Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Enjoy!
Amestris, the most formidable military presence in the known world, was run like a very tight ship. At the bridge of the well governed vessel was Central Headquarters. It was an impressive demonstration of the military's might, dominating the landscape of Central City. The sprawling building contained one and a half thousand rooms, one hundred staircases and just shy of five miles of passageways. It had three high courts and countless petty courts, four great halls and two debating chambers. Headquarters was large enough to warrant its own dedicated postal service. The mailroom had a staff bigger than the general post office in Central City and issued mail deliveries and collections four times daily. A fleet of office juniors would thoroughly work their way through the rabbit warren of corridors to ensure that all personnel received their mail and internal documents in good time. This meant, for most senior staff, that the turnaround on their paperwork could be as speedy and efficient as the keen mail attendants who delivered and collected it. For Colonel Roy Mustang however, this meant that by the end of each day there were four untidy bundles of unopened mail perched as far away from him as his desk could accommodate. On particularly onerous days, the bundles made themselves at home on the floor.
It had become a daily routine in itself that the Colonel would glare, hiss and prod at the bundle until he had absolutely everything else finished. He loathed starting the day off with a bad memo, pedantic circular or the 'hand me down' work of his superiors. Finishing the day with the mail was in some way more bearable, it meant he could ignore the nonsense for a few more hours until the morning crept round whereupon reality struck and he would start dealing with it. Very occasionally, when the eyes of his Lieutenant weren't on him, he would make certain requests 'disappear' only to feign shock and disappointment in Central communication when he was asked for the work some days later.
It was six o'clock, the sky was deepening to purple and Roy began his reluctant plunge into his bundles. Thankfully, it was a light day for mail. Starting with the latest parcel, there were a few receipts, copies of witness statements for filing, a circular on the progress of the campaign in the North and the monthly letter detailing the amount of his pension. The letter managed to put a sour look on his face. Watching the door for any sign of his staff he reached into his top drawer and removed his mirror again, on the lookout for more grey hairs. Finding none, he stuck his tongue out at the letter. Moving backwards through the day he found more leaflets, letters requesting notes on past cases and a summons to a general meeting the following Tuesday. In the second to last delivery there was a hand written envelope post marked from Xing. He turned the envelope over in his hand wondering who could possibly have written to him from there. Before he had a chance to open it, his phone rang.
"Hughes." he said, expecting the usual evening call from his friend. As well as that it was a Friday, two days before his birthday and Roy knew despite Hughes' subterfuge, that the man had plans to celebrate his big day.
"Who's Hughes?" A solemn voice echoed across the line.
Roy sat up. "Who is this?" he asked.
"Did you get my letter?" The voice replied in the same low timbre.
"Who is this?" He repeated. "What letter?"
A long, tired exhale was all Roy got by way of a response.
Roy put on his best smooth voice, seeking to get something from the mystery caller by riling him. "Oh yes, your letter. I think I may have it here as a matter of fact. I don't think I'll open it though. The handwriting is detestable and you should know I am a very stylish man. Too stylish for such an ugly letter. Unless you've broken all your fingers or something dreadful like that and can't quite write properly? I suppose that would be okay ..."
The only answer from the mystery caller was another long sigh. Roy was silent, hoping to encourage more dialogue from the man. After ten seconds the caller still hadn't said a word. Mustang took an annoyed breath to begin more rankling but was stopped from talking by the suddenly furious screaming of the man. In spite of his poise, Roy jumped in shock. The man wasn't saying anything, there were no angry words, just wild wailing. Roy had to hold the phone away from his ear, trying to get a hold on things with a sharp, "Hey!" Then the line went dead.
He stared at the phone, then the letter.
"Hawkeye!" He shouted, tearing open the envelope.
Lieutenant Hawkeye slipped quietly into the room, glancing over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.
"Sir?" She asked, approaching his desk.
In one hand her Colonel held a small note. The other hand was fisted. He had a strange look on his face. It was a smirk of sorts but with distant eyes, an unsettling calmness.
"I have just taken the most uncanny telephone call," he started, "and received the most bizarre letter."
"Hughes Sir?" She asked, leaning slightly into his field of vision.
"Unfortunately no." He opened his hand and a few small, white stones fell to his desk. "Hard to believe, but something a little more … trying." He looked at her then but didn't say anything further.
"May I see the letter sir?" Hawkeye prompted.
