Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. For the main part, they belong to Arakawa Hiromu, but the Roy look-a-like belongs to the many fanfic writers out there who blatantly OOC him.

One warning – I make references to the manga, but I do not accept Havoc's current condition. Therefore he is completely bodily abled. Any other variations, feel free to complain about.

Chapter two: Swaying hips, hospital gowns and sweet dreams

He looked into the mirror to see if she was looking back at him yet. Nope – her eyes were focussed down on something else, still. Staring a hole through the seat to his tush for all he knew. He hoped she was. For a moment the thought made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, but then he realised that with the way she had been acting lately it wasn't likely, and he sighed loudly.

He didn't know why she was being so hostile. She wasn't usually this uptight. He was used to her pretty much just falling into his arms, really. Maybe a few paragraphs of "Oh no! It's against the rules!" but then she'd come to her senses. But now, she was being consistently hard to get? It wasn't logical! This wasn't how his life worked! The fact that Havoc was around might have something to do with it, but she hadn't had problems with that before. Now that he thought about it, he could still remember that time when Havoc had burst in on them when they were about to . . . he pushed the smirk from his face – if he kept that up she'd have her gun on him in no time.

It was strange really. He remembered just what he had told them – they had just had another one of those "late nights at the office" as they liked to call them, and then he had found himself in the middle of a burning house, with the blue light of alchemy fading and his mirror-image at his feet. Not wanting to leave a face as handsome as his own to burn in fire – that would be just too ironic – he decided to save the fellow, and what does he get for his heroism, but the cold shoulder. She could at least kiss him, but no – all of a sudden he's not good enough, is he?

Wait a minute. Alchemy? He'd heard from Fullmetal about . . . but Fullmetal said there was some door involved. Was this the same? And there couldn't be two of one person in the one world, could there? What the heck had happened?

He finally pulled up outside Headquarters, and got out of the car. Hawkeye and Havoc got out behind him, Havoc falling in step behind him, but Hawkeye giving him a frosty glare before marching off somewhere. She really didn't realise how much she rolled her hips when she did that. Never mind that – he did enough noticing for the both of them.

"Where are you going, Colonel?" Havoc asked when the Flame Alchemist veered off course so he could keep an eye on Hawkeye's swaying hips.

"Hmmm?"

"Where are you going, Colonel?"

He paused. He should go somewhere. Then maybe he could avoid the paperwork he'd have to do on that Kenneth guy, whom he knew nothing about in the first place. After a moment, he made up his mind. "To the hospital. I want to talk to that man who looks like me." Anyway, that was probably where Hawkeye was going. What a coincidental reason to follow her!

Opening his eyes blearily, Mustang looked about himself. He was in a sterile, white hospital room. He was lying in a sterile, white hospital bed, and was wearing a sterile, white hospital gown that – when he stood up – would show his sterile, white butt. He decided not to stand up just yet.

Also, off near the entrance of his room was a pair of subordinates and a –

He blinked, and tried to get the blur from his eyes. Was he having an out of body experience? No – wait. He was in hospital, wasn't he? Maybe he was just plain crazy. It might be best if he called in the nurse to see if it was time for his medicine. Ah, good – he wouldn't have to call. He could see one of them coming towards him.

"Good morning, Colonel Mustang," the nurse smiled. "How did you sleep?"

"Mmm. Fine, I guess. What . . . is that?" He waved at the commotion. Now, it mainly consisted of Hawkeye's pointed glares at . . . him, and his trying to . . . what was he trying to do? It looked as though he was trying to apologise and flirt with her at the same time . . . Why was she allowing him to do that? Why hadn't she given him a piece of her mind yet? Mustang pushed himself up to a sitting position furiously. Havoc was standing back and trying not to get involved in the argument for once.

The nurse, realising the disruption, walked over to them and put a stop to the spat. "You've woken up the patient" was her miffed excuse.

Three head flicked to Mustang. He was awake? They had been carrying on this tirade and Hawkeye had not noticed him stir. They paid no attention to the leaving nurse as Hawkeye stood silently to attention, alongside Havoc.

Mustang's eyes were not focussed on his suddenly behaving subordinates, but on the man slouching casually beside them. "Who are you?" Mustang asked him.

The other man's eyebrows rose. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist – guaranteed to kindle a flame of passion in any woman's heart!" At this he made another attempt at Hawkeye, pulling her to his chest and kissing the back of her hand lightly. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could do anything, a poisonous voice hissed from the bed, grabbing the attention back away from the man's ambitious claim.

"Firstly, 'Flame', I am Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, and secondly, release your hold on my Lieutenant or I will char you strongly enough to match your skin to your hair!"

Hawkeye let out a breath of relief when Flame reluctantly let go of her. If she had had any doubts before, she now knew which one was her Colonel. She bit her lip worriedly, at the thought of him having to recover from all of those wounds. These days, no-one knew where Scar might turn up, and if he was to find the Flame Alchemist here and incapacitated, it was doubtless that he would use the opportunity as best as he could.

Seeing she was no longer in the hold of that ridiculous Casanova try-hard, Mustang stopped pretending to get his ignition gloves out from the "back pocket" of his gown. "Now," he enunciated. "Where did you come from? How did you come here?"

