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Chapter 12

Jean Havoc paused in the hall, lighting up. He flicked the lighter closed, dropping it in his pocket. The office was lit but quiet and he hesitated before entering. Peering through the doorway, he saw Lieutenant Hawkeye, arranging folders, getting ready for the day's work. She thumped the folders on her desk and her shoulders tensed. Holding up a hand, she suddenly popped a finger in her mouth.

"That's no way to treat a paper cut," Havoc said, stepping into the anteroom.

Hawkeye turned around, eyebrows rising then lowering in a scowl. She took her finger out of her mouth, reaching into a pocket for a handkerchief. "Aren't you here early, Lieutenant Havoc?" she asked while wrapping her finger in the fabric.

"Yeah, well." Havoc crossed the room, smoothly taking Hawkeye's hand. "Let me take a look at that."

"You're no doctor," Hawkeye said as he unwound the handkerchief.

"I did have field training." Havoc squeezed her finger gently. "Looks deep." He gave her a wink. "You'll probably have to get stitches."

Hawkeye jerked her hand out of his. "I'm going to wash this off."

"Be sure to use hot water." Havoc watched her walk out of the anteroom and tapped the ash off his cigarette into an empty waste can. He wasn't really accustomed to being here this early. Usually, he'd drive by and pick up the boss but Mustang had told him he was going to walk in. Havoc had argued about that but Mustang wouldn't be swayed.

"I need a chance to think," the boss had said.

"So, you are coming in?" Havoc had asked.

"Count on it." Mustang's expression had been grim.

Havoc hadn't been sure if it had been the whiskey talking yesterday or not but he hadn't driven by Mustang's quarters to pick him up. The boss would call if he wanted a ride. "What do you do here at this time of the day?" Rubbing the back of his head, he noticed his coffee mug. "Well, I guess it's something to do." Gathering up Hawkeye's mug, he sauntered to the canteen. At least getting coffee was doing something.

By the time Havoc got the coffee, the building was starting to come to life. Not that he could really tell; no one would meet his eyes outside the canteen. Even when he said, "Good morning," to a couple of the women, they were short with him. He walked into the anteroom. "Guess word's gotten out the boss is under investigation." He set the mug on Hawkeye's desk.

Her mouth was a tight line. "You noticed it, too?"

Havoc tasted his coffee and, horrified, set the cup down. Even the fact that it was hot didn't make up for that taste. "Marjorie broke our Friday night date." He leaned against his desk, crossing his ankles and tapping his cigarette into the waste can. "No one spoke to me besides her."

Hawkeye rearranged the folders on her desk, obviously to give her hands something to do. Her shoulders showed a tension Havoc had rarely seen in her. At least, not within the office walls. "Havoc, what do you think of this?" Hawkeye met his gaze, her forehead puckered in a frown.

"You mean the investigation?" Havoc lit a new cigarette off the old one. Shrugging, he said, "The boss said it'd be okay."

Shaking her head, Hawkeye disagreed. "He's throwing away his career."

Havoc went to her desk, as if to gather up some of the folders on top of it. In Hawkeye's ear, he said, "Better his career than his life, don't you think?" She turned away, folding her arMiss Havoc touched her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "He'll be okay." Scooping up a few of the files, he greeted Falman, Fuery and Breda as they came through the door.

Hawkeye took a deep breath and let it out. "You're late."

"What?" Fuery glanced at the wall clock. "Less than a minute." He shrank slightly at the look Hawkeye gave him. "We'll do better next time, sir."

Breda dropped into his chair, rocking back in it. "It's already started," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "It's like we've got the plague."

"It's just an inquiry," Fuery said, pushing his glasses up as he sat down at his desk. When no one said anything in reply, he glanced around the room. "Isn't it?"

Hawkeye tapped her fingers on her desktop. "The Colonel is being investigated for actions unbecoming an officer." She lowered her voice. "He is going to take a fall."

"Sometimes, the means are necessary to the ends, Lieutenant." Mustang entered the office, removing his jacket and folding it over his arm. Picking up the mug off of Havoc's desk, he took a drink. Making a face, he pushed the coffee at Havoc. "This is terrible."

"Why do you think I wasn't drinking it, Boss?" He set the mug down, rolling his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. Mustang cocked a glare up at him.

