Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, or the Harry Potter series.
Chapter Three: Offending objects, hard work, and sunny beaches
The end of the week came and went uneventfully. Progress had been made, of that Hawkeye was certain, but just how much was beyond her reckoning. At least, until Mustang finally stepped into the office one morning with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.
"Ta-daa!"
Hawkeye looked at him warily. The un-Mustang-esque phrase didn't explain itself clearly, even when her superior officer brandished a small book in her face. The cover had a small patch in the corner, where it looked like someone – Mustang – had spilt his cocoa, but other than that, the only notable feature was that Hawkeye could smell the musty scent it gave off from where she sat. Given that Mustang had just dropped the book onto her desk, that wasn't very far.
Curiously, she opened the book. Notes were written on the left page in a small, compact hand, and on the right was an annotated transmutation circle. She flicked a few pages over, sharp eyes noting that every page on the way was set out in the same manner, for a slightly different circle.
Sitting back, Hawkeye looked across to where Mustang smirked triumphantly, now relaxing in his chair.
"Circles that lead us to other worlds," he told her simply, his smirk widening into a grin. "Every page has a new array, and a new world to go with it. Who knows how many unfound ones there are out there?"
"That's all very well, sir, but which world is the one that we're looking for? There has to be at least a hundred pages in this book," Hawkeye replied, looking back at the book to flick through all of the pages. Most of the pages slid through her fingers easily, but a few caught due to the uneven nature of the paper.
Mustang nodded along. "One hundred and forty-two," he amended. "But I have managed to cross off most of them, and I'm left with only the ones on pages five, thirteen, forty-seven, forty-nine, fifty-seven, sixt–"
"Alright!" So he'd managed to get rid of most of them – she got the idea.
Closing his mouth, Mustang smiled again. All of this work, and he'd managed to get it down to a select few. Too many 'select few' for his tastes, but at least the range of possibilities had lessened.
"Just how many are there that might be Flame's world?" asked Hawkeye casually. If this was really going to happen, she might as well know how long it would take them to go through and search all of the potential worlds.
"Eighteen."
Now that was a number that Hawkeye hadn't expected to hear. Maybe nine, or ten at most, but not eighteen. It would take a little too much time to just wander in and out of seventeen other worlds merely in order to find Flame. How were they expected to do this?
"And that's only because I managed to cross off pages twenty-seven and forty-five last night! If I'd given up and gone to bed at ten o'clock like I was going to, we'd be stuck with another two," he added.
Frowning, Hawkeye compared the array on page forty-five to that on page forty-seven. "What's the difference?" she asked. "How do you know which ones definitely aren't Flame's?"
Mustang hopped up out of his seat, and joined her at her desk, taking the book from her hands and putting it flat on the surface to point out some details. "All I really know is that for Flame's world, this triangle and this line–" he pointed out the offending objects on page forty-five "–have to be the other way around. The triangle needs to be in the inner circle, and the line needs to be next to this triangle," he explained, now pointing to an upside-down, three-pointed squiggle on page forty-seven. "I just cancelled out all transmutation circles that didn't have those qualities. Those two almost slipped by me before I noticed that the second triangle wasn't upside-down."
Ah yes, how could she not have noticed? The old 'these pictures are the wrong way around' trick. Oldest one in the book – she should have remembered to keep an eye out for it.
"So we're going to have to test all eighteen circles?"
He nodded.
"And you've figured out which circle brings us back home, right?"
Luckily, another nod.
She closed the book lightly. "Well, we'll have to try this on a Sunday. There's no telling how long it's going to take to do all of this," she said with a sigh. It looked like this would take a little longer than she had originally assumed.
"This weekend," Mustang said cheerfully, picking the book back up and striding over to his desk. He quickly slipped the book into one of his drawers and sat down, eyes roving around the office.
"Just remember that we're only doing this off a hunch," Hawkeye warned. "Flame might still be dead – don't get your hopes up too much."
Mustang stayed quiet, a small frown wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows – the first expression he had shown other than glee this whole morning. After a moment, he finally turned to Hawkeye and opened his mouth to speak. "Where are my other subordinates?"
A drop of sweat slid down the side of his face as Havoc stood straighter than he had ever before. Even after being given permission to stand at ease, not one of the four men had so much as slouched, instead opting to act as formally as they could in front of the Fuhrer.
They stood in the hallway, where they had been found chatting amiably. To tell the truth, Fuhrer Bradley hadn't exactly snapped at them or scowled, but each man was waiting to be told that they had done something wrong. Just one of the perks of having a usually jovial and pleasant leader, however, was that he wasn't one to punish a group of soldiers just for loitering in the corridor.
"I was on my way to Colonel Mustang's office to address you all, but I suppose that I can let you each know now," Bradley divulged. "Each of you, as well as Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye, have been given a promotion for your good work on your last case."