He smiled and handed her the note. Leaning his chin on his arched fingers, he regarded her while she read, still wearing a strange expression on his face.
Hawkeye read, 'Straight from the horse's mouth. With love, Mum x'
If she was confused before, she certainly was now. She cast one worried look at Roy before turning to the letter again. Hawkeye knew that her Colonel, being something of a personality in Central and known by most across the country, received odd letters from time to time but she had never seen any have quite this effect.
"Mum?" Hawkeye asked him. The man shrugged back.
Was the person talking about Madame Christmas, she wondered. Possibly not judging by the envelope postmarked from Xing. With the little white pebbles as well, the letter didn't seem to make sense at all. Not even to be a prank. Then it struck her. What lay scattered on Roy's desk weren't stones, but teeth.
Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes didn't bother to put his regular call into his friend as he normally did on a Friday evening. He had arranged for Havoc to take Roy to a bar as a diversion while he and his wife Gracia prepared their house for their celebratory soiree. He knew Roy was probably wise to his plans but carried on with the ruse in any case. It was funnier that way. The thought of Havoc trying his best to occupy or distract the man was very appealing, especially given Roy's mood that week.
It was only two hours before guests arrived and Havoc was expected with the Colonel half an hour after that. Everyone from the office was coming, as well as some ex-service personnel they had trained with at the academy. The Elrics were coming under strict conditions from Gracia that her husband must prevent Roy from getting Ed drunk. There would be enough wine and port to float a ship and Roy had a penchant for teasing or trying to embarrass the young alchemist.
Hughes requested that everyone dress smartly and bring a little something for Roy. Most were happy to get something for the birthday boy. Gracia's friends however (one of whom was an erstwhile conquest of Roy's and therefore snubbed by him) were bringing him, to quote his wife, 'a big fat nothing.' Ed had gone to particular effort to purchase Roy a tin of shoe polish and a comb by way of a makeshift hair dye kit as well as some other 'treats'. Hughes couldn't be sure how combustible shoe polish was but imagined they would all find out throughout the course of the evening. Hughes himself had originally bought his friend a bottle of thirty year old whiskey before being reminded by his wife that a bottle of the grain was probably the last thing Roy needed. Keeping the bottle to himself, he sourced an antique chess set instead. It was made, so he was told, from the timbers of an old Xingese war vessel.
He could hear Gracia in the kitchen preparing food for the evening. She hummed to herself as she worked, the sound punctuated by the oven door opening and closing, a whisk beating and the occasional outburst from his daughter, Elysia. Meanwhile Hughes brought furniture from around the house into the lounge to accommodate the guests.
Finishing off by dragging a chaise longue into the room, Hughes leaned himself against the wall and wiped his sleeve across his brow. Gracia made her way into the room with Elysia nestled against her hip. She raised her eyebrows in a 'you've been busy' manner and adjusted Elysia with a quick shuffle.
"Maes darling," Gracia said, "remind me again when Riza and the boys will be arriving?"
"Eight. On the dot. I'm sure Riza will take care of that." He smiled at his wife and gave Elysia a little pat on the head.
"Of course! It'll be interesting to see her all dressed up." She laughed a little. "If Havoc can't manage to coerce Roy along to your party he need only tell him that she's finally taken off that uniform. He'll be here in seconds, burning the front door down."
Hughes feigned shock at his wife's remark, "Gracia Hughes!"
"Maybe we could put a little bow on her head …" she continued, swaying her hips cheekily causing Elysia to giggle. "Some creatively placed ribbons …"
"Pretty lady!" Elysia shouted, throwing her arms up gleefully.
Hughes leant over and kissed Elysia on the crown of her head.
"That poor woman," he said, stroking Gracia's cheek. "Scrutinised by the gang of harpies you call friends." He gave her a wide smile to keep on the right side of his wife, having just insulted her friends.
"Poor Roy!" Gracia set a squirming Elysia on the floor. "He's in for a shock when he sees Adelina. I better hide the poker just in case."
"She still hasn't got over that whole 'called her the wrong name' thing then?" Hughes asked.
Gracia gave him a discouraging look. "Not on your life. But we never have evening parties, so I wanted to have them round for some normal company among all you military maniacs. Sorry honey, we'll be very well behaved." She gave his arm a squeeze before turning back to the kitchen. "You wouldn't mind washing the child would you and I'll finish up down here?" There was a slyness to her voice as she disappeared down the hall and Hughes knew exactly why.
