Chapter 23: And Apparently Doesn't Have Much Common Sense, Either

Author's Note: Gasp! Could this be an update?

Yes, yes it is. Sorry guys, truly I am. School has been unforgivably difficult this semester, and inspiration had fled from me like neurotransmitters released to cholinergic receptors. That is to say, quickly and deliberately.
However! With summer, new manga chapters and new one-shots, my creative fount has replenished itself.

And so I give you the newest chapter of AoS. Hope you enjoy.

"Did you really think you could hide, Packard? Did you really think the military couldn't trace your calls back here?" the dark-haired man called out, standing straight and proud as he snapped his fingers. A smirk crept onto his face as he observed the alarm on the mercenaries' faces, and the dance of flames and shadows painted his countenance into a yet more ominous expression. "I warned you not to underestimate me!"

A forceful hand unceremoniously pulled him down by the arm just as a bullet passed alarmingly close to where his shoulder had been.

"...I'd thank you to not provoke the terrorist, General," a voice next to him snapped sternly.

Roy Mustang made an innocent face at Breda, who hadn't spared his commander a glance even while saving his life. "I was trying to get him to show himself," he responded, a bit annoyed, and a rush of fire erupted from his hand.

"Frankly, sir, we could do without you getting shot in the process."

"…You're missing the point," Mustang managed as they dove for cover behind a shop. A dark eye peered in the direction of the large abandoned post office, where the mercenaries had hastily erected a four-foot wall using sandbags. It wasn't continuous or overly stable by any means, but it did the job of giving them cover quite effectively.

He sent out a surge of flames and listened for the pained yell before rolling behind a nearby trash can and speaking again. "If we want this to go anywhere, we have to provoke a direct confrontation. Otherwise it will take us all day to clear them out."

Havoc broke out from the lines and joined them, shooting his rifle almost blindly as he ran up next to Breda, where he took a few moments to catch his breath. Then, with a quick, snappy motion, he reloaded, aimed, and managed to obstruct the path of an unlucky fly with the passing force of his bullet, but otherwise inconvenienced no one else in particular.

"How're you holding up, General?" he asked politely as he shifted his balance onto the balls of his feet and redirected his aim to the center of a ruddy face with rather more facial hair than was strictly decent.

"Bored to death, but otherwise all right," Mustang answered, snapping his fingers at the same target and quickly leaning back out of sight.

"Breda?"

"I would be fine if someone could stop trying to catch bullets with their body. Seriously, I don't understand what Mustang's doing here in the first place - he's a Major General now, for God's sake, by all rights he should be getting fat and giving out orders from behind a desk -"

"'Promoted' is not a synonym for 'sedentary' or 'useless', lieutenant," Mustang interjected mildly. "And you may want to watch what you say, since last time I checked I still handled your paycheck."

"But not for much longer if you continue to gloat in front of rifles, sir," came the dry retort. "...With all due respect."

Havoc clapped a hand onto Breda's shoulder and rose from his crouch. "Sounds like you two are having fun. Have at it, sir, good to see you moving. Breda, keep looking out for the general, I'm going to go in."

"Like I wasn't doing that any - wait, what?"

Mustang's and Breda's heads shot up to look at their comrade in alarm as he reloaded and seemed to ready himself for a run.

"Lieutenant Havoc! What do you think you're doing?" Mustang yelled, still taking cover from behind the waste disposal.

Havoc chucked his helmet up and flashed them a shameless grin over his shoulder.

"Well like you said, General, we gotta get things moving."

"Havoc!"

No words can describe the heartfelt reunion of Riza and her gun. That was mostly because her face was as unreadable as ever while she glided her hand over the smooth, shiny metal, fingers neatly slipping into its familiar hold as she reloaded and thumbed the safety – and also no one was really paying attention. The three brutes who'd guarded the storage room had been taken by surprise with nothing but a straight flush, royal flush and a two of a kind in their hands (a pity they'd been playing go fish, really). Now they were lying on the floor unconscious, dead, and comatose respectively, and not in any condition to reflect on their own emotional state - much less Riza's.

In the meantime, Ward was contemplating the briefcase filled with money and trying to calculate in his head whether its contents were worth more than his salary. After a few moments of perusal, the final number almost glowing in the front of his mind's eye – he wondered how many pies Gracia would be willing to make for that amount – he decided becoming a ridiculously rich felon was not worth giving General Mustang the excuse to come after him.

"Come on." He turned to see the Major watching him semi-impatiently. "We should get going."

"Okay," he answered.

After a second of hesitation, he grabbed the briefcase.

It was his responsibility, after all. Better bring that back.

