Ed didn't really know what to expect when he halted in front of that closed door. He just stopped and stared at it, eyeing the glinting steel of the handle, but not yet daring to reach for it. How could this have happened? He'd only been gone for a little over a week and everything had been fine here in Central when he'd left... How could things have gone so bad so quickly? How could just this one unforgivable, violent act change everything?

How could Lieutenant Havoc have done this? It was just so completely shocking. Ed never would have guessed the man capable of something so terrible as stabbing the colonel... Truly, he liked Havoc well enough. They'd had some mild arguments over the years, but they'd still gotten along fairly well...

Breda had been so upset back at the office... Ed had never seen him so wrought. And Fuery had actually started crying before they left, though he'd tried to hide it by hurrying out of the room, mumbling that he needed to clean off his glasses in the men's room. Breda had just silently watched him go, then had quietly asked the Elric brothers to do him a favor and go see how Hawkeye was doing. Alphonse had agreed immediately, knowing how stricken she must be right now. Al liked Hawkeye a lot—and so did Ed, truthfully—and so now here they were... standing outside of a blank white door, too awkward to even knock.

Alphonse came to a stop behind Edward, not making any moves to push him forward, nor telling him that it would be okay to turn back. He didn't say anything at all, just put both hands down on his shoulders silently and waited.

Finally, Ed gathered his courage and knocked.

As he'd expected, Hawkeye answered. She looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled at them both in turn—sadly and warmly, her expression full of gratitude. Her eyes were red and puffy and Ed wondered briefly if she'd been crying or if she was just tired. Ed quietly chose to believe that she was just tired, because if rock-hard Hawkeye had been reduced to tearful grief, then the world must truly be broken beyond repair and Ed wasn't entirely sure that he was prepared for that.

Hawkeye stepped back and gestured for them to enter the small room, causing a gust of cool, sharply-scented air to waft passed Ed and out into the hallway. He shivered slightly as he stepped into the room.

"It's very considerate of you to stop by, boys," she said softly.

"It was Al's idea," Ed replied offhandly, his eyes traveling to the other side of the cramped room where he could see a bed, half-obscured by a thin white curtain. The curtain swayed slightly in the breeze coming from the open window on the other side of the bed, billowing out a little and then arching back concave as if mimicking the movements of respiration. Exhale, inhale. Exhale, inhale. Exhale...

"He's doing well," Hawkeye informed them gently, calling his attention away from the hypnotic curtain, "He's been shifting around a little in his sleep today... we're hoping he'll wake up soon."

"So, he hasn't regained consciousness at all?" Al asked, his voice low and disquieted, but still somehow managing to reverberate hopefulness in the cool, white-tiled hospital room.

Hawkeye shook her head grimly, her red-clay colored eyes wandering over to the bed as she leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "We thought we'd lost him for a while. He stopped breathing right before the paramedic got there and he's lost a lot of blood... but he's stable now. He should be fine."

Ed swallowed, inwardly relieved but not willing to vocalize how worried he still was. This was Mustang after all. Colonel Bastard. He wasn't supposed to get hurt like this. He was supposed to be irritating and condescending and mean and strong and dependable and heroic and...

"What... what, um, happened exactly?" Ed asked past the sudden ache in his throat, trying to ignore it, "I mean, Breda and Fuery told us that Havoc stabbed him... but why would he do that? Havoc's always seemed to like Mustang. He even told me off once for talking bad about him..."

Hawkeye shrugged. "We don't know. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes has been interrogating him since this morning. So far, he hasn't really said anything about why he did it."

A gentle shuffling sound came from the other side of the curtain and all eyes shot over in that direction. Ed could see vague movement silhouetted onto the curtain as the colonel shifted and then fell still again. The three of them kept watching for more movement, holding their breaths in anticipation, but Mustang remained motionless.

Hawkeye exhaled her anxious disappointment and cleared her throat, looking down at Ed again. "Havoc was in hot water even before he attacked his superior officer, though..." she continued, "He was helping out Hughes' team on that prison riot, but then he wandered off. When he finally came back, the colonel was livid. He was reprimanding him in the office when he stabbed him... And that's really all we know."

"But it just doesn't make sense," Alphonse piped, toying with his long white plume fretfully, coiling the silken strands around his huge metal fingers and glancing toward Mustang again.

"I know," Ed agreed, "This is just so... I mean, Mustang's yelled at me loads of times—dozens of times more than he's yelled at Havoc, I'm sure—but I've never stabbed the guy." He stopped for a beat, then shrugged one shoulder. "It has crossed my mind once or twice, though..."

"Edward...!" Al scolded.

"Well, never seriously!" he retorted, turning to him with a pout.

"Ngh... God, you boys are loud enough to wake the dead..." croaked a raspy, masculine voice suddenly, making Ed's heart leap into his throat.

