The Rescue

"Dara! Dara!" Edward called, beating on her bedroom door to wake her up.

"Edward, what?" Dara whined, snatching open the door.

"Oh, my…what are you wearing?" Edward asked, staring at her with wide eyed astonishment. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but a white t shirt.

"It's Jean's shirt. It still smells like him. When I wear it don't miss him so much. But…" She shook her head leaning against the door jamb. "Ed, sweetie, why did you wake me up?"

Edward pulled his eyes back up to her face from her legs. He was a fifteen year old boy after all so if something pretty presents herself, he is going to look. When he remembered who he was looking at that way, his face turned cherry red and his eyes fastened themselves to her face to keep from roaming. "Um, Al and I have to leave," he said, not wanting to tell her why.

"In the middle of the night?" she asked, following him when he turned and walked away.

"It's an emergency. Those can happen any time of day," he replied still trying to be vague.

A knock sounded on the front door and Dara pushed past him to answer it when he tried to block her from going.

"Dara, wait!" Edward yelled, but it was too late.

Mustang stood at the door when she opened it. His narrow black eyes grew wide and round, something she did not think possible, while he looked her over from her head to her toes. It still had yet to dawn on her what the men were staring at; her mind did not take midnight wake up calls very well at all. Her anxiety level went through the roof when she saw the Colonel. She wanted answers from one of these men immediately.

"Okay. Now someone tell me what's going on," she demanded, giving each one a nasty look in turn. Not only had she been awakened from a deep sleep, there was obviously something going on that no one wanted to tell her about. If they did not want to tell her, they should have left a note for her then snuck out to leave her sleeping.

"We're going to save your husband. I didn't spend a lot of time and money getting you two together so he could die now. Ed, Al, let's go," Mustang said brusquely, turning to walk down the hall.

"Thank you for being honest, Colonel. I'll bake you something special when you bring him back!" she yelled after him. She waved at Edward and Alphonse before the elevator doors closed.

Everything happened so fast the Colonel's words were not fully comprehended until Dara closed the door. Save him? Mustang's words echoed through her head again. Die. She knew the possibility was there just by virtue of the fact that Jean is a soldier but to hear that he is mortal danger at this moment frightened her and made her feel sick. She rushed to the bathroom for a cold washcloth to press against her face in hopes it would calm the nausea. It did not work. After the horrible ordeal of vomiting and dry heaves was over, she brushed her teeth and lay back down in the bed. She inched over to Jean's side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow. He will be back. He has to come back. Hugging his pillow to her chest, she curled her body around it. Her mind played back all the good memories like a movie until she went to sleep.


Dara stood in front of the Fuhrer's mansion gathering up the courage to ring the doorbell. After finding a tiny shred of bravery, she hurriedly jabbed the button and stepped back. A liveried butler answered the door and allowed her to come in. She followed him into the large parlor to the right, sitting down on one of the couches that were in the room. When the Fuhrer, Mrs. Bradley, and Selim walked into the room, she stood to her feet to greet them.

The Fuhrer gave her one of his very warm greetings that included a hug before he introduced his wife and son. Mrs. Bradley had light brown hair and beautiful dark gray eyes that were kind and friendly. She was dressed in a prim pink suit with a pearl and gold broach at the neck of her white shirt and low heeled shoes; she was the epitome of what a First Lady should look like. There was a quiet confidence about her that comforted Dara.

Selim rushed forward, sticking out his hand to shake hers just like a miniature grown up; he was all of about ten years old. He was terribly cute with short black hair and big black eyes. He was still wearing his uniform from school complete with short pants, jacket, and tie.

"This is Dara Havoc," the Fuhrer announced, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"So you're the new friend my daddy picked out for me?" Selim asked excitedly staring up at her.

"I-I suppose I am," Dara responded with a smile. It was safe to say the interview was over and it was a success. It appeared she had been given the approval of both father and son. Mrs. Bradley offered only a serene smile to signal her endorsement.

"I wrote an essay about my daddy! I got an A on it!" he exclaimed with overflowing enthusiasm.

"I'd love to hear it," she rejoined, watching him run from the room. She assumed he disappeared to retrieve the paper.

"He sure did take to you fast. He doesn't do that with many people. I'm sure you will take good care of him. One of these days, you could possibly be the most important person in his life," he assured her.

"Oh, Fuhrer Bradley, you're over exaggerating," she stated nervously while a blush tinted her cheeks.

Dara restlessly twisted one of her curls around her finger. She offered the Fuhrer an uneasy smile then stared at the floor. He was making her feel extremely uncomfortable by the way he kept looking at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach up to stroke his moustache as if he were thinking. What could he possibly be thinking about while he gazed at her that way? Thankfully, Selim come running back in with the paper before the moment could get any more awkward.

Dara followed the little boy to the couch where she sat with him to listen to his report. She smiled as he read it aloud because the pride came through his voice loud and clear. His daddy was his hero and the champion of the people judging from his paper that he wrote. When he was done, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the backyard to play.