Rising to her feet, Hawkeye said, "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Permission denied." Mustang gave the coffee mug a glare that should have broken it into little pieces.

"Colonel Mustang," Hawkeye persisted.

Mustang walked past her and into his office. "I'm sure there's work that needs to be done. I'd suggest we get to it."

"Yes, sir," Breda, Falman and Fuery said as Mustang closed the door behind him.

Hawkeye just stared at the closed door, as if she was imagining shooting it down. Havoc squeezed her upper arm. "I don't like change," she said, almost under her breath.

"No one does," Havoc replied. "But it's not our choice."

Tensing her jaw, Hawkeye lowered her gaze. "This is not a good plan."

"Yeah. I don't like it either." Havoc leaned against her desk, crossing his ankles. "But it's the one we gotta play out." He indicated Mustang's door with a tilt of his head. "Boss' orders."

Hawkeye closed her eyes, resting her fingertips on the top of her desk. Gathering her strength, Havoc knew. Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh and she opened her eyes again, fixing her gaze on the men. "You heard the Colonel. Get to work."

Havoc pushed off her desk, letting smoke trail behind him as he walked to Mustang's office. Rapping on the door, he called, "Boss? You in there?" When there was no answer, Havoc tried the door, relieved that it wasn't locked. Pushing through, he stood just inside the opening. Mustang sat at his desk, framed by the morning sun shining through the windows. His hands were folded together and pressed against his mouth. "Boss?"

Mustang flicked his eyes at Havoc. His throat moved and he said, "I don't remember giving you permission to enter."

Havoc came in the rest of the way, closing the door. He sauntered across the room, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No, you didn't." Dropping into the chair across from Mustang's, he took a puff off his cigarette. "I just thought you might want to talk."

"About what?" Mustang lowered his hands to the desk blotter.

Another knock and Hawkeye came through the door. She pushed it closed and stood there a few seconds, her hands pressed flat against the wood.

"You, too?" Mustang asked, a faint hint of humor coloring his voice.

"Sir," Hawkeye said, turning to face them both, "I've asked your permission to speak freely."

"I didn't grant it," Mustang told her.

Hawkeye crossed the room, leaning over the desk. "You will listen to me, Colonel. You cannot roll over in regards to this matter."

Mustang tilted his head back to meet her eyes. "Riza," he said, very gently, "I know what I'm doing."

"You're sabotaging your career, all for that boy." Somehow, Hawkeye managed to keep her voice to a conversational level. "I just want to know why."

The corner of Mustang's mouth quirked. "I owe a debt, Lieutenant. That's all you need to know – and really, I didn't need to tell you that."

Hawkeye's fists clenched. "Colonel," she protested.

Black eyes softening, Mustang laid his hands over her fists. "I appreciate your concern, Riza."

She whirled away, her arms going around herself. Havoc glanced from her to Mustang, actually able to watch that mask slide back over the Colonel's face. "What about me, Boss?" Havoc asked.

Mustang shot him a look. "Get to work."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say." Havoc got up, guiding Hawkeye towards the door. "You need anything, you just yell." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Riza, pull yourself together. Don't scare the guys."

With a short, sharp laugh, Hawkeye pressed her fingers under her eyes, staunching the tears. "I'm good."

Havoc patted her back. "I know. C'mon, let's leave the boss to his job." He glanced over his shoulder and Mustang nodded his thanks. Havoc mustered up a smile in return and opened the door, letting Hawkeye precede him. He pulled the door to behind him and slouched against it. Breda, Falman and Fuery watched as Hawkeye went to her desk, seating herself calmly behind it. The trio turned their eyes to Havoc, who forced that same grin. "You heard the boss," he said. "Get to work."

"I'm not going any farther."

Sciezca's announcement surprised Al, who stared at the young woman. "What do you mean?"

She stood up, gathering her bag and slipping it over her shoulder. "I can't run away from Central like this."

"Sciezca," Winry said, reaching out to their friend. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. "You know it's not safe back there."

Plastering a brave smile on her face, Sciezca nodded. "I do know. And I really appreciate that you and Doctor Rockbell took care of me, Winry." Her face fell. "But my Mom's in Central and I can't leave her there alone."