Hawkeye jumped as if electrocuted and then bolted over to the bed. She pushed back the curtain roughly, the rings it was suspended from making a bright shink! noise as they scraped against the supporting metal bar. And then there was Mustang, lying on his back against the crisp white sheets, rubbing his face groggily with one hand.

In spite of himself, Ed's knees went a little weak with relief and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Good, the colonel was okay.

...Not that Ed really cared much or anything...

"It's about time you woke up," Hawkeye said, covering her own relieved joy with a wry smirk, though Ed could see that her hands were trembling slightly as she poured water into a small plastic cup from a pitcher beside the bed. She handed it to Mustang. He stared at it for a moment, dazed, then took it gratefully. He took a slow, tentative sip of the liquid and handed it back to her with a nod of thanks. "You've been out for nearly three whole days," she continued, "This is a new level of lazy, even for you, sir."

The colonel smirked back at her tiredly, his eyes closing for a moment before he caught himself and forced them open again. His bleary gaze wandered over to Ed and Al and he stared at them blankly, looking a little bemused.

"Al was worried," Ed explained quickly, pointing at his brother accusingly as if blaming him for a vase he'd broken, "He wanted to come by and see how you were." At this, Al made a soft, exasperated sound, but didn't contradict him.

"...Very kind of you, Alphonse," Mustang said—still looking at Ed—a tired, sardonic smile curling his mouth. Even as injured and unfocused as he clearly was, he didn't look fooled in the slightest. Ed felt himself blush deeply and he cleared his throat, quickly looking down at his shoes. Al chuckled softly behind him.

"Do you remember what happened?" Hawkeye asked him after a moment, drawing his sleepy attentions away from Ed.

Mustang hesitated, frowning softly, his typically quick mind working with a slowness that Ed found a little unsettling. "I'm... not entirely sure that I'm remembering this correctly..." he rasped, his voice hoarse with disuse, "Did... did Havoc...?"

"Yes, sir. He's been arrested for attempting to assassinate a superior officer. Investigations has custody of him now."

"Has... has he said why...?"

"No. He's not saying anything."

Mustang sighed and looked up at the ceiling, absorbing that. He looked wounded, and not just physically. It occurred to Ed that Havoc, like Hawkeye—like all of the colonel's staff, really—was more to him than just a subordinate. He was a loyal follower and a dear friend. How terrible it must be to be betrayed by someone whom you frequently entrusted both your life and secrets to. It was clearly a painful thing for Mustang to accept.

He was pensively silent for a moment. Then, as if he'd reached some kind of decision with himself, he sat up.

Or, at least, he tried to sit up. All he really actually managed to do was gasp and fall back against his pillow, clutching his injured abdomen with one hand.

"Ow, ow, damn it, ow..." he hissed through gritted teeth, closing his eyes tightly.

"Well, what did you expect, sir?" Hawkeye said dryly, trying not to seem concerned, "You just got stabbed. You can't just get up and walk away from that."

He opened one eye to shoot her a dirty look, then took a breath and dragged himself slowly to sit upright against the head of the bed, his arms shaking weakly under the strain. He grimaced again as the movement put his torn abdominal muscles to work, but he didn't make any sound as he straightened himself. He took several deep, slow breaths, leaning his head back against the wall—clearly in a substantial amount of pain, as much as he was trying to hide it. The pallor of his face and the tightness of his jaw spoke louder than words.

He turned his head a little to look up at the thin IV line that was trailing down to his wrist from a clear glass bottle on the rack beside the bed. He looked at it thoughtfully, his breath still a little hitched, then reached up.

"They are not giving me enough of this crap..." he muttered, fiddling briefly with the little valve next to the bottle's nozzle.

He sat back again and almost immediately the tenseness in his face started to relax a little. He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes again with a sigh as the increased flow of narcotics coursed through his veins. Ed smirked at him, remembering the deep relief of painkilling drugs while he'd been recovering from his automail surgery. Without the warm tingle of morphine in his bloodstream, Ed didn't know if he would have been able to live past the terrible pain that had wracked him every day for nearly a year. It's a wonder he hadn't gotten addicted to the stuff.

"Don't mess with it," Hawkeye sighed harshly and tightened the valve back to its original position. Mustang glared at her as she did it, but chose not to comment.

"Hand me my chart, would you?" he asked instead, gesturing toward the clipboard that he knew was hanging at the foot of the bed.