"She's a lovely girl. Selim seems to really like her," Mrs. Bradley commented to her husband as they watched two play tag in the backyard from the large parlor window.

"Yes. I believe she's the one he's been looking for," Fuhrer Bradley responded. He did not notice the questioning look on his wife's face.

Dara played with Selim until the sun was setting low in the sky. She bid the family farewell, gave the little boy a hug, and left. When she arrived at her apartment, she found a visibly upset blond in a red coat and a suit of armor waiting for her.

"Where have you been?" Edward yelled, throwing his arms up in frustration.

"I-I was at my job," she stammered, taken aback by his loud outburst. She had been warned about his violent temper but this would be the first time she had experienced it firsthand.

"Come on. We have to go," he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down the hall.

"Go? Go where? Stop it, Ed!" she shrieked, digging in her heels to bring them both to a halt.

Edward spun around to face her and was about to yell at her when he saw the tears in her eyes. In his haste, he had grabbed her with the automail hand. He immediately released her wrist to see that it was red and beginning to swell.

"D-did I-I h-hurt y-you," he stuttered, seeing the tear slide from her eye.

"Not too much," she lied, rubbing her sore wrist. It hurt – a lot! It was not broken, but she hoped it was not sprained either. He was on the verge of breaking it though when she screamed for him to stop. She did not want him to know he hurt her because she knew it was unintentional. "Now calm down and tell me what's wrong."

"We need to go to the hospital. Jean and Mustang both are there," Edward told her, making sure he took her hand with his real hand this time.

"Oh, no," she gasped, following him compliantly. Her eyes moved over Alphonse noticing the big gaping hole in the belly part of his armor. "Al, what happened to you?"

"Oh, here," Edward said, dropping her hand. He placed both of his hands over the hole in Alphonse's armor. "Let me fix that."

Dara stared as a blue glow grew under Edward's hands and the armor seemed to grow and fix itself. For the first time ever she was able to see Alchemy practiced first hand. She asked for an explanation and Edward told her that he had rearranged the particles in the armor and stretched them out to cover the hole.

"If he keeps getting damaged like this, there won't be enough of him left to make repairs and maintain the integrity of the suit," Edward said, banging on his brother's chest with his fist.

"Stop it, brother," Alphonse whined.

Dara could not tell if Alphonse was embarrassed or irritated by his brother – quite possibly both. She held both of their hands as they led her to the hospital. She was afraid if she did not hang on to them, she would give into the weakness making her knees wobble. There were many questions swirling in her head, but she was too stunned and afraid to open her mouth and ask them. They arrived at the hospital and the boys led her straight to the room where both Jean and Mustang were recuperating.

"He's alive. Just keep that in mind," Edward said when they paused outside of the door. He led her in by the hand after Alphonse opened the door.

Colonel Mustang was lying in the first bed. He was awake and staring at the ceiling when they entered. His head snapped up when he hear them, and he glared disapprovingly at the boys. His expression softened when he looked at her, offering her a weak smile.

Dara looked at him seeing many cuts and scratches on his face. Her faced turned pink when she saw his pajama top was completely unbuttoned; half of his well-defined chest and abdomen was covered with bandages. One of his arms was also in a sling. She moved her eyes to the other bed where Jean lay. It was a good thing Edward had reminded her he was alive because she would have thought otherwise when she saw him. His torso was completely wrapped with bandages. His usually golden tanned skin was a deathly pale color. He was unconscious and had an oxygen mask over his face.

"Oh, Jean," she murmured, sitting down on the bed beside him. Her fingers traced the edge of his face as she gazed at him with tears in her eyes. She ran her hand through his hair and found traces of dried blood along his hairline. There were numerous scrapes and cuts on his face and arms. What happened to them?

"Dara, are you all right?" the Colonel asked, getting out of his bed to go to her. He put his big hand on her shoulder.

Dara nodded her head, unable to speak. She was thankful for the physical contact because it kept her tied to reality. However, it was easier to believe this was all a nightmare she would wake up from at any second. Her hands continued to explore her husband's body to check his wounds.

"They said he should be waking up in a few days. It is easier for his body to heal itself while he unconscious. He will be okay. I promise," Mustang whispered to her, burying his face in her soft hair as he clutched her shoulder. If only he had both arms to hold her at this time.

Dara reached back to place her hand over his. She turned toward him, feeling the smooth skin of his chest against her cheek. "Colonel, how can you promise me something like that?"

"Because I know him. He's a fighter. He loves you too much to give up," he placed his arm over her chest, embracing her the best way he could with one arm. "He will be fine."

The Colonel did not know he was being closely observed by a protective blond and his equally protective brother. Edward and Alphonse would be sure to stay close to her at all times in the hospital room.

Dara felt Mustang trembling against her before something wet drop onto her hand and chest. It was startling yet reassuring to know that the manly and seemingly emotionless Colonel Mustang was crying with her. It was nice to know he was human after all.