Because they had gone deeper inside the complex in order to retrieve Riza's gun, and Hawkeye had been more or less unconscious when she was brought in, Ward was the one leading them out. At first Hawkeye was hesitant – after all, Ward was not exactly equipped to handle any hostile forces coming round the corner. Not that that meant she was willing to hand him her pistol, but she had considered giving him one of the mercenaries' guns, before coming to the conclusion that arming an untrained civilian was tantamount to turning her back on an enemy and politely waiting for them to shoot.

…Riza would just have to be quick enough, that's all.

And so, for the sake of expediency (and both their safety), Ward was in front and unarmed while Riza followed closely behind.

As they neared this next door, they slowly began to hear shouts, and noises that sounded suspiciously like gunshots. Riza slowed, soldier's instincts telling her to survey the situation before progressing, and her common sense and sense of self-preservation telling her that no matter the consequences, running into a gunfight was pretty obviously a bad idea.

Ward, however, had no such instincts, and had probably left his common sense wherever his social cue dictionary was.

"This is it," he called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Had he had his way, Ward would have walked straight into a volley of bullets and probably been dead within seconds. Luckily for him, however, Hawkeye had seen his movements and quickly pulled him back by his collar, bruising his throat a little (though not nearly as much as Mustang had), but all in all it was probably just a bit less painful than having one's body be ravaged by bullets.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed into his ear, astounded by his recklessness.

He turned to her, and her eyes instinctively met his. Instead of the fright or shock she expected, however, his eyes only conveyed a bit of surprise – and then the line of his mouth slowly widened into what might be called a smile.

And yet, his smile was like a scratch across his face - thin, painful... and ultimately, not supposed to be there.

"I'm not used to having to dodge bullets," he said, a bit sheepishly, the small, strangely sincere smile still on his lips.

She was having none of it. The boy had nearly given her a heart attack.

"I suggest that for the time being you let me go first then, Mr. Ward. For both our sakes."

The door opened again, this time from the outside, with such tremendous force that the two of them were easily bowled over.

They toppled to the ground, squashed under the weight of something large and… and blond… that smelled strangely familiar, like…

Cigarette smoke…?

"Ah, Ward, Hawkeye," let out a dazed First Lieutenant Havoc. "Fancy seeing you two here."

"Lieutenant Havoc!" Hawkeye struggled from under him. Ward was in a similar situation but much more at peace with it, lying down motionlessly and silently trying to determine how many of his internal organs were intact.

"Oh," he rolled off the two and unsteadily rose to his feet, looking rather bedraggled and worse for wear.

"What's the situation?" Hawkeye asked sharply as she stood. Then she softened, "Are you all right?"

"I'm better than I look, I'm sure," the man answered wryly, patting dust and dirt off his legs. Then in reply to her first question he responded, "Mustang and the rest are outside, fighting Packard's men. I broke through the lines trying to get in here – lucky you two opened this door, I would have been toast otherwise." He assessed them with a brief look, eyes twinkling with a faint ironic smile. "I came to help you guys out… but looks to me like you don't need much rescuing after all."

"We were just on our way out, but the gesture's appreciated in any case," she smiled warmly.

"Well then, I'll join you." He slugged his rifle off his shoulder and looked at the door from which he came from. "Hope you don't mind if I put in my two cents, but in my professional opinion this way is not exactly the epitome of a safe escape route."

"I think finding a side door will be more conducive to our escape," Hawkeye agreed.

Click. "Oh, I don't know about that," a voice from behind said carelessly, and they turned as one to find a gun pointed in their direction.

Packard smiled at them amiably and continued, "I think you'll find that that one is blocked as well."

The woman picked up the phone. "Rockbell Automail, can I help you?"

"...Wow, Winry, you sound so... not you."

Her smile widened in delight. "Al!" she cried. A moment later, the blue eyes narrowed at the wall in front of her, "...Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Alphonse said hurriedly, and wisely moved on. "How are you?"

"Oh, same as usual. You know how it is." She breathed out slowly, and said carefully, "So I guess you're back from wherever it is you went?"

His voice was deeper than she remembered. "Yeah, I'm staying at Teacher's again."

She bit her lip, and her fingers played with the phone cord nervously. "So how... how's that going for you?"

"It's okay," he said nonchalantly. "How's Granny doing?"

Winry noticed the change in subject. "She's wondering when you're going to get your act together and come back home," she said irritably. "Otherwise she's fine."

"Oh," Al said only, and Winry instantly regretted being snappy with him. She knew he didn't mean to be enigmatic, and Al was the last person she wanted to alienate, especially as she hadn't heard from him in months.

