Disclaimer: I do not own any of the main characters in this story. For the main part, they belong to Arakawa Hiromu, but the Roy look-alike belongs to the many fanfic writers out there who blatantly OOC him. Kindest regards to you all, and thank you for supplying me with a character

Chapter twelve: Death sentences, overpriced thoughts, and other worlds

The sound of his feet beating on the floor of Central Headquarters was more than enough to make Havoc feel as though he was not running fast enough. Damn Flame and his need to be watched! Damn his constant whinging all night! Damn his apparent need for alcohol! Damn the revelations that could just cost Havoc all happiness and job security he might have had! Just damn the creature!

He skidded around another corner, his arms pumping by his sides, and breath becoming ragged. Stupid alarm clock that he hadn't remembered to set the night before. It left him sound asleep when he needed to be presenting the best possible face. He could have sworn that he didn't get any sleep the night before, tossing and turning as he did, but it seemed that at one moment the sky was dark, and the next – after the merest blink of the eyes – it was seven forty-five, and he was already only fifteen minutes from being late for work. Fifteen minutes! It took that time alone to get to HQ, let alone get dressed and cram some food into his mouth – and make sure that the cause of all of this fuss was also ready, and in the car. Havoc did not want to know what having children was going to be like.

One last corner, and he could see the doors to the office. He leapt forwards and threw them open, just as he threw himself before Mustang's desk a moment later.

"I didn't touch a hair on her head! She's all yours! I didn't do anything, I promise!!" As his yells died down, he risked a glace up at Mustang's astonished face. "Please don't fire me . . ." That could have been taken two ways, and he didn't want to be fired in any sense of the phrase.

A silence echoed around the room, and Mustang's head seemed to flick towards Hawkeye, who was sitting behind her desk. Havoc risked a glimpse behind himself to see that the rest of the crew were watching in abject horror and fascination. What was going to happen to him?

"Don't be silly, Lieutenant Havoc. Stand up and get to work – you're twenty minutes late."

Shocked, he rose to his feet, and risked another blatant stare at Mustang. An amused smile was painted on his face, and there appeared to be no imminent danger of any harm to Havoc's person. That meant that . . . maybe Flame hadn't spoken to Mustang about his ideas, then. Havoc tottered over to his desk and sat down. Or Mustang was saving his punishment for later. But he seemed so light-hearted today, and yesterday he was so moody!

"Havoc . . ."

There it was – his death sentence. Now Mustang would choose to reveal that Havoc would be spending the next five years as a mere peon, working away any possible rumours there may have been of his ever laying hands on Hawkeye. It wasn't just because Mustang seemed to have a thing for that particular Lieutenant that Havoc was afraid, but also the confusing fact that at times he seemed to treat her like a younger sister. Havoc didn't know what was worse: the wrath of a protective brother, or of a lover. He also didn't want to find out like this.

"Havoc."

Mustang's voice didn't sound so calm this time. He was beginning to sound a little put out. Maybe it was best to answer him before he got too angry.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

"Where is Fla-?"

Flame strutted in through the doors that Havoc had left open in his panicked attempt to free himself from any guilt. His blatant self-assurance was painted on his face, and he entered the room as though he owned it.

"Never mind," Mustang said. He raised his voice for Flame's sake. "Flame, for the benefit of all, I believe it would do you some good to not make assumptions based on so little evidence. I believe that both Lieutenant Hawkeye and Lieutenant Havoc require apologies for the accusation placed against them."

Havoc gripped his desk. Then Mustang knew what Flame had said, and didn't believe it? Of course it wasn't true, but Havoc was so relieved that he sunk back in his chair. He hadn't wanted to be around if the case was that Mustang merely hadn't heard about them, and Flame suddenly decided to enlighten him.

"They what? You aren't going to just believe that nothing is happening?" Flame asked, his face dropping from its assurance into shock quickly.