Flame looked back at him and shrugged. "I just appeared. For all I know, I could be dreaming, and you lot could be my dream. I mean, I don't remember waking up – just appearing, like I said. I think someone must have conjured me with alchemy, because I saw a blue light just as I appeared."

All three of the other officers frowned. The only alchemist at the scene at the time was Mustang.

"Sir? I do remember seeing an alchemic light before we found you both," Hawkeye told Mustang.

He looked upon Flame in disgust. Mustang didn't want to believe that somehow he had summoned this impostor. "The only alchemy I did was to put out the flames," he said slowly. He hesitated a moment. "Then I passed out," came the admittance.

"The flames weren't put out, sir," Hawkeye informed him. "They burst back almost as soon as the light faded."

He frowned. That couldn't be right.

"Did you draw the right array?" Flame asked.

Mustang scowled at him. "Of course I did, or it wouldn't have worked in the first place. My ink must have run – that's all." Something would have had to have happened to the circle to alter it and its purpose. That must have been it. The ink was only blood, after all. He couldn't expect much of it.

Flame walked around the bed and sat in the chair beside it. "Well, the fact is that I am here, and now there are two Mustangs. I can more easily settle in here than go home, I'd say – especially as you don't know exactly what that array mutated to, to bring me here. I may as well find somewhere to live. I'll expect you to give me my own key, of course, Riza."

Havoc couldn't tell who was worse off – Hawkeye, who looked as though she was about to explode; Flame, who was about to bear the brunt of her explosion; Mustang, who seemed to be suffering an apoplectic fit; or of course, himself – about to get caught in the middle of this slowly expanding domestic.

"Havoc!" Mustang yelled before Havoc managed to inch his way to the door.

". . . Yes, sir?"

"You will take Flame here to your apartment for the night. We will find some way to send him home. He stays with you until we get him back."

"Yes, sir," Havoc sighed. This was the way they reward him for not sticking his nose in where it wasn't needed. They stick it in for him. He sent a resentful glare to the cocky man sitting on the other side of the room. "Come on," he said eventually. "We've been here all night – I need some sleep before work. If we leave now I might actually get three or four hours."

Flame sighed dramatically. "I need a drink," Hawkeye and Mustang heard as he retreated down the corridor with Havoc.

Mustang eyed his Lieutenant, who watched him with equal ferocity. Finally, she spoke. "You shouldn't have gone so far ahead on your own, Colonel. The flames might almost have consumed you, had it not been for that mishap." She nodded toward the corridor.

"If the flames were still alight, you shouldn't have come in to the house, Lieutenant! Better the life of one than that of a whole squad."

She paused. "I didn't tell you I came into the house."

He looked at her flatly. "But you did." He waited stonily for her to nod. He was rewarded a moment later by the slight movement of her head, and sighed dramatically. "Hawkeye, you need to learn to prioritise! Who knows what sort of falling ceiling or smoky haze could fell you and your men in that sort of danger? Then we would have had another eleven families to send notices of death to, and you know as much as I do that that isn't such a pleasant experience, neither on the giving nor receiving ends."

Hawkeye stood straight and solemnly as he continued to rant at her of her incompetence and idiocy. Her eyes held all the warmth that was needed to let him know she understood. This was the love-language she was used to.

Hearing the door slam shut behind him, Havoc plodded along to his room and quickly shed his boots before flopping onto his bed. Ahhh, rest at last! A whole night of darting all over the place, and only the Colonel got any sleep out of any of them, and he didn't seem any better for it with all of those bandages over him from the fight.

If he stayed here for just a moment longer, then his eyes would drift shut and he could return to that paradise in the country he had been dreaming about the night before. That one with all of those women hanging off him. Just a second more . . .

"Havoc."

No! A second more – that's all it will take!

"Havoc."

Go away you git! Can't you see I'm sleeping?

"Havoc!"

Havoc made some sort of non-committal noise. Something along the lines of "Mmmrmrmmrrnggg?"

"I'm not sleeping in your bed if that's what you want. You may hold your dates for a short enough time to suggest that sort of orientation, but I prefer women myself."

His eyes flew open "What the heck are you talking about? I have too had decent dates with women! Good-looking ones, too!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure, Jaclyn. I need a bed, and I wouldn't sleep with you if you got down on your knees and begged," Flame said imperiously. Havoc scowled at him. Was this guy going to be this up himself the whole time he was staying? If Colonel Mustang hadn't ordered him to keep him, Havoc had a good mind to boot him out.

As it was, all Havoc did was climb off his bed and trudge to the linen cupboard to pull a blanket out.

"Go make yourself a bed on the lounge," he growled, waving Flame in the direction of the lounge-room.

Flame gave him a blank stare. "Don't be an idiot, Havoc. You can have the couch, I'll take the bed. I'm the commanding officer."

Before he could trundle his way merrily into Havoc's bedroom, Havoc put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not in this world, Flame. You can have the lounge. I'm going back to my bed." He let his legs carry him back into his bedroom, and this time with a bit more control, crawled into his bed and hugged his pillow close.