The Coldest Years

Roy's been missing for three years now. The military has pronounced him dead, splitting up Mustang's team. Hawkeye is less than willing to think so. That's not to say that she'll be expecting what she finds, or exactly pleased to find it. Chimera!Roy

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. I do, however, own the entirety of the family mentioned next chapter, and a few characters this chapter, and others, I'm sure, I just haven't written them in yet.

Notes: It's a little not obvious at all, but at the end of Falman's segment near the end, those three lines of italics are newspaper headings, detailing some of the case. Just warning y'all. And, if you couldn't tell (but you probably could... it's not that hard to understand...), the titles chosen for those articles were all written by the same reporter, using a play on Roy's choice of alchemy. I also kind of wanted to test how well switching the point of view for each chapter (and little sections of the chapter) would work when I'm actually trying... I'll just have to see...

Blank face. Well, this was supposed to be posted exactly one month ago, but by the time I noticed it was 2013, it was already the 2nd, so I'm like, "I'll just wait!" Well, it's 2/1/2013, so now is as good a time as any! This is my big project. I have 4 chapters done, and I'm working on five. This should be updated two weeks from now. Expect chapter two then! I hope you like it!

Chapter 1

A long tail twitched in the darkness, black eyes peering down. The air swished with each twitch, and each swish caused the dark-furred cat below to flick her small ears.

She looked up at him and narrowed her brown eyes. She didn't understand why he was being so anxious. They'd had a litter before. Two, actually. She watched him as he moved, sneaking down the stairway to the ground floor of their pen. Right, pen. Cage was a little more like it. Personal hell? That fit even better.

He stepped forward, his tail still twitching. He pressed his nose gently against her flank, and then leaned down to shift his three kittens. The kittens were all asleep and had been—would be—for a while.

His eyes slid closed in an entirely unsurprised amusement when the kittens shifted back to the way they were before, snuggling against each other for warmth.

She lifted her head when someone—something—approached their cage. Human voices sounded irritated. After three years in this place, both big cats knew that if the humans were coming, that meant either trouble or food, or experiment. But the humans never experimented so soon after the kittens came. They always waited. And it wasn't feeding time.

His hackles went up and he bared his teeth, sitting and waiting for those damn humans to come in. If they tried to hurt any of them, he'd tear them apart. And he would do it this time.

The door opened and light stretched in, reflecting off of five pelts of brownish-black fur. One of the humans peered in, its evil eyes so very wrong as it watched them. Its eyes were trained solely on the kittens. He would not allow his kittens to be taken away from them. He wouldn't! Not again!

Just as ominously as the human had come, it left. He shivered and went back to her, drawing his tongue between her ears. She gave an almost human-like smile and ducked her head, setting it against her paws so she could sleep. She watched as he lay down next to her, feeling his paws touch hers, offering the kittens his body heat as well as hers. She was more than a little relieved to see that he was still doing this, ever since the first litter.

Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye strode down the hallway after her general proudly, a manila folder clutched in her hand. Her face was set as she followed her commanding officer closely, determined to protect him.

'This one won't get away…'

Major General Louis Montgomery glanced backwards at her, and then looked forward again. He understood this need to protect him, he really did, but that didn't mean that it didn't get annoying. Because it really, really did. Maybe her old commanding officer had thought that her toddling around after him like a lost child was cute, but he just thought that it was degrading. Her previous commanding officer may have been weak, but he was the Firearm Alchemist, and he could protect himself, dammit! He didn't need her following him like a puppy!

He pushed open the door to his office, striding in. He was greeted warmly by his staff, but he went right past them, into his own, inner office. He glanced back, relieved to find that Hawkeye had dropped into her seat rather than following him in. He grinned when she immediately set to work on some of the files on her desk, dropping the file that she'd brought into her 'to do' basket. Whether or not the toddling was annoying, she was the most efficient worker that he had, and he wouldn't trade her for the world.

By the time that five o' clock rolled around, Montgomery had finished all that he needed to do. He was standing already, stretching pleasantly and ready to head home. As he expected, as soon as he stepped out of his doors, the entire team rose to meet him. As soon as he headed out, Hawkeye was at his heels, also finished with her work.

Montgomery marched on, ignoring her, until he made it to the parking lot. When he finally did make it to his car, he paused, set his hand on its metal frame, and sighed. "Lieutenant Colonel, as kind as your actions may be intended, you realize that you don't have to follow me everywhere that I go, right?" he asked.

Hawkeye nodded firmly, her throat tightening. "I do, sir, but I… cannot let another one get away." She told him. She swallowed the lump in her throat, looking back at the military building, to one of the offices on the third floor.

Ahh, of course. Brigadier General Mustang's old office.

Montgomery frowned. "Another? Lieutenant Colonel, Brigadier General Mustang's death wasn't your fault."

Hawkeye scoffed at that term. Death. As if he'd died. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think that he has quite left our world." She denied.

"No matter what you think, we've already had the service. He was given a proper military burial. Investigations has pronounced him dead. There's nothing more that we can do."

Hawkeye winced, looking away.