"Sciezca," Al said, touching her wrist.

She smiled down at him. "I'm really proud of you, Al. You got what you wanted." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Winry, you've been a great friend. But I've got to take care of my mother. She's all I've got in this world."

Winry got up to give Sciezca a long hug. "Take care of yourself. Be careful."

Biting her lip, Sciezca said, "You, too." She hugged Alphonse in turn. "Try to be good, okay? Don't do those crazy stunts any more."

"I'll try." Al kissed her cheek. "We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too." Tears formed in her eyes and Sciezca shook her head. "I've got to hurry if I'm going to make my train. You two be careful. I'll call you when I get to Central." She backed away from them, almost as if she was afraid they'd grab her and take her with them.

"If you see Mrs. Hughes and Elicia, tell them we said 'hi'," Al called, waving.

Sciezca nodded, her smile suddenly back in place and more determined. With a quick wave, she turned and disappeared off their train. Winry and Al watched as she ran across the platform, heading for the ticket counter.

Pressing her fingers against the glass, Winry whispered, "Be safe."

Alphonse tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. "What do you think is happening back in Central?"

Winry shrugged. "Granny would tell us, maybe."

They exchanged a long look. "Maybe," Al said, leaning his head against the windowpane.

The conductor shouted an "All aboard!" and people started moving to get onto the train. Winry leaned her chin into the palm of her hand, staring out at the platform where their friend had vanished.

Alphonse leaned over, patting her knee. "She'll be okay, Winry."

Her faint smile vanished almost as soon as he saw it. "I hope so, Al."

Pinako watched as Elicia ran around the fenced-in yard. The sun gleamed on the flowers in the garden, giving everything a golden glow.

"Pinako?" Gracia came out of the house, wrapping her sweater around her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

Sucking on her pipe thoughtfully, Pinako nodded at Elicia. "It doesn't seem very ago long that Winry and the boys were Elicia's age."

Gracia sat on the stoop next to her, tilting her face towards the sun. "Time seems to go by so fast. Did you know Edward and Alphonse were here for Elicia's birth?" She smiled at the memory, tucking her hair behind her ears. "They had their little friend with them, a girl named Nina." Her smile faded and Gracia watched her daughter chase after a butterfly. "Nina was about Elicia's age. Her father," Gracia's lips thinned. "Her father was a State Alchemist. He made chimeras, combining humans and animals." She passed a hand over her eyes. "He used Nina for one of his experiments."

"Damn," Pinako said quietly.

"Every day, I say a prayer for Nina's memory."

"I'll admit, I knew the boys were getting involved in a dangerous profession." Pinako shifted her position, hating that her joints creaked as she moved. "Their father, he disappeared years ago. The boys got their skills from Hohenheim. Even with as little as I know about alchemy, it seemed as if they'd be prodigies." She sighed. "Now, Ed's gone and Al's even more alone. Winry and I can't take Ed's place for him, any more than I was able to replace Winry's parents for her." She sucked on the pipe stem. "My son and his wife were killed in Ishbal. Doctors, doing what the military asked them do at least, until they decided to assist the Ishbalans, too."

"I'm sorry." Gracia laid her hand on Pinako's shoulder.

"It wasn't a good thing, losing them. Winry was so young and then the boys lost their mother soon after."

"So much pain," Gracia said, circling her knees with her arMiss

Changing the subject from the pain, Pinako said, "Colonel Mustang seems like a good man."

Gracia smiled fondly. "He and Maes were best friends. They were so different, probably why they were so close. Maes kept Roy involved in the world, as much as he could."

Elicia ran up then, tulips clutched in her fist. "Here, Mommy," she said, giving Gracia a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, darling." Gracia accepted the flowers and smoothed her daughter's hair back.

"Welcome." Elicia wriggled out of her mother's grasp. "Granny, when will Winry and Alphonse come back?"

"I don't know, Elicia," Pinako said truthfully. She gave the little girl a smile. "As soon as they can."

"I hope it's soon!" Elicia danced in place then ran off, her arms stretched out at her sides.

"Gracia." Pinako watched the little girl. "I appreciate everything you've done for my family."

