Chapter 11: In Which Roy Isn't Sentimental, And Kicks Someone Several Times

Author's Note: Hey, I'm baaaack. Sorry it took so long, but I was out of the country for a month, and I couldn't even respond to your reviews...

Before we begin, I have a certain matter I feel is rather necessary to address. First of all, I would like to turn your attention to the upper left corner of the screen, right next to 'Fiction Rated: T' and 'English' (I'm hoping it's says English. If not, then... well, I wonder how you're reading this...). It should say 'General/Angst'.

Next, I would like you to look one line above it, where it says 'author: rockpaperscissor'.

Now, I don't mind it at all when people tell me, 'OMG! You killed off so-and-so! (cries)', or 'Bring back X! It's not the same without him!' - just the opposite, I love it, because that way I know you guys actually care about this story and what happens in it. However, I've had a couple of reviewers telling me that this is too much angst - one reviewer even said that the last chapter was ' pretty pointless'. I realize this wasn't said in spite. Still, I would first like to say that this is an angsty fic - so yes, there is going to be angst. I even did the courtesy of putting up angst as one of the genres. It's not all going to be angst - as much as I love it, I don't mean to overdo it, and some humor always seems to pop up somehow in spite of myself - but there SHALL be angst.

Secondly, I do not put up 'pointless' chapters. If there is filler crap that needs to be glossed over or a chapter which isn't particularly well written, I warn you beforehand, or apologize later. And I hope most of you will agree that the last chapter was not pointless.

Also...

I don't hate Russel! In fact, I think that the last scene with him in FMA was positively adorable. Before then, he used to annoy me, but I didn't realize how good a friend he was. To tell the truth, I only decided to 'kill' him about two minutes before I uploaded the chapter... it was a spur of the moment thing, and fit in with what I wanted. I'm sorry that he died (and I know the way he died was a bit grisly T.T), but it was either a fic with him dead, or without him at all...

Maybe that's a poor excuse for consolation, but oh well. This is Array of Sacrifice, after all.

Speaking of which - 42 people have Array of Sacrifice on alert, and 25 on favorites!

(does math in head)

Hmmm... that means at least 25 people owe me reviews... (hint hint)

By the way, Sachi-chan... you hit the nail right on the head.

"This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose."

- Shakespeare, Sonnet 64

Roy whistled a merry tune, clasping his hands behind his back as he serenely ambled down the narrow street. Major Hawkeye had been surprisingly nervous and keen on parting from him after she had hesitantly agreed to his little proposal, and he had only had to endure the 'bodyguards' (Farman and Fury, which made the term a joke) for a week before she'd finally conceded that no further attack seemed to be imminent, and the gesture useless. Mission accomplished.

Of course, she was quick to revert back to her old self, which was rather disappointing.

But still. A victory.

Should have thought of that before, he mused to himself. It was useful knowledge. "But who could've known a simple date could shut that woman up?"

The expression on his face became comically alarmed when he realized he'd said that aloud, and he instantly scanned the area for anyone who might report him to a certain trigger-happy blond – not to mention the blond herself, who had the uncanny tendency to appear next to him anytime it was inconvenient.

…

Nope. Lady Luck was good today...

Still, he thought amiably as he continued on his way, returning to indulge in his pleasant thoughts, I'm rather looking forward to continuing this. It had been an enjoyable little lunch, devoid of threats (well, serious ones at least), curses or acts of violence from either party, and would hopefully be the prelude to many more such occasions.

He began envisioning the next escapade with the Major: a romantic dinner, a walk in the moonlight, with perhaps a little expression of affection – like they say, 'a kiss would not be remiss'.

Not by any means.

Although even Roy Mustang, womanizer extraordinaire, had to admit that his fantasies were more than a tad far-fetched and improbable, (the woman in question being rather annoyingly practical and sensible) the simple act of imagining their time together was a much more agreeable pastime than he'd previously thought it to be - and he had had high expectations to begin with.

Ah, Hawkeye…

With his thoughts thus pleasantly occupied, Roy didn't notice as his errant feet led him in the direction opposite to that of his luxurious two-level quarters, or at least not until he was well away from the military command center of Xenotime and in the more suburban, ghetto region of the city.

Great. Rolling his eyes at his own antics, he made a large u-turn as he headed back – for some reason, Roy had always hated turning on his heels and going the other way so abruptly. He supposed it was because it somehow made him feel as if he'd just wasted a whole lot of time, while going back the long way let him pretend that the detour had been of his own design.

Perhaps it was more than a bit childish, but he didn't like the prospect of wasted time. Roy was like that – at first glance, you'd think the man was a relaxed, laid back kind of guy, and yet his officers knew very well how he detested waste and inefficiency. That was probably why he'd so often assigned others tasks he could have probably done by himself. It wasn't really laziness, per se, but rather a stubborn reluctance to waste his precious time on insignificances.

