. By the time Alex came around, it was much too late to teach me that I couldn't fight with the boys, or play Führer. So, when Father started teaching him alchemy, I laid my claim on this sword. Of course, in the end, it was settled with a fight. Armstrong women always win. Of course, it helped that I had learned ways around alchemy."
She paused, and shot Mustang a triumphant look, but he didn't react. She wondered if he'd heard the story before from Alex, and sometime in the last few minutes Hawkeye had nodded off. She rolled her eyes-but if she had to suffer in here with Mustang for another hour, he could suffer too. So, she looked to her blade, and dug up another ancient Armstrong story.
It was at least an hour later when Hawkeye finally stirred. Mustang looked like his ears were about to start bleeding, and he was the first person she noticed-until she realized somebody was talking. She turned to her other side, perplexed to see General Armstrong chattering away about something. Anybody looking could tell she was completely lost. "...What are you both doing here?"
"You ask that as if Mustang and I can't coexist peacefully."
Hawkeye shook her head, though she did think to herself that she was surprised that both the General and the Lieutenant Colonel were still alive. "...I don't remember either of you coming in..."
"That is because General Armstrong felt it would be a stellar idea to burst in while you were having your dressings changed. Again."
The tension in the room was almost palpable, and Hawkeye suddenly turned to Mustang, frowning, the question silent on her lips: did she see anything?
Armstrong thought that secretive look would be a-as Mustang liked to say-brilliant place to start. "No, I didn't see your back, but I didn't have to," she revealed, hoping like hell she'd made the correct inference from the nurse's quick move to cover Hawkeye's back.
Hawkeye gripped the fabric of the bedsheets, looking so pale she almost matched the bed. She looked as if she was going to speak, maybe ask a question, but the words wouldn't form. She looked to Mustang, as if asking for confirmation or denial of Armstrong's accusation.
Mustang shook his head weakly, as if to suggest he had no idea where she'd gotten the information from. Seeing as Hawkeye didn't remember, he really didn't have the heart to point out to her that Armstrong had actually burst intothe room while the nurse was working, and that if it weren't for Shirley's quick thinking Armstrong would probably have seen everything. That story could come later.
Armstrong couldn't help but smirk a bit at the reaction of the two soldiers. Jackpot. "I saw your file yesterday."
Mustang suddenly seemed capable of forming words, and he cleared his throat. "So did we. It's empty."
Armstrong threw back her head and laughed. "You mean the decoy file? Left sitting out in plain sight for anyone to grab? That was smart of you, but I noticed the nurses had other files under lock and key. I believe your next-door neighbor had a medical emergency last night, am I right, Second Lieutenant?"
Hawkeye's silence was confirmation. It was amazing what some well-placed questions could reveal, allowing Armstrong to pull a very convincing bluff.
"In their haste, the night shift didn't lock that cabinet when they left."
Mustang's knuckles were white from gripping the end of the armrests. It appeared that the bluff was working well in Armstrong's favor.
Hawkeye let out a shaky breath, head bowed. "I assume you want something in return for keeping quiet."
"I told you once before that your skill could be used well up north," Armstrong reminded her.
"Before I consent to any transfers," Hawkeye said quietly, sitting up enough that she could see Armstrong's face, "I need you to tell me exactly what you know."
Hearing it out loud wouldn't be too awful if Armstrong really did see something, but Hawkeye had doubts. She and the Lieutenant Colonel had taken every precaution they could think of, Shirley was a saint in her efforts to keep the real story under wraps, and Dr. Knox had written off the entire event as an episode of friendly fire. With all of the careful attempts to keep the tattoo hidden, where could Armstrong have gotten the information?
Armstrong didn't let her face reveal a thing, but in that dusty, rarely thought of corner of her heart, the Second Lieutenant had made her proud. "I don't negotiate. But, I will do you a favor by letting your secret go...for now. One day, the subject will be broached again," she warned as she got to her feet.
Hawkeye saluted as best as she could as Armstrong left, and she shot Mustang a glare that suggested he do the same. "Thank you for the visit, General Armstrong."
Armstrong returned the salutes. "Burns can be a nasty ordeal, Hakweye, I hope what you're covering up is worth it." Armstrong turned her gaze from the blonde and changed it to a glare as she set her eyes on Mustang. "And you. You better let those wounds heal properly before you call her back to work, Mustang." She was at the door before she paused, and she did not turn to face him when she added crossly: "or I'll see to it that it's your career."
Mustang was quiet for a good five minutes after Armstrong had left, suspiciously interested in the tiled floor. When he was sure the general was long gone, he looked up at Hawkeye, frowning. "What possessed you to try and call her on a bluff? How did you know?"
Hawkeye sighed, her eyes wide. "I didn't." She shuddered, running her fingers through her hair. "I still don't."
Buccaneer whistled to himself. More mail from Eastern? And this script wasn't half as neat as the first one. He didn't even want to know. Instead, he took it to General Armstrong.
"If that is from my brother..." she growled more to herself, than to her subordinate as she took the envelope from his hand.
"You're dismissed," she told Buccaneer, but from the amused look on her face, he was regretting not reading the letter.
Dear General Armstrong,
There is a story circulating at Eastern. One that I believe mentions you...well, I imagine it's you... General on a mission, is the phrase used. Anyway, back to this story.
A certain Second Lieutenant has been assigned to Eastern under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang. This Second Lieutenant was in the hospital due to injuries obtained in the war, but she was finally released a couple of days ago.
Upon her release, she immediately dressed in her uniform, and reported to work. Of course, she was immediately forced to wait patient in the office by her commanding officer. He made a nurse, I believe Shirley was her name, come to the office and evaluate the Second Lieutenant's burns. I'm not sure who this Second Lieutenant was angrier with by the time the scoldings were over, the nurse or her commanding officer. The Lieutenant Colonel went as far as to escort her back to her apartment himself to make sure she didn't go work down in archives. But, as the story goes (and you know stories and how they tend to get exaggerated with time) this Second Lieutenant vowed to make sure the Lieutenant Colonel always gets his paperwork in on time, whether or not she has to use a little 'friendly-fire' to encourage him.
I could hardly believe that this man had the motivation to take care of his soldiers so well on his own, so I called him into my office to interrogate him. All he would tell me was "I was ordered by a General on a mission to make sure her wounds were healed properly before she returned to work. The Second Lieutenant was in the room when the orders were given, so she should have expected it."
He looked quite cross about the whole subject. Almost as if he was mad that anyone would even suggest he'd let her return to work before a proper medical release was given. Of course, I'm not so sure he would have had much of a say with the Second Lieutenant's tendency to overwork herself. For this, I feel I owe my gratitude to this General on a mission.
Sincerely,
General Grumman.
Armstrong laughed silently to herself as she imagined the look on Hawkeye's face when nurse Shirley appeared in her office, scolding her for attempting to return to work. Something Grumman mentioned didn't sit quite right with her, however, she couldn't quite put a finger on the lingering odditiy. Maybe she would revisit the letter in a few days.
But for now, she was happy that she'd at least she had put the fear of Briggs into Mustang with her trip...that could be useful later on.
Note (Again): Bizzy here! Hope you enjoyed Shirley. She's my favorite character!
Keep your eyes peeled...we may write some more in the Spinning Out-verse!