And God only knew when he'd call again - Al meant well, really he did, and usually kept in touch fine... but he could get so caught up in whatever he was doing that he forgot about the world completely.

And between that and his going off and disappearing, then returning without even a decent explanation to satisfy those who worried back home -

...It reminded her of old times a bit too much.

"Sorry, Al," she apologized. "It's been a long day."

"It's okay," Alphonse replied , ever the sweetheart. (Really, she couldn't blame him for anything when he took her moods so well) He paused hesitantly. "I wanted to ask you something, but I can call back later if you're tired..."

"No!" she answered quickly, clutching the phone tight and pressing it close to her ear. "I'm fine. I'm great. What did you want?"

"It's not all that important, really. I can call back later."

She rolled her eyes at the wall. "Come on, you know you can tell me."

"Well..." Breath. "I..."

It's been a long time since she'd heard his voice be so uncertain. "Al, spit it out," she ordered, slightly concerned.

"I was just wondering if -"

At that moment, the dog nudged her leg with his cold nose, tail wagging and clearly wanting to be let outside.

"Jeeze Den, I let you out an hour ago," she hissed irritably at him, covering the mouthpiece. She returned the phone to her ear, making silent shooing gestures at the dog. "Sorry, Al, what was it?"

"...Have you ever heard Brother mention anything about a door or, say... a Gate?" Al asked casually.

Winry blinked.

"...No," she replied, "Can't say I have."

"Let's be reasonable here," Havoc said slowly. "No one needs to get hurt."

Packard laughed bitterly. "It's a little too late for that." The man strode closer, rifle steady in his hands. He glanced at Hawkeye and Ward. "I see you two managed to escape. Well, no harm done. I'm sure my men will come in and back me up any second now."

"I think they're a little busy," Havoc returned dryly. "I don't know where you got them, but these guys were so poorly trained it's almost a crime."

Packard scowled. "Even so, I still hold the upper hand. Move closer together, if you please. And you, Lieutenant, can drop that gun you're holding and kick it over to me."

Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged glances. Hawkeye nodded, and Havoc sighed reluctantly as he tossed his rifle to the ground and batted at it halfheartedly with his foot. They moved closer to Ward, and Hawkeye used the cover of Enkelbert's back to take out her pistol.

"Why are you doing this, Packard?" Hawkeye asked, stalling for time. "Why are you targeting General Mustang?"

"Think of me as an avenger for the crimes he committed fifteen years ago," Packard snapped. "They told me to make him sweat – as if I would let him off so easy. He will burn for what he did."

They? Havoc frowned, but then Ward spoke, looking confused, "Isn't fifteen years a long time? How can you remember what to be angry about?"

"Ward, shut up," Hawkeye hissed.

Havoc stepped forwards, hands aloft in the air and maintaining eye contact with the man holding the gun. "Packard, you can cut the bravado. I know you can't kill anyone."

Packard swung his gun in his direction. "Don't you underestimate me," he growled. "I-"

"Even in the explosion at the hospital," Havoc interjected, "the only people to die were old patients with weak hearts, and they weren't even in the part of the building you bombed. You're not a soldier, you're a doctor. Whatever grievance you have, it's not enough to make you kill."

"Don't tell me that! Don't you dare!" he cried furiously. "My Remy's dead! He killed her! And Holly…" Something changed in Packard's face – broke or snapped, they couldn't tell, but suddenly the cold terrorist in front of them became nothing more menacing than a grieving husband and father. "She… she wasn't even two!"

And despite everything, when confronted with this honest anguish Hawkeye couldn't help but feel for him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's not fair."

He turned his head and just looked at her, face contorted into an expression she feared to interpret. "My life is hell, Major. Do you know what it's like, to lose everything? To wake up every day and have no purpose, nothing to live for?"

Next to her Ward stiffened, almost imperceptibly, and took a small step back, his back colliding with the gun in Riza's hand.

"What are you doing?" Havoc muttered under her breath as he felt them jostle behind him.

Packard noticed the movement, and the wild brown eyes focused on the hapless secretary. "You know. You have the eyes – that's what it is. Whoever you really are, you know, don't you? You know what it's like."

Ward kept silent.

"But you're too young." He suddenly turned inexplicably furious, and his burly figure almost seemed to grow larger as he stepped forward. "Why do you have them? What could you have possibly lost? How can you have these eyes?!"

Something passed over Enkelbert's face, but then his expression became empty as usual, and he shrugged carelessly. "I think I was born with them."

Packard stared for a moment, then smiled humorlessly. "Then I will let you die with them, as well."

He raised his gun. Ward looked back blankly.

Havoc's eyes widened. "Wait, don't shoot -"

Bang.