Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I am making absolutely no profit whatsoever in this fanfic.
Maes looked at himself in the mirror, impressed, but not necessarily pleased. His mustache and thick beard itched, and the red hue made his skin look almost sallow. The padding underneath his clothes helped disguise him, but he cursed the extra girth as he maneuvered his way out of the bathroom and into the bar. If Gracia saw him now, she would run in the other direction. Maybe she'd kick him in the groin first, and then flee. He looked like the type of person one would run into in a shady pub on the outskirts of the tourists traps in the jewel of the south. He looked like the type of person who would shoot first and never ask any questions later.
Deep down, Maes thought grimly, he was that type of person.
A voice clicked in his ear. "Company's coming."
He tucked the ear piece in his pocket and readied himself to meet his new friends.
-X-
"Company's coming."
Roy didn't look over his shoulder as he racked up the billiard's balls. He made sure they were all correctly aligned and nodded at Breda to break them.
Breda put a little too much force into the shot, and the cue ball flew across the room and into a large man's drink.
"What the hell?!" The man stood up quickly. "That could've hit my girl!"
Roy shot Breda a withering glare as he murmured something against his hand.
-X-
"Company's fine, but the help is getting a little testy."
Havoc looked at his companion, who kept her focus over the barrel of her rifle. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Looks like a bar fight."
They sat overlooking the pub in a hotel room they had rented for it's strategic location. Havoc pulled out his binoculars and peered through the windows. "Can you see it through your scope?"
"Of course."
Havoc looked impressed. "What model is that?"
Hawkeye stilled as the fight worsened.
"Lieutenant!" Havoc's voice became crisp as he watched her prepare to take a shot. "You are not authorized to make that shot!"
"Just in case."
"We're a centimeter away from a court martial as it is," he reminded her firmly. "Boss can take care of himself. Focus on Hughes."
Her jaw tightened, but she readjusted her scope. "I know my orders, Lieutenant."
"Never said you didn't," he assured her.
"Targets are seated," she muttered.
Havoc settled down with his own rifle. "Copy. Dibs on the scrawny guy."
-X-
"I'm very sorry about my friend, he's drunk," Mustang explained sheepishly.
"He's about to be dead!"
Breda set his jaw dangerously. "Oh yeah?"
Mustang slid in between the two men and got slugged in the chin.
-X-
Maes tried to ignore his best friend falling onto the pool table with a sickening crash, and smiled at the two men seated across from him at their booth. He poured them each a beer and casually measured them. The one in charge was probably the thinner one with the black pencil mustache, Maes decided. The beefier man drank his beer only after his boss took a sip.
"So, Mike, is it?"
"That's it," Maes grinned. "I assume you're associates of Justin's?"
"Something like that. He told us you had some M911's in stock you needed to get rid of."
"Something like that," Maes allowed in a low voice. "Although talking about the particulars here...I usually do business at my place downtown."
"Uh-huh." Pencil-mustache leaned forward in his seat."Forgive us if we seem a little suspicious, but we have reasons to keep a low profile."
Maes shrugged good-naturedly. "Hey, it's all the same to me, but you'll understand if I have reasons not to be seen in public with guys who need to keep a low profile."
The beefy man turned to view the growing ruckus over his shoulder. "Some guy just threw a chair...maybe we should continue this conversation some other time?"
"I can't afford any military men showing up here," Maes muttered truthfully. "Here's my card. You guys want to meet up tomorrow, and I'll try to free up my schedule."
-X-
It had been a while since Roy had gotten into a bar fight, but he managed to pull himself up from the pool table in time to get slammed backwards as Breda collapsed after the man's girlfriend hit him in the head with a pool cue.
"Hey! You need your girlfriend to protect you?" Breda sputtered, clutching his head with a curse.
Roy refrained from reaching for his gloves; Maes was still doing business nearby, and it wouldn't do to alert anyone that the Flame Alchemist was not in Lilam. Breda stood unsteadily, and Roy got back onto his feet with an effort. They were creating a scene, and it was evident that the spectators were siding with the locals.
This can get ugly quickly, he thought.
"Again," Roy offered, "we're very sorry. Can we buy you a drink?"