"I have spoken with Lieutenant Hawkeye about the matter, and she assures me that nothing of the sort occurred," Mustang replied calmly. "Lieutenant Havoc himself has this morning verified that the claim was false."

So that was how Mustang was going to explain his, uh, outburst earlier. It did sound a lot better than saying 'Havoc grovelled at my feet in an attempt to persuade me he didn't sleep with my unofficial girlfriend.' It didn't make him sound half so desperate, for one.

"And you're going to believe the words of these two . . ? These two who were involved in the whole thing . . ? What about me! I saw it with my own two eyes-!"

"What," Hawkeye interrupted fiercely, "exactly, did you see with your 'own two eyes'? Other than the lies that you chose to tell the Colonel." Her eyes were narrowed dangerously. She may have been a woman, but Havoc was infinitely glad that he wasn't Flame at that moment.

Flame looked over at her. "Lies?" he questioned, grimacing distastefully. "Well what I did see was Havoc in your apartment, for starters."

"Then I take it that you also saw him enter about five minutes prior to that, wanting eggs for his breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" Flame asked sarcastically. "At noon?"

Now was the time for Havoc to put in his two cens worth. "Hey, when I sleep in, I sleep in. No matter when you wake up, the first thing you eat is breaking your fast, that's why it's called break-fast."

Flame gave him a sharp look. Maybe he shouldn't have spoken. "Yeah, alright," the man grumbled, and walked out. Walked out? He'd stopped arguing? Maybe his two cens were actually worth a bit more than he had thought. Maybe they were actually his five thousand cens . . . no, even he could see that that was pricing himself a little high.

"Flame, where are you going?" Mustang called out, not bothering to move from his desk. There was a faint call back of 'library', and Mustang nodded, sitting back in his chair.

"Hopefully that's over with," Hawkeye said, rolling her pen around in her hand. "Very well, then. Back to work with the rest of you." They all ducked their heads down, and focussed on the papers before them.

Breakfast at noon. Hah! Even when he had been out drinking, or with a date all night, Flame still managed to breakfast by ten o'clock, and then he went straight back to bed. None of this lollygagging around until twelve before so much as stirring.

The librarian looked at him warily as he entered, but he gave her a stunning smile and continued on to find a decent bookshelf. The faster he was out of here, the better – then they wouldn't be able to drag him into all of these messes. Just because he was right about this didn't mean that they in their high-and-mighty, we're-perfect-because-we're-from-the-good-world attitudes could just shut him down like that. They just stuck together because they knew each other. And, in his mind, that's exactly what Hawkeye and Havoc had just done: known each other, in every sense of the word.

Well. He had had the idea of stealing Hawkeye away from Havoc the day before, but now he didn't know if he could stand her, with all of those accusations she had been so bold as to throw at him. But she was just attractive enough that he might try it anyway. It would give him something to think about while he was stuck here – he had conveniently forgotten about the research he was supposed to be conducting.

So how was he supposed to seduce Hawkeye? What did she like in a guy? Well, obviously she liked a man in uniform, so he had that down-pat as long as he could make sure she didn't think he was utterly repellent. With a sigh for himself, he decided that he would have to make sure that she thought he was Mustang. Yes, he was doing this for Mustang's sake – he was! – but he couldn't slip up and be interesting, or she'd know him for himself and there would go all of his hard work.

She had seemed to fall for Havoc, so what was it about Havoc that attracted her to him? His height (maybe he could wear some tall shoes, or make sure he was always standing on a step above her)? His cigarettes (it might take an age for the bad effects of those to wear off, but he could give them a try)? His talent with guns (that might have been closer to it, but Flame with a gun would be enough to make the more talented sniper cry)? His lack of being able to get a proper girlfriend (that was something that Flame could not simulate, but maybe it wasn't quite accurate, since Havoc had managed to capture the attention of the Riza Hawkeye)?