Hawkeye turned to obey. The second her back was turned, he reached up and increased the flow on the valve again, shooting a dangerous glace at both Ed and Al as if just daring them to say something. Al looked away innocently, pretending that he hadn't seen, but Ed just shook his head and rolled his eyes at him. He wouldn't say anything... the man looked like he was still in pain and besides, it might be kind of entertaining to see him drugged out of his mind. Ed knew all to well what those drugs could do to a person... Al still made fun of him for apparently proclaiming his love for Winry while under the stuff. Ed didn't remember any of it, but Al swore that he'd been practically gushing about how pretty her hair was. Ed's stomach turned with embarrassment just thinking about it, but the thought of Mustang in a similarly drugged state was funny enough to distract him from it.

Hawkeye turned back and handed him the clipboard. He took it and started reading over his condition, skimming vaguely as he flipped up the pages. As he was occupied, Hawkeye deftly tightened the valve again behind his back, arching a tolerant eyebrow at the Elric brothers. Nothing got past her, it seemed.

"It's not so bad..." the colonel mumbled, blinking as if his eyes were having trouble focusing on the page. Maybe it was a good thing that had Hawkeye cut off the morphine-flow again... it looked as if even that small increase had been more than enough. "My intestines were skewered, but the knife barely even grazed my stomach..."

"It's bad enough," Hawkeye countered.

"Only twelve stitches..."

"On the outside, perhaps."

"I've had worse."

"You have not, sir."

Mustang sighed and handed the clipboard back to her, his eyelids growing even heavier. He closed them and was silent for a beat then, abruptly, he said, "I want a full report on what's going on with Havoc, Lieutenant. See if you can get the hospital to bring a telephone in here. I want to have open communication with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

"...Yes, sir," she said, looking a little taken off-guard by his sudden shift into military professionalism. She saluted him and turned to obey, her shoulders back and her carriage erect, probably overjoyed to be taking orders from him again after watching him bleed half to death on their office floor.

There was a long pause in which no one said anything. Mustang was still as stone, eyes closed as he reclined in his hospital bed. His face was gray and exhausted looking, his lips dry and cracked and his brow slightly furrowed with the remaining discomfort that the drugs hadn't yet been able to sooth. Ed and Al exchanged a look, awkwardly wondering if they should just leave and let Mustang get back to convalescing, but then the colonel spoke:

"Is she gone?"

Ed jumped a little, startled by his abrupt speech. He turned and looked over his shoulder to make sure that she'd left.

"Yeah, she's gone."

"Good," Mustang said brusquely, opening his eyes. He straightened himself and yanked off the swatch of tape that secured his IV line to the back of his hand, then pulled the needle out and tossed it aside.

"Colonel, what are you doing...?" Al asked worriedly, one hand tentatively outstretched toward him.

"I'm leaving. I have a lot of work to do," he rasped, lowering his legs carefully over the side of the bed. He sat there for a moment, swaying a little, hesitating before actually attempting to stand.

He looked up at Ed calculatingly then beckoned for him to come closer. Ed paused uncertainly, but then shuffled forward and allowed Mustang to put a hand on his shoulder. Using Ed for leverage, Mustang tried to pull himself to his feet. Ed instinctively put a supporting hand on his back, trying to help him steady himself. Mustang grimaced and exhaled a sharp breath as he stood, but then he straightened and gave Ed a tight nod of thanks.

"Do you really think that you should be out of bed?" Ed asked, trying hard not to let his apprehension reach his voice.

"No," Mustang replied honestly, an oddly dopey smile quirking the side of his mouth, no doubt an inspiration of the morphine. "But I need to get a few things straightened out before I can rest. Come on, I need you to help me get out of here. Quickly, before Hawkeye comes back."

"Oh, what, so you want me to be an accomplice to your daring escape, now?"

"Uh-huh, that's pretty much the idea."

"This is a hospital, not a prison!" Ed protested, "Can't you just ask to be discharged?"

"Ha. It's funny that you honestly think the lieutenant would stand for that."

Ed clenched his jaw, frustrated but knowing that he was right. Hawkeye could be a very intense person when she wanted to be.

"Fine," he sighed as Al gave them both a worried, disapproving look. "Where are we heading?"

"First, to my apartment. I need clothes," he said, looking down at the powder-blue hospital gown he was wearing. True, he wasn't going to get very far down the streets of Central wearing that. "Then we'll go to HQ and try to figure out what the hell is going on with Havoc. I'd like to do a little of my own interrogating, I think." He paused for a beat, his woozy thoughts written darkly across his face, but then he looked up at Al. "Alphonse, if you'd be so kind, run ahead and call a cab for us. We'll meet you at the hospital entrance... it may take me a while to make it that far."

Al wrung his hands and made a low, uncomfortable noise, but then ducked his head in a bow and headed out. He stopped in the doorway at looked back at the colonel.

"Hawkeye is going to kill us, isn't she?" he asked.

"Quite possibly," Mustang piped with a sleepy kind of cheeriness, yet another strange effect of the drug in his system that Ed found both disturbing and amusing.

Al made another tiny, unhappy sound, and left the room.