Roy Mustang glanced up as someone entered the room and immediately his blood started to boil. It was like a slow rush of rage, beginning in the pit of his stomach and spreading outward through his body, hot and tingling at his fingertips and the backs of his eyes.
"You're late, Lieutenant," he said very quietly, his jaw and neck aching with angry tension.
"Am I?" Second Lieutenant Havoc asked flippantly, tossing him a careless smirk without actually deigning to meet his eyes. Instead his gaze scanned around the room, as if Roy weren't important enough to have his undivided attention.
"Twenty-six hours late," Roy confirmed, pushing himself up from his desk with as much patience as he could muster. "You were supposed to report in on Monday. And, really, being late for the report is the least of my problems with you at the moment. For your sake, I pray that you have a good excuse for all of this."
"Oh, I do. Rest assured."
Roy clenched his jaw and stood erect, shooting his other men a dangerous glance.
"Excuse us for a few minutes, if you would," he dismissed them, "Havoc and I need to speak privately."
"Yes, sir," Hawkeye said as Fuery and Breda nodded. The three of them saluted and hurried out of the office, shutting the door behind them, probably more than happy to be gone. They knew better than to even think of staying... especially when their colonel was in such a foul mood.
...Especially when the cause of such a foul mood has just walked in through the door.
Havoc was late. Beyond late. Inexcusably late. He had been sent on a mission three days ago to help investigate a riot that had broken out in one of the high-security prisons, aiding Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' team as they tried to sort out the mess and clear out those prisoners who had been wounded or killed in the melee. Unfortunately, a fire had broken out in the prison's record hall, so it wasn't even completely certain that all the inmates were accounted for at the moment. All in all, was a huge fiasco and Hughes and his men had needed all the help they could get.
Havoc had volunteered to join them—most likely in an attempt to get back on Colonel Mustang's good side after accidentally trashing a week's worth of finished paperwork the day before... a mistake that Roy was still struggling to remedy—and had gone down to help sort things out, promising to arrive back in the colonel's office on Monday with a full report.
The thing was, he never showed up. According to Maes, Havoc went AWOL shortly after arriving at the prison. One group of soldiers saw him briefly the day after he'd disappeared, but when they tried to call him over he just flicked them a careless salute and vanished down another hallway. After that, no one had seen him until this very moment, when he so casually sauntered into the office as if nothing had happened.
"Well?" Roy prodded when the man remained silent, "Don't you have anything to say?"
Havoc cocked his head to the side, his eyes upraised to the ceiling, and placed his finger on his chin in a theatrical mime of deep thought. "No, not really," he said, the calm airiness of his words tightening the black coil of anger in Roy's gut, "Nor do I see why it's really any of your business."
"It most certainly is my business!" Roy barked, storming over to him so that he could shout in his face, "I was genuinely pleased when you volunteered for a high-risk mission, but you've proven yourself unworthy to undertake anything more strenuous than filing, it seems! You have disgraced yourself as a lieutenant and you have disgraced me as your commander! You cannot abandon your post like this and I don't give a fuck what your reasons were! You are a soldier and as such you will do what you're told, when you are told to do it, do you understand?!"
Havoc bought his gaze down from the ceiling and looked at his superior for the first time since he'd entered the room, their faces mere inches apart. Roy met his eyes squarely, but then his stomach clenched and he almost had to take a step backward from something that he saw in his gaze. Havoc seemed off somehow. Something about him just wasn't right in a way that made the colonel want to shudder, but he could not say what exactly was so disturbingly awry. It was something about his eyes... something chilling and surreal... something than nearly gave Roy a headache just looking at him, as if he couldn't focus on him properly.
The colonel turned his back on him and moved back toward his desk to stare out the window—suddenly, irrationally unnerved—but then he shook himself and continued. "You crossed the line with this, Havoc," he said sternly, but more quietly, momentarily distracted from his anger, "You went too far. You fucked up and I'm not entirely sure that I can cover for you."
"Then don't," Havoc said simply.
"...You don't want me to cover for you?" Roy demanded incredulously, facing him again, "Do you even know what you're saying? General Hakuro has suggested demotion; do you not want me to contest it? Are you out of your mind?"
Havoc smiled—a slow, creeping, almost lecherous smile.