…That it happened to also inconvenience and irritate his subordinates was only a minor boon.

As well as the satisfying fact that with the exception of Riza there had only been one person who would do anything about it, which only meant that occasionally Mustang would have had to endure some very vocal protests and screaming tantrums which ranged from the irrational to sometimes very on-the-mark complaints. The others only sighed, muttered under their breaths, and accepted it as a fact of life - which meant Mustang could get away with practically anything.

Then again, they had been considerably older and lower in rank than the twerp.

He tugged his jacket closer about him. Really, Roy didn't know what had come over him lately. What between the Tringham case and Riza and those nonsensical dreams (complete with rabbits and card games or what not), it seemed as if the whole world was trying to rub Edward Elric's death in his face, again.

And he was getting tired of it, as well as rather peeved.

It wasn't as if Roy was a sentimental or whimsical person by any account – his reputation and public image (as well as private) had been carefully cultivated to indicate otherwise, and whatever flights of fancy passed over him he made sure to greet, smile at, and send merrily on their way. Mustang had a goal, and he'd be damned if after everything he'd been through he would let anything get to him. He wasn't a naive green cadet anymore.

But for some reason, Russel Tringham's death seemed to trigger in him an uneasiness, a sort of familiar agitation which he'd usually only associated with Fullmetal and the trouble the latter courted.

It was a bit perturbing. Hell, it was almost like he expected the Fullmetal brat to pop out of a corner and say boo.

The wind blew sternly on his back, causing him to shiver once before he could help it, and then rain started dripping from the sky like ribbons of icy, sludgy blood from an open gut wound. He took off his useless gloves and rubbed his hands vigorously, cursing his weakness all the while. Once, he wouldn't have noticed such trivialities.

There weren't very many people out now, he noted, the bulk of them wisely choosing to stay out of the ugly weather. Eventually, Roy didn't see anyone walking at all. The few hidden stars and the streetlights softly illuminated the pavement with a cold light, concealing flaws and softening harsh edges. The city seemed surreal, almost fantastical. Later, he would be surprised that he'd even been able to notice that someone had been there at all, let alone that they had lain crumpled in the shadows and might have possibly needed help.

But he did, and as he came closer details only became more pronounced.

The body lay limp on top of the cracked and worn blocks of concrete, clad in a strange, sort of heavy rumpled coat with a hood that hid the head from Roy's eyes. There was a bench only a few meters away from its outstretched hand, and the General guessed that whoever it was had attempted to reach it before they'd passed out.

The obvious conclusion was that someone had had more than a couple of drinks, but there was something strange about the scene that unsettled Roy more than he liked to admit.

So like the good, upstanding soldier that he was, he kicked the poor bugger. Hard.

"Hey, er…you. Get up."

…

…

Nothing.

He kicked a second time. Harder. "You'll get sick, idiot."

The other didn't move. He must really be out of it.

Third time's the charm, but he supposed there should be a limit to how unethical and sadistic one could be in the rain. It wasn't the other's fault that he couldn't use his gloves, after all.

Mustang sighed and crouched down to sit back on his heels. He gingerly poked the coat with a bare finger, inwardly reviling the touch.

Not that Roy had anything against drinking – dear God, no. But he'd always viewed those unable to hold their alcohol in public with contempt.

It was one thing getting drunk - it was quite another to let strangers see you do so.

But still, contempt was no reason to let someone snuff it in the rain, of all things.

He poked some more.

"Come on, don't tell me you're sleeping-"

Rrrrip.

The general stiffened as his hand went through the cloth as if it was made of flimsy spiderwebs. He quickly took it back, and found it to be dripping something strange and dark – much too dark to be from the rain, and it didn't seem like alcohol.

Yet it wasn't until he rubbed his fingers together that Roy finally recognized the familiar thick texture.

Blood.

"General, you knew it was only a onetime incident," she said suddenly.

"I hope you're not referring to our date."

She didn't bat an eyelash. "It was a professional outing, sir. And I was speaking of the Tringham case."

"…Were you now?" 'Professional outing'?

"How did you know that the killer would stop? That they wouldn't murder more people for alchemy?"

"Because I am incredibly intelligent and brilliant." He paused. "And dashing. Yes. Dashing."

She frowned at him, and he sighed and gave in - just this once - letting his playful features change into something more serious and sober.

"Because, Hawkeye, whatever they tried to accomplish with that array…succeeded."

A/N: And there it is. By the way, I've corrected, fixed and revised all the earlier chapters, except for the prologue. So you guys might want to go back and read them over - they should be better than before.

Oh, I almost forgot... AOS actually has a Major Plot - capital letters and all. Now, if only I knew how to get there, I'd be one happy, happy writer...

And, er... I'm sorry about the rant up there. I was just a little hurt with the comments some people made. I realize most of you didn't deserve it, and apologize for it.

Thanks to everyone who did review. I cherish your thoughts and comments, and am looking forward to seeing more of you.