Hawkeye came awake to the sound of a man muttering, which confused her. Hadn't Mustang gone home? She froze when she recognised the voice as Jonathans'. Cracking open one eye, she took in the tray of needles and inks at the same time she registered that she was half naked, the blanket rough against her stomach.
A shiver ran down her spine as she realised what he planned to do. Slowly, she slid her hand under her pillow, her fingers gently inching forward, hoping that her salvation would be there. The Lieutenant hid a smile as her fingers found the comforting leather grip of her favourite pistol.
She lay there, pistol in hand, waiting for him to come back into her field of vision. It took all her willpower to stay still when she felt his hands run softly over her back as if he were seducing a lover. Finally, he moved around the bed to stand in front of the tray.
Hawkeye fired without taking the time to aim, rolled off the bed and ran. She ran out of her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She ran through the kitchen, knocking chairs over behind her in an attempt to impede his pursuit. She grabbed a jumper from over the back of her chair and fired behind her again. A shout of pain told her she'd hit, but she didn't hang around to see where. She could only hope it was enough to slow him down.
She ran down the stairs, hoping the noise had begun to raise the alarm for her. Hawkeye pushed her way through the front doors, holding the jumper to her chest – there was no way she was running around outside half naked.
Looking desperately up and down the street for someone, anyone, who could help, her heart soared as she recognised the dark haired man getting out of a car on the other side of the street. Barely taking a moment to make sure she wouldn't get run over, she ran to him. To safety.
"Sir! It's Eastwood! He's not at Command! He's here – he was waiting for me, sir, and now he's chasing me but I think I hit him at least once."
Roy put his hands on her shoulders, suddenly painfully aware that she was topless.
"Lieutenant! Calm down!" he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders just as Hughes' men started arriving.
The officers fanned out in a semi-circle around Hawkeyes' front door with guns in hands, as Eastwood came stumbling out. Mustang shoved Hawkeye behind him into the backseat of his car and slipped on the ignition glove he kept in his glove box. He relaxed slightly as he took in the large bloodstain spreading across the front of the slimeballs' shirt. Gut shot. He'll be lucky to get across the road, never mind attack anyone. She hit him alright.
"Well if it isn't the Golden Boy! I can see why you like here so much Roy. She's just gorgeous." Eastwoods voice was high and weak, yet Mustang heard every word. He held up a notebook. "I got what was left of the research. There wasn't much left – you really were thorough . . ."
Eastwood collapsed on the steps and was swarmed by Hughes' men.
"Sir? Did I kill Jonathan?"