Mutual Healing
Author's Note: Although I'm mainly a Royai fan, but I secretly like Havocai too. Unfortunately, there are so few Havocai fics that I decided to contribute one more to the count. Well, sort of. (You are welcomed to take it as slight Royai, Roy/Havoc, or Roy/Riza/Havoc, if you must.) This fic takes place shortly after chapter 44 and hints at a certain hospital visit in chapter 83 and a certain Royai scene in the last episode of the first FMA anime. Rated T for mild swearing and mentions of smoking.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is a creation of Arakawa Hiromu, not me.
Sharp knocks on the door alerted me to the presence of an unexpected blonde visitor wearing a white blouse and a long brown skirt.
"Er- good afternoon, Lieutenant Hawkeye," I hurriedly greeted with a small salute, after a momentary delay in identity recognition. "You look different." In fact, she looked ominously feminine.
Lt. Hawkeye nodded in greeting with a small appreciative smile. Raising an eyebrow, she added with a slight upward curve at a corner of her lips, "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"No one would dare to insult you, ma'am," I replied with feigned fear, frantically crossing my arms in an X-shape. "Anyway, what brings you here?" I asked, my expression quickly growing serious and my brows furrowed.
"I just came to see how you're doing. Oh, and I brought you some fruits," she answered, raising the brown paper bag cradled in her arms.
"Thank you."
As the Lt. brought up a chair by my bedside and settled into it, I swallowed the shame of my misdemeanor during the Colonel's last visit.
"Why don't you just throw me out? Leave me here! Do you have the time to care for an underling? Don't you have to keep the promise you made to Brigadier General Hughes?" I lashed out at Colonel Mustang, seizing him fiercely by the collar. After being caught off guard, Breda made a futile attempt to force us apart.
He shouldn't have brought me along with him that day. I shouldn't have ended up like this. Well, guess what, Colonel? You may be useless on a rainy day, but now it seems I'm useless every day.
What a bastard I was for venting my anger on the Colonel! After all, it was my utter failure as a subordinate for not being able to protect him, for having him save us both and for not being able to walk behind him any longer. My fists balled and clenched tighter and I averted my gaze from the Lieutenant.
"You know, he blames himself for what happened," Lt. Hawkeye's warm voice punctuated the cold silence. It was peculiarly soothing, even alluring. The curtains danced in rested assurance, or perhaps ignorant bliss. Downcast, the Lieutenant's eyes looked a little distant, and for a fleeting moment, seemed lost in a painful recollection.
"Yeah, I blame myself too," I announced with a sigh, glancing furtively at the two limbs lying limply in front of me.
Her words caused a disturbing twitch in my head. The twitch swiftly travelled down my brain, past my shoulders, through my arms and to my fingers, and they reached for a non-existent breast-pocket.
"Don't even think about it," she added.
I let out a dejected grunt after several failed attempts to find said pocket. It was tempting to steal her mask to hide my evident thoughts. She was scary like that, even at the office table. Whenever my hand itched to reach into a backpocket and pull out a lighter, she would loudly announce that smoking wasn't allowed in the office.
Sometimes, when I'm low on cigarettes and starting to show signs of panic, profuse sweating and a sudden urge to bang my head on the desk, a dull green 'Tobaccy' cigarette pack with a light-haired mustached cowboy printed on the front mysteriously appears in my desk drawer. Initially, I had my suspicions that Breda had something up his sleeve, but time passed, and nothing sprung. Then I started to wonder if the strict Lieutenant might have more to her than meets the eye. That, or if Falman or Fuery were being too nice. Colonel Mustang was first to be ruled out because he had better things to do (in his case, he'd rather have the lack of it), so he probably wouldn't bother doing something that would seem like additional work. Then again, it might be possible that the Colonel was just messing with me- Stop, stop, stop. You'll just confuse yourself even more.
"2nd Lt. Havoc, here," the blonde spoke, handing me a plate of freshly cut apples with a tender smile.
Astonishment swept across my face and my jaws went slack. How long had I been out?
"Holy shit."
"I'd suggest that you watch your language," she cautioned, matter-of-factly pocketing the multi-purpose knife in her grip and unsuspectingly revealing an almost unnoticeable smirk on her face.
I mumbled an apology and hastily tilted my head downward to eat the apples, hoping to prevent her from noticing a tinge of red spreading across my cheeks, like blood spilling from a wound. As I munched on the crunchy apples with grateful satisfaction, I recalled what had happened after my clash with the Colonel.
"I'll leave you here. So you'd better catch up. I'm going. I'll be waiting at the top," Colonel Mustang declared as he turned to leave the room.
Lt. Hawkeye placed both her hands firmly on my shoulders, and said in a calming voice, "2nd Lt. Havoc, that person, he didn't give me up, when I'd already given up on living. He told me again that he wanted me to cover his back. He can't throw you away."
Strangely, it seemed the Lieutenant and I were in the same boat.
"Erm, Lt. Hawkeye?"
"Hm?"
"Why did you give up living?"
Her eyes lowered, and she forced her quivering lips into a straight line.
"Damn it, I probably shouldn't have said that."
Her back stiffened in a pause, before letting her shoulders fall. "No, it's alright."
With that, the usually-stoic blonde confided in me, about how she thought the Colonel had been killed and how he saved her back at the lab. As I listened intently, a mixed swirl of admiration and annoyance rose up within me - admiration for the Colonel and the Lt.'s loyalty, yet irritation towards that same loyalty. It gradually became certain that both the Lt. and I had to get back on our feet and become stronger to repay our debt to the Colonel Mustang for saving us. Sure, he wouldn't accept our repayment, but we chose this path ourselves.
"2nd Lt.?"
"Hm?"
"Don't lose hope. We aren't giving you up."
"I understand. I'd say the same to you too," I replied with a grin.
Before the Lt. departed, she reminded, "Don't forget to eat your fruits."
"Hai, hai. (Yes, yes.)"
I reached for the brown paper bag left on the table and carefully balanced it on my lap. Peering into its contents, I gasped, half choking on the sudden intake of air. It looked like a mini fruit stand in a bag.
Feeling a weird oblong protrusion at the base of the package, I fished blindly for the unknown fruit, only to salvage an oddly familiar green box- Holy Armstrong, it's the mustached cowboy. And I just ran out too.