The man advanced, and Roy sighed. He'd prefer not to fight this guy in such a hostile environment, bu he wasn't being given much of a choice. The man already thought them both weak, so he looked frightened as the man raised his fist. The man was big, but he was slow, and Roy managed to duck the blow with ease and struck the man with all of his force in the kidneys.
The man sucked in a breath, but returned the favor, catching Roy with a glancing blow to his right cheek, which he dodged, and a left to his gut which he didn't. Breda had recovered enough by this time to help out, and Roy caught his breath against the table.
"Hey, beautiful," Roy forced a smile through bleeding lips at the man's girlfriend, who was advancing once again with the cue. "What are you doing with this brute?"
"He's my husband," she spat, and yet...
"He's very lucky to have a girl like you to defend him," Roy said. "I'd give anything to have a girl like that."
Her scowl smoothed a bit, and her grip loosened on the pool cue. "I-"
"Quit talkin' to my woman, you damned city boy!"
"I couldn't help myself," Roy shrugged as Breda pummeled the distracted man. "A woman like that, who would jump into the middle of a bar fight to defend you, is worth admiring."
"Adam!"
Roy snatched the cue out of her hands as she ran to her husband. Breda continued to beat the man who had fallen to the ground after a particularly rough right hook. "Hey!" Roy recognized the look in his subordinate's eyes and approached him cautiously. "Hey, it's alright."
He set his hand on Breda's shoulder and lightly squeezed. "He's out, Heymans," he murmured quietly. "Please stop."
Breda swallowed hard.
The woman hit Breda ineffectually with her fists. "You bastard! You fucking bastard!"
"Here," Roy muttered, reaching into his wallet. "This is for the hospital bill."
Breda rested his bloody knuckles against his eyes, smearing the man's blood all over his face. Roy helped him to his feet, warily eying the bars' inhabitants, but after Breda's display no one seemed willing to take them on. He handed the bartender some money for the damages, and looked around for Maes. The newly redheaded man had already left, and Roy hoped the altercation hadn't affected their plans too much.
"Damn it, Breda," Roy groused good-naturedly as they walked into the streets. "You need to learn how to break! I am not big enough to get into fist fights with large men in bars."
"Sorry, Boss. I didn't..." Breda shook his head. "I couldn't stop hitting him. I just...couldn't stop."
Roy opened his mouth to reply, re-thought his words, and paused. Finally, he said, "Are you hurt?"
"I'll feel it in the morning, but I think I'm okay. What about you?"
"Just some bruises. So no harm done." He rubbed his swollen jaw thoughtfully.
"But I couldn't stop. I swear, I didn't even know where I was, I just..." Breda made a sweeping, shaking gesture with his arm. "I couldn't have told you where I was, even. I couldn't have told you why I was beating this guy to death, but I just...I thought I was back on the front..."
"I know," Roy assured him.
"It's happened before. Not like that, but sometimes..." Breda looked down at his feet. "Boss, sometimes I wake up, and I think I hear gunshots, and one time, I had this girlfriend, and she got in late one night...and I'd been dreaming, and I thought...I could've killed her. I could've killed that guy tonight. He was looking for a harmless little scrap, and I could've killed him."
Roy lead him into the hotel down the street. For logistical reasons, it made sense to split the team across the city, but financial constraints required them to stay in the same cheap area. Roy would be eating noodles and broth for the next month after allocating half of his research funds to this little experiment in crippling the insurgency's supply chain. "You want to get something to eat?"
Breda looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "You have to ask?"
"Get cleaned up first, and then we'll head on down to the buffet."
"Buffet?" Breda snorted. "What're you trying to say, Mustang?"
Roy raised his hands, palms out. "If you don't want to go..."
"I'll be down in ten."
Roy made his way to his room, limping slightly. He could feel bruises forming on his abdomen, and his mouth felt like a mad dentist had tried to perform oral surgery with a hammer. His eye didn't feel like it had been too hurt, but the punch to his right cheek had been enough to cause some swelling.
He got into the room and washed his mess of a face off with some cool water and a towel. Breda almost killed a man in a bar. It had happened before. Roy shook his head.
Who hadn't it happened to, now and then?