Havoc barely held onto the formal posture he had managed to maintain as he looked in shock at the other officers lined up beside him. A promotion for all of them? The man had taken down a whole lot of the soldiers they had commanded, and they got promoted for it?
"Through such exemplary teamwork a large threat to the military is finally off the streets," Bradley explained. "I believe that that is enough to warrant a rise or two in the ranks." He gave them a smile and walked off towards Mustang's office, hands clasped behind his back.
He didn't know who broke the silence first – Breda, Falman, Feury or himself. Just that all of a sudden they looked at each other in wonderment, babbling on about the parts of the case they had worked on that must have contributed towards their advancement: organising the troops; leading the advance; tracking down the wanted man. And, of course, all of their hard work on other cases before this would have helped, too.
Havoc grinned, thinking to himself. First Lieutenant Jean Havoc. It was only one word's difference, but it sounded a whole lot nicer to him.
When the Fuhrer left the room and his subordinates filed in, various forms of glee expressed on their faces, Mustang viewed them with a new eye. First Lieutenant Havoc, First Lieutenant Breda, Second Lieutenant Falman and Warrant Officer Feury. And, of course, Major Hawkeye and himself – Brigadier General Mustang. Just one step closer to that ideal position of Fuhrer itself.
A smile spread over Brigadier General Mustang's lips.
"Boss?"
It was only so long before he'd finally be able to accomplish his dreams and re-create the military into something purer. The next generation of soldiers wouldn't have to go through something like Ishbal for no reason.
"Bo-oss?"
Ishbal – the horror that spurred him on towards his dream. In the short time – had it been short? It didn't feel like it – that he had been there, his entire outlook and understanding on life had altered drastically.
"He's not listening, Havoc."
"I can tell that. He said he had news of some sort, though."
What was his outlook on life? He didn't bother with applying his own outlook to others, but rather believed for his own sake only, that to have accomplished something, he must change lives of the common man – and woman, and child – for the better. His understanding of life? That Utopia was impossible. There would always be something to be improved. Some person working for his own gain alone. But he could still try the best that he could to bring peace to the world.
"Yes, he's finished going over the research. We're going to try on Sunday."
"Why Sunday?"
"Eighteen circles to test, Havoc. You try doing all that on a work-day."
Over ten years in the military now, and what gain did he know? Well, he had just been promoted to Brigadier-General – that could be considered a gain. Especially since it'd also count for a bit of a pay-rise. Maybe he should buy himself a new suit to mark the occasion.
"Ahh, fair enough . . . Hey, is it just me, or does Colo– I mean, Brigadier-General Mustang remind you of a particular 'Don' right now?"
There was a distinct pause in which Mustang's formerly glazed-over eyes focussed, and his head slowly turned towards the two co-workers within listening range. The laughter that showed openly on Havoc's face contrasted with the cool smile Hawkeye displayed.
"He does seem a little unobservant," she mused, now meeting his stare directly. Her eyes gleamed challengingly. "And unmotivated, and–"
Mustang stood up, pushing his chair back with his legs so that Havoc heard it and turned around, laughter vanishing to be replaced with an impish look. Mustang sighed and rolled his eyes, before telling Havoc to get back to his desk and start signing papers.
It was hot, and it was crowded, and it was disgusting. Normally he liked hot and crowded, provided that he was on some long sandy stretch of land that just happened to be near a great mass of water. Of course, in those cases, he was surrounded by beautiful women confident enough in their bodies to be wearing bikinis – and a few less confident who he had to convince to do so – and was, himself, wearing only a pair of nice, cool board-shorts.
Here, he was wearing layers and layers of clothing, because apparently that was what was done in this part of the world. Or this part of this world, anyway. And these crowds weren't the good type – oh, no! – they were in the 'too young', and for the most part, 'too male' categories. The one beautiful woman he had with him wasn't very pleased right now, and seemed ready to pull out her shiny best friends if he took so much as a step in the wrong direction.
And of course, there was the fact that instead of standing on a nice beach, they were in the middle of a crowded street. They had been trying to fight their way through to the shops, but now they had suddenly stopped.
"We've spoken about this already," Riza hissed. "I don't care if you have been promoted – that doesn't mean that you can just look at any woman you want!" He took careful note of the way that her fists were clenched. That habit was telling him that the only reason she refrained from pulling out her pistols was the mass of school children milling about in the street.
"I'm sorry," he repeated – it was exactly what he had been repeating for the last five minutes. "I swear that the only reason I was staring at her was because of the wart on her nose. Didn't you see it? It was . . ." he trailed off, only to swallow and find that all the muscles in his neck had restricted. As he had spoken, he had reached out to take her hand. That might not have been a good idea, given the look she was now sending in his direction.
There was an awkward moment in which the two watched each other closely, neither batting an eyelid. Suddenly, Riza became aware of the strange looks the people passing by were giving them, and she turned about and walked off with only a "come on," to indicate she was continuing to allow Flame in her presence. He breathed a sigh of relief and chased her down Diagon Alley.