"Maybe I am," he said softly, his blue eyes flashing as they caught some of the light coming in through the window. Immediately that feeling of disquieting wrongness that Roy had sensed before was back again, so intense that his skin crawled and his heart stumbled as if trying to escape from some unknown danger. Havoc stepped forward with an odd, lurching quality to his gait and once more Roy had to fight the urge to step back from him. But he held both his ground and his gaze as Havoc came to a stop right in front of him.
The taller man looked down at Roy appraisingly, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.
"Have you ever been stabbed, Mustang?" he asked.
"...What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Roy snapped, trying to pretend that his heart hadn't suddenly started racing with adrenaline, screaming at him to defend himself.
Havoc shrugged, a careless, innocent little expression. He leaned over until his lips very nearly brushed against Roy's ear and whispered, "Just wondering."
Roy didn't even see the knife, but he gasped as he felt the metal tear his flesh, the cold steel sliding through his organs, chilling them briefly before the hot agony had a chance to reach his brain. Instinctively, he reached up and clutched Havoc's arm in a death grip, too shocked to do anything else as the knife ripped into his stomach.
"You know, I could have just shot you..." Havoc mused quietly, his breath warm on the side of Roy's face and neck, "But this is much more personal, wouldn't you agree?"
Roy didn't answer, still struggling to collect his scattered thoughts as the jolting, indescribable pain of being impaled shot through him. Havoc laughed quietly, apparently pleased with his speechlessness and complete disbelief.
Havoc pulled the blade out with a swift jerk. The sounds of tearing meat and the ripping of wet cloth seemed to fill the room, muted only by Roy's heartbeat throbbing in his head. Havoc stepped back, smiling at him, his thumb caressing the blood-slick handle of the knife as if praising it for a job well done. Roy looked down at himself, slowly registering the sudden blossom of blood that was dying his military jacket from a dark blue to purple-black. He remained standing for another beat, placing one hand over the gushing wound in his abdomen, but then he tottered and had to catch himself on his desk. Blood poured from the wound and dribbled onto the carpet. He stared at it, smelling the warm metallic tang, still not quite believing. It was so unreal that he almost felt like laughing.
Jean Havoc?
Playing assassin?
Ridiculous. Can't be happening.
The edges of his vision dimmed and then suddenly he was on his knees, still gripping the desk with one hand to keep himself upright. And Havoc just stood there. Still smiling.
It couldn't be real.
"Well, I have more work to attend to," Havoc sighed after a moment, turning to walk back toward the door, his legs carrying him stiffly as if they didn't want to obey, "I think I'll start with that bitch, Hawkeye. I never did like her." He laughed quietly to himself then flicked the bloody knife in a little wave of farewell over his shoulder, spattering some of the thick, congealing redness onto the back of his shirt. "See you in Hell, Mustang."
Roy watched his retreating back grow dim and blurry. Breathing hard and head swimming in his pain, he reached down to his belt and pulled his gun from the holster.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"...Nah, I think this will blow over like it always does," Breda was saying dismissively, waving his hand as if to dispel any doubt, "The colonel will be angry for a while, but he'll cool off and find a way for Jean to get out of this mess. That's what always happens. Same old story."
Riza frowned, but didn't say anything. She wanted to believe that, for Havoc's sake, but somehow it just didn't seem feasible this time. He had gone missing while working on a high security mission and had thereby sullied Mustang's name as a leader. Not that the colonel was really in trouble... but the higher-ups always point at the commander if a soldier goes astray. Mustang was a fairly lax superior, but if you crossed him or put his own goals in jeopardy in any way... you could pretty much kiss your sorry ass goodbye.
Riza, Fuery, and Breda were all in the break room next to the office, waiting either for Havoc to go storming down the hall or for Mustang to call them back in. Riza sighed and took a sip of coffee. She honestly didn't know how this was going to turn out, and so did not join the colonel's other staff members in playing supposition. She just sat back and listened idly, her eyes locked onto Mustang's closed office door across the hall.
"I dunno..." Fuery mumbled, "The colonel looked pretty mad. What if he kicks Jean out? I mean, I like Jean. He's a great guy... but sometimes he's—"
"A careless idiot," Breda finished for him, crossing his arms, "And yeah, Mustang's pissed... but it's not like Jean fucks up often. Maybe he'll cut him some slack. I mean, come on, this is Mustang we're talking about... he lets Fullmetal off the hook for worse than this..."
There was a brief, considering silence. Breda was right: the colonel did have a soft spot for all of his men—no matter how vehemently he denied it—and had frequently given Fullmetal more leeway than Riza had once thought him capable of. As many times as Ed had damaged Roy Mustang's reputation as a military leader, he was always eventually forgiven. Perhaps Havoc would be treated the same way... with anger and harsh words, but no real punishment.
A sudden noise echoed from outside the room and Riza's heart jumped, startled by the sound of two distinct, roaring bangs.
"Was... was that gunfire?" Fuery asked, eyes wide.
The three of them looked at each other, then at the office door. A beat passed and then, in unison, they bolted toward it. Fuery yanked the door open and they stormed inside, all of them drawing their guns.
Havoc was crumpled on the floor in an unceremonious heap, leaking blood from the two bullet-holes that had torn through the legs of his uniform. He was laughing hard, head thrown back, as if bleeding heavily were the funniest thing in the world.
"Oh, man! I can't believe you actually fired!" he howled, "Looks like you've finally grown a pair of balls, you motherfucker!"
"KEEP HIM DOWN!" the colonel roared over him, his voice adopting a powerful quality that his men only ever heard on the battlefield. Hawkeye complied instantly, driven by his voice to tackle Havoc and force him flat on his stomach. She straddled him and pulled his arms roughly behind his back, prying the knife from his hand and tossing it aside. Havoc struggled and cursed, no longer laughing as Hawkeye bore down on him, but he wasn't going anywhere. Typically, Havoc probably would have been strong enough to throw her off, but he was already wounded and probably weakened by pain and blood loss.
"Oh..." Breda moaned suddenly, "Fuery, call an ambulance."
Riza raised her head to see him hit his knees beside the desk as Fuery rushed to obey. Only then did she see the colonel. He, too, was on the floor. He was kneeling, his brow leaning against the side of the desk, one quaking hand still aiming his gun at Havoc, the other holding his stomach. Blood coated his hand and the front of his uniform in a widening stain, seeping from between his fingers and turning his white glove crimson.
"My god, Jean..." Riza breathed, horrified, "What have you done?"
"Come on, sir..." Breda said shakily, taking Mustang by the shoulders and coaxing him into lying back on the floor. Mustang hissed in pain at being moved, but allowed it without further complaint. His face was absolutely gray, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the carpet, jaw clenched, breathing hard.
Breda took the colonel's gun and put it aside, then quickly shrugged out of his jacket and wadded it up. He pressed the sturdy cloth hard against the wound, trying to stop the blood flow. The added pressure made Mustang's body go rigid, his eyes flying open with an agonized gasp.
"F-fuck!" he cursed through clenched teeth, his back arching against the spasm of pain as he visibly held back the urge to scream.
"Sorry, I know it hurts..." the second lieutenant winced, blanching. "Fuery is calling for the medical team right now. Just hang in there, okay?"
Mustang nodded, panting heavily, his bloody fingers digging into the carpet as he allowed Breda to put pressure on his wound unaided. The colonel turned his head and looked at Riza, raising his eyebrows questioningly, silently asking her if she had a secure hold on Havoc. She gave him a quick nod, some far off, giddy part of her laughing at the though that he—badly wounded, perhaps even mortally so—was still trying to stay in control of everything. His face was so entirely calm, his expression almost soothing to look at. Riza realized on some level that that was probably due to shock, but she pushed away such pessimistic thoughts and tried to adopt his quiet serenity, clenching her jaw and exhaling slowly.
But then his eyelids fluttered weakly and he had to force them open again, clinging desperately to his floundering consciousness. Riza's desperate calm shattered.
"How bad is it?" she asked, her heart shuddering as she watched her colonel weakening before her eyes.
"Bad," Breda said tightly, "He's losing a lot of blood. The wound looks big."
"If you'd just let me go, I could get help," Havoc said with an eerie, singsong quality to his voice, his muscles tensing under her as he made another feeble attempt to escape.
"D-don't you... dare... Hawkeye..." Mustang panted, his heavy, unfocused eyes turning her way again.
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," she hissed, crushing the betrayer's face down against the floor brutally. Havoc chuckled again, completely unfazed.
Mustang watched them for another moment, his breathing becoming increasingly labored, then his bleary eyes fell shut and his head lolled to the side limply.
"No... Come on, Colonel," Breda said, patting his clammy cheek, "Stay with us."
The colonel's eyes drifted open again dreamily, but it was clear from his hazy, inconstant gaze that he wasn't really awake anymore. After a moment they closed again and he went entirely still.
And once again, Havoc laughed.