"Sure." He answered with false resign.
Elysia, hearing the word 'wash' and knowing that 'bath' would follow 'wash', made a bee line for the front door. Her father caught her in one big scoop and carried her kicking and screaming up the stairs. Ever the family man, he had a smile on his face the whole way up.
Hawkeye stared open mouthed at the teeth littering the desk. Roy stared back at her for a long moment before lifting his bin and scraping the offensive items into it.
"Sir!" Hawkeye said. "Evidence, sir." She was dumfounded at what he could possibly be thinking.
She grew even more incredulous as he reached out, took the note from her, tore it to shreds and threw the pieces in the bin also. He then took one of his gloves from his pocket and burnt the items in the bin with a snap. It took the smoke to clear before Hawkeye could gather herself from her incredulity.
"With all due respect sir, what are you doing?" She asked, palms open in belligerence to his seeming irrationality.
He stood sharply and dusted off his uniform. Stuffing his glove back in his pocket he made his way past his Lieutenant to the door. She placed a hand on his arm to stop him, an act that felt hugely inappropriate when he looked at her with exaggerated inquiry, eyebrows raised.
"Sir?" she said again, trying hard to keep a chastising strength to her voice. He placed his hand on top of hers, patting it with condescension.
"Lieutenant, if someone wants to go to town on my appearance, sending silly letters from Xing and pig's teeth posing as relics from some fabricated, dusty old mother then let them. That - " he pointed at the bin, "is not evidence. That is nonsense and we shan't be paying any heed to it." A look of guilt ghosted across his face before he smiled and opened the door. Hawkeye, piqued by his playacting pushed the door shut again.
"Sir we can salvage the teeth and have Hughes look at them a little closer at least. What if they are human? Where did this someone get human teeth?" She asked, shifting her head to try to achieve eye contact.
He looked at her and smiled patronisingly. "Well, not from my mother. No one knows who she is or where she is and for my part I struggle to care. This is a bad attempt at provocation and I'm telling you, as your superior, that we needn't worry ourselves. It's a pathetic little stunt. The man's clearly an imbecile or a lunatic, or very likely both. Let's try our best not to behave in the same way, Lieutenant." He removed her hand from his arm and exited without another word to her.
As Hawkeye bent into the bin to remove the teeth she heard the Colonel call out to Havoc that he needed a drink in any case so there was no need to keep up the pretence of Hughes' diversion. She listened to the sound of Havoc's denial as it became quieter when the two men moved out of the main office and down the hall.
Wiping the blackened teeth on a handkerchief she placed them in her pocket. She was well aware that the 'stunt' had cut through to her superior in a big way. She was also aware that his being so completely uncivil to her was some petulant attempt at trying to get her off his back. This didn't help the nauseating anger that crept into her belly though. At that moment she felt like calling Hughes and telling him to forget her attendance at the party, the last person she wanted to see parade around the place that evening was Roy Mustang. However, duty called and people were expecting her to be there. Moreover, it was always a cause for gossip if she wasn't at his side at functions of that nature. 'With my tail wagging, waiting for a pet,' she thought before turning off the lights and leaving his room.
An express train hurtled through the quickening onset of darkness. On it, the passengers chatted idly, the mumbles and giggles carrying over the noise of the wheels. A figure was sitting alone with an old newspaper in front of him. The headline read, 'The Heroes Return.' Pictured was a young soldier of exotic countenance. He was shown marching over cobbled streets, his eyes directed at something out of frame and there was a wistful air to his gaze. To the side of the shot there were people waving banners and one especially excited girl was caught blowing a kiss. The figure grunted and began scratching at the image of her face until it disappeared. The same finger then glided across to the image of the soldier. It moved tenderly over his face and traced the lines of his uniform. 'So perfect,' he thought with a sigh.
He looked at the window. The reflection looked back at him with dark eyes and a slack jaw. 'I am detestable,' he thought. He was not stylish, not like the boy soldier in the newspaper. Not like the man waiting for him in Central. That man called him ugly, detestable. Mocked him. He clamped a hand over his mouth, suddenly overcome with the urge to scream. He started shaking but managed to collect himself. With a new calm, he took a scalpel from its case and began dissecting the image of the man, smiling as he worked.