Montgomery's steady hand met her shoulder, squeezing it warmly. "Whatever happened, Hawkeye, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't be there, plain and simple. It was far past your time to babysit him." He sighed.

"No, I haven't seen him. The last time that I saw him was yesterday morning; he greeted me on the way out to work. I thought that he might have gone out for a drink, but he hasn't done that in such a while. Unless he came home around two this morning, I don't think that he's been home at all."

"I didn't have to babysit him. I just… I had to protect him. I thought that he could handle himself on his own." She released a heavy, defeated sigh.

Three years without her favorite person could do that to a person.

Montgomery smiled at her gently. "Hawkeye, I can honestly say that I now owe you for my life twice. I couldn't be happier with another person on my team. It doesn't matter what you did in the past. What matters is what you're doing now. And you're doing spectacularly."

Havoc stood from his desk, efficiently tucking away his magazine, when his commanding officer stepped out of his office. The man looked around the room, his blue eyes narrowed darkly. They did so even more so when they landed on him.

"Major Havoc, have you all of your work done?" he demanded.

Havoc glanced down at his desk, and then back up. "I do, sir. It's been completed for almost an hour, sir," he said.

The man snorted. He marched directly over to Havoc and poked his chest, his eyes dark and angry. "Look, I don't care who your previous commanding officer was, I don't care how he treated you. In my office, we do not slack. We earn our damn pay. And if that means that you march over to one of these hardworking men and you take their work from them, then you do that. Do you understand me?" he snarled. Under his breath, he muttered, "Who the hell was this guy's commanding officer in the first place? Lord knows he didn't do well with him."

Unbridled anger flared up in Havoc's chest, but he forced himself to push it back. For the past three years, he'd become protective of the general's reputation. If there was anything left of the colonel for them to protect, that'd have to be it. He knew that, with time and the discovery of their general or at least his body, it would squash. For now, though, with no one else to protect it, he would fight to do so with his life.

Mustang deserved that much.

"Yes, sir!" Havoc saluted.

The man above him nodded. Brigadier General Keller finally let his subordinate be, heading for the break room.

Havoc dropped into his seat and slumped. He looked at his desk, at a picture of the old team. It hadn't been too long after Alphonse had gotten his body back. They'd all gone up to see him and Ed, and had managed to crow them into a picture. Mustang was still blind (and alive…) at the time, yet he had no trouble locating the camera's general direction and offering his best smile, despite all of their injuries.

With a sigh, he stood again and went to clock out. It was time for him to go home, before he smacked Keller one, right across the face. He collected his things—noting that he was actually the last to leave the office… when had everyone else left?—and marched out the door and down the hallway.

"At least under Mustang we were comfortable. We weren't his fucking slaves." He spat under his breath, cussing out his superior.

He turned a corner, paused, and smiled. "Hey," he said.

Hawkeye looked up from her deep, contemplative thoughts. She smiled at him in reply, relieved to see another member of the old team again. "Hello, Major. New team working out for you?" she asked, turning and matching his stride.

"The guy is ridiculous. Cussed at me for not taking other peoples' work." Havoc claimed with a roll of his eyes.

"I guess I got lucky, then. At least Major General Montgomery cares for my wellbeing… mostly." Hawkeye replied.

"Hmph. I know it. Have you seen any of the others?"

"Not recently, no. Fuery's in the west if I'm not mistaken."

"Falman went back north?"

"Yes. Breda's still here, right? I don't get the chance to see him at all."

Havoc gave a heavy nod. It was scary, just how much they'd been split up. Just how much Colonel Mustang's disappearance had so greatly impacted the team.

Breda dropped his hands, smirking when he saw that the three bullets that he'd shot had hit critical areas of the target before him.

He may not be quite the sharpshooter that Hawkeye was, but he was getting there.

He reloaded and aimed, shooting through the round. With a sigh, he dropped his gun back into its holster and started to remove the bullet-proof training vest.

God, he hated this. He hated working under the bastard that was making him do this, he hated being separated from his team, and he hated the uncertainty.

"Look. We understand your loyalty to your commanding officer; we really do. But it's been over a year and a half. That's enough. It's time to admit that he's dead and move on."

Well, screw them, screw his current commanding officer and, for making them all worry so much, screw Mustang, too.

"You're worried."

"Am not!"

"Are so."

"Am not!"

Edward gave a deep huff and slumped, glaring at his little brother. The 21-year-old was smirking at him, sitting on his desk.

"Why not just admit that you are? I am." Alphonse claimed. He leaned forward on his knees, tucking himself into something of a ball.

"Why would I be? Mustang can take care of himself." Edward decided. He spun in his chair and went to his bookshelf, pulling out a book and cracking it opening, scanning it over briefly. He dropped it onto his desk and slipped back into his seat.

The Amestrian Military's Greatest Mysteries, published only last year. Alphonse reached over and pulled it open to one of the more worn chapters in the book… Dead but Alive: Missing Military Personnel. In chronological order from most recent to most ancient, this chapter told the stories of the countless military personnel who had gone missing for some odd amount of time, whether the case was eventually solved or not. Part 1, Brigadier General Roy Mustang.

