Next Day

Bradley was alone in his study in the residential section of the Fuhrer's Palace.

"Mustang disobeyed me!" he said, trembling in barely controlled rage.

"I'm informed that it was a lack of adequate control over his alchemy," said the voice from the shadows, with an undertone of haughty amusement.

"Surely you don't believe that?"

"Of course not. But according to my sources, the Flame Alchemist does not appear to have wanted to thwart you. And at least he made an excuse. More to the point, Wrath, is why he felt compelled to kill the Ishvalan in the first place. Clearly, he was more afraid of what the man might have revealed than of insubordination."

"That I know. He made up some story of engaging a group of Ishvalans that he claims were burned with the tent. But we saw when the fire was started and I inspected the grounds. It didn't burn hot enough or long enough to have completely consumed all human remains. And there were none. I would have seen them with my eye. The Ishvalan would have revealed that he was the only one."

"Does Envy confirm this?"

"Envy mentioned that there were others in the area, but he only drove the one he was playing with to Mustang and the woman is dead. We don't know where the baby is. It was last seen being carried by Havoc towards the tent."

"Then you should have found those remains at least."

"Mustang's story is that he was engaging a group of Ishvalan warriors. The whole operation was clearly planned to further his ambitions. Perhaps he thought it would not be as impressive to present one injured Ishvalan man and the remains of a child."

"What was he doing with the child in the first place? Why not leave it where it was in the shelter?"

Wrath shrugged. "I have noticed that humans are sometimes sentimental, especially about the young."

"I have noticed that as well," said Pride, with remembered annoyance. "So what do you plan to do about Mustang?"


When Jean woke up, the pounding in his head was tempered by the heavenly smell of coffee from the kitchenette. Coffee?

He sat up suddenly in bed, which was a bad idea because the headache got ten times worse and was now joined by nausea. He managed to get to the bathroom in time.

Stomach emptied, only the pounding headache remained. And by that time, he had a clue as to who had fixed the coffee. Breda must have been as wasted as him and stayed the night.

He took a couple of aspirin and staggered over to the kitchenette.

"Morning, Hav," said Breda, just as two pieces of toast popped up in the toaster. He put them on a plate without bothering to put anything on them and set them on the table, together with a cup of coffee. "You look like shit."

Jean sat at the table, bleary-eyed. "Why don't you?" he grumbled and took a bite of the