"You feel like a part of my family." Gracia stretched her legs out in front of her. "Maes loved the boys and Winry." She smiled fondly at her memories. "He wanted to do more for the boys, really. He worried about them, probably more than the military would've allowed. When Edward was in the hospital, Maes went to see him every day."

"Winry talked about all of you when she came home," Pinako said. "She's very fond of you and Elicia."

Wiping her eyes, Gracia said, "Winry's a sweet girl." She waved a hand at Elicia. "You should be proud of her."

"I am." Pinako set the pipe on the stoop next to her. "I'm proud of all my kids." She patted Gracia's knee. "I want you to know that this decision has nothing to do with you, Gracia, but I think I should move to a hotel." She squeezed Gracia's knee lightly to keep her from speaking. "You know this could be dangerous, this inquiry. You know why I sent the kids away. I don't want anything to happen to you or Elicia." Pinako's mouth turned down. "I couldn't forgive myself if something did."

"Pinako," Gracia began, her forehead creasing.

"I've already taken a room at one of the hotels. I'll be staying there, starting tonight. Please, enough people have been hurt by whatever it is that's going on. I'm trying to keep you and your daughter safe."

Gracia lowered her head. "Thank you, Pinako, but you are welcome to stay."

Pinako patted her knee. "I knew you'd say that. You're a good girl, Gracia." Getting to her feet, she gathered up her pipe. "I've got to get my things together. A car's coming in a half hour."

"That's not much time," Gracia said, "for us to say goodbye."

"I know." Pinako pressed her hand on Gracia's shoulder affectionately. "Ed isn't the only one who hates goodbyes."

"You want me to head up a trial in regards to Colonel Mustang?" Frank Archer looked up from the paperwork he'd just been handed, not quite able to hide the smirk.

"It needs to be handled quickly," Fuhrer Bradley said, clasping his hands behind his back. "This…action besmirches military command. Keep it quiet, Colonel Archer, but I want you to be thorough."

Archer nodded, glancing over at the Fuhrer's aide. Lieutenant Douglas quietly made notes as they spoke. "How thorough, sir? Should I investigate his staff as well?"

Bradley rubbed his moustache, considering this. "No. Keep in mind that they will fall under your command if Colonel Mustang should be found guilty." He studied Archer. "Try not to alienate them."

Archer kept to himself that Mustang had brought his staff with him from Eastern Command. Their loyalty would not be easily swayed. The Fuhrer would know that, saying it out loud would accomplish nothing. "I'll do my best, sir."

Smiling, Bradley said, "I know you will, Colonel. That's why I'm asking you to head this up."

"Thank you, sir." Archer saluted. Leaving the office, he couldn't keep the smile from crossing his face. Clapping the file on his hand, he made his way back to the Investigations unit, opening the door and tossing the file on his desk. "Major Armstrong," he said, looking over at the large Alchemist. "I'd like you to gather together all the reports in regards to Colonel Mustang's command for the past six months."

Armstrong gazed at him impassively. "Yes, sir," he said, rising to his feet.

"The Fuhrer has asked for this investigation to be conducted with the utmost speed, Major. Everything in regards to it comes across my desk. Do not discuss any of this with anyone."

"Understood, sir," Armstrong said. He rose to his feet. "I'll get started immediately." He walked out of the office, his back stiff.

Archer sat down at his desk, opening the file. "It's too bad that Brigadier General Sherman isn't here. He's always wanted to snuff out the Flame Alchemist."

Albert Draken stepped off the train, curling his lip at the people bustling around him. With a supercilious sniff, he pressed a linen handkerchief to his upper lip. Adjusting his pence nez, he spotted the man he was seeking. Draken strolled across the depot platform, using his walking stick to effectively keep the commoners at bay. Pausing in front of the small, dark-haired man, he asked, "I assume you are Chasan?"

"Cashern, sir." That was accompanied by a polite inclination of his head and a touch of his cap. "The coach is waiting, Mr. Draken. I'll collect your luggage and meet you there."

"Thank you, Cashern." Draken spun his walking stick in an arcing circle. "I do hope this town has more to it than what I'm seeing here." Tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket, the auburn-haired man strolled out of the depot.

Cashern pulled a face, nodding at the retreating back of the dandy. "I hate that man," he said to the porters.