Maybe the addiction was the best way to go, but Flame didn't want to spoil his body with some filthy drug-stick. He already had a lot of exposure to smoke, and that wasn't going to help him any more, health-wise. Maybe he could think of some other addiction. What did people often eat, drink, or do that was bad for them, but that acted like a magnet for the women? Something that wasn't too hard for him to pick up, and put down when he wanted to stop it. Something that at least felt good for the time-being, so he'd have a bit of fun along the way.

Alcohol.

He gasped out loud when he remembered that beautiful liquid. He had just been thinking about it seven paragraphs ago – blinking, he shut that thought out of his head. Paragraphs? – but he hadn't touched a drop in a week. Mustang may have stocked it, but while he was there, Flame had all the comfort he needed in being near the bottle, and hadn't actually needed to drink it. Of course, this was because Mustang had told him that he only bought a bottle once every few months, so Flame had felt the need to ration it out, and keep it until he became a little more desperate.

So Hawkeye liked addictions, eh? He could manage that. The only hard part would be to make her think that he was Mustang and not Flame. That would require some precision timing.

"Mustang, what are you doing in the library?"

Well, it appeared that someone had mistaken him for his mirror-image again. Who was it going to be this time, and what petty excuses would he be forced to make? He turned around calmly, but once he saw the person, his face lit up in an evil grin.

"Short-stick! What are you doing here?"

Limbs flailed about wildly, and Flame had to take a step back to avoid being decked in the face. "What! Who are you calling so short that they'd get lost in a patch of grass?"

The reaction almost made Flame take a step back in shock. After he had composed himself, a gasp of elation escaped his throat. "Finally! Someone who reacts the same way here as they do in my world!"

Fullmetal glared at him. "What, are you some sort of alien life-form, now? Why am I not surprised?"

"Shush, shush," Flame said, waving a hand in Fullmetal's direction. "I'm not the Colonel Mustang you know. I'm a different one, right, pipsqueak?"

"Pipsqueak?? I'll get you for that one, you know. Someday when you're sleeping, I'll get you . . ."

This was the way he was used to it with Fullmetal, and he was glad to find someone who hadn't changed. An insult here and there always went well in the conversation, and he knew that the most the boy would do to him was pull a prank on him. He'd never actually done anything serious before. Right?

"So where's your brother? He usually around here somewhere."

Eyes still glinting dangerously, Fullmetal gave him a glare. "Al's around here somewhere. He's looking for books on other worlds."

Flame thought that his eyes must have bulged out of their sockets. He had gone hours away to find an alchemist willing to look for how to get into other worlds for him, and now he found out that he could have just come to the Elrics! Why didn't he think of this earlier?

"Oth- . . . other worlds?"

"Yeah, we've decided that other worlds might hold the key to getting out of this whole mess. If there are other worlds, then there are sure to be other Als, and other Edwards, and at least one of them must have normal bodies, right? But I've always wondered how many worlds there are, and how to get to all of them."

"Fullmetal, if you find anything, come to me about it."

The boy looked at him suspiciously. Flame could see him trying to puzzle out the simple question that he voiced a moment later. "Why?"

There was a pause in which Flame considered what to say. How to show the boy – after all, this was Fullmetal. Fullmetal should be allowed to know. "Come to my office," he finally told the boy, before turning around and starting to walk away.

"What? Oh, fine. Just let me get Al first."

"Yeah, yeah."

Mustang looked up from his paperwork for a moment to allow his eyes a break. Today seemed to be going along a lot better than the previous one, and he was quite happy with himself for figuring out what was happening.

The others were working, but after a moment Havoc glanced up, and seeing Mustang looking at him, he put his pen down. "Sir, when were we meeting to discuss the, uh, custody arrangements for Flame?"

That's right, Havoc didn't want to have Flame, did he? Well, Mustang didn't blame him. "Tomorrow," he said. "Bring Flame to my apartment and the three of us will figure something out."