Alphonse closed the book again after taking a brief peek at the man in the picture. He glanced at his brother again, watching the man frown, reach over, and scribble a little array on the paper.

Ed hesitantly pressed his hand to it, and neither were surprised when nothing happened. He slumped, but smiled in amusement as Al reached over and transmuted the paper crane that Ed had attempted.

Just a few inches from Ed's flesh right hand stood a treasured picture. It was the same picture that all of Mustang's staff had on their desks, because it was a great achievement in one of their friend's lives and it was one of only a few moments that they'd all been together.

With a frown, Ed picked it up and examined it for a few seconds. Then, he tossed it into a drawer. If one of them didn't get to see their happy, smiling faces together like that, maybe none of them should.

Though he tried to tell himself differently, the thought still hurt. And it probably would until the day he died, whether or not they found their missing general.

Major Miles entered the fort for the first time in a long time, his red eyes narrowed briefly before widening brilliantly. This was it. This was the home he had missed. Beside him, Scar lifted his sunglasses and looked up at the powerful fortress.

It was hard to believe that it had been six years since they'd all fought for every single life in Amestris. Six years since the Promised Day. Six years since Miles had last stepped foot in this place. If it were up to him, he'd never leave again, not unless ordered to by Armstrong. She would be the only thing to make him move.

"Major Miles! Welcome back, sir!"

Miles glanced to the side, noticing his companion do the same. Both smiled at the gray-haired man who stood not five feet away, saluting. He saluted in reply and took note of the stars and stripes on the soldier's uniform, nodding, "at ease, Captain Falman."

Falman dropped his hand and rubbed it and his other together. "Did all go well?" he asked.

"Ah, yes. Well enough, I believe." Miles agreed. He glanced to Scar, who shrugged and nodded.

Falman offered a smile, readjusting the coat hanging on his shoulders. "That's good, then. It's good to see you again, Major. And, er… you too?" he lifted an eyebrow at Scar.

Scar didn't reply, not that he was really up to saying anything at the moment.

Falman coughed, trudging after his superior. "Are you back for good, then, sir? Or are you just visiting?" he asked.

"Back here for good, I should think, unless the Major General decides to transfer me elsewhere."

Falman gave a fierce nod. "Somehow, I don't think that that will happen." He said.

Miles looked sideways at him. "Has there been any news on the Brigadier General?" After all, who hadn't heard the news of how the great Brigadier General Roy Mustang had gone missing in the middle of the night, how his team had been split up, just as it had been six years ago?

Falman only gave a despondent shake of his head. "Not a word that I know of. Unless they're keeping me out of the loop, I haven't heard anything." He sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Miles nodded. He noticed the fierce sigh, the unhappy features, and understood. After all, if something happened to Armstrong and she went missing, he'd drive himself nuts trying to find her.

But, that was beside the point.

"How is Central expected to keep warm without its source of heat?"

"Central continues its cold spell as the search for Brigadier General Roy Mustang trudges on."

"Military declares Brigadier General Roy Mustang dead after one and a half of the Coldest Years Central has ever seen."

A drop of sweat dribbled down Fuery's face as he hefted the radio into his arms, trotting after his superior. The woman tossed him an amused look, patiently waiting for her youngest subordinate. "Come along, Fuery. Creta could be cooking up any number of plans, and I don't want them to get them started without us knowing about them!" she declared.

"Yes, sir!" Fuery quickened his step, following her. He dropped the radio gently to the ground where she directed and quickly went about setting it up. Within five minutes, they had a smooth-working radio interceptor completely set up, raring and ready to go. "It's done, sir!" he announced.

"Good work, Sergeant!" Tusla, his commanding officer, crowed.

Fuery grinned and stepped backwards from the machine. He liked his commanding officer. She was very kind and understanding, though she could be very hardheaded when she wanted to be. Actually, she reminded him a lot of Mustang. And because of that, he felt safe around her, he trusted her.

Tulsa crouched in front of the machine, looking it over. She waved him back over, so he squatted at her side. "Mind explaining how this works?"

"Uh… sure. Sorry, sir." Fuery obeyed. He spent the next thirty seconds explaining how to work his contraption, pointing out various gadgets and gizmos that would make it work.

Tulsa bit her cheek and grinned at Fuery, flicking the thing on and watching as it hummed into wakefulness. "Fantastic…" she said. She played with the dial, her brilliant grin widening when the static that they at first heard changed to mumbles, and soon whispers, and not long after, recognizable words, thick with a Cretan accent.

Fuery breathed a sigh of relief when he started recognizing real Amestrian. He watched Tulsa, who had become immersed in the broadcast.

After a while, the voices stopped completely, and then all they heard was static. Though Tulsa looked panicked, Fuery quickly calmed her, saying, "They just shut off their own radio; they are done talking, I guess. When they want to continue, they'll turn it back on and we'll hear it."

Tulsa looked at him, furrowing her eyebrows. Then she stood and smiled, clapping her soldier on the shoulder. "You do good work, sergeant." She said.

"Well done, Fuery."

Fuery's throat tightened momentarily when his mind shot to the past. He shook his head and thanked her.

Tulsa patted his shoulder once. "Time to turn in, sergeant. We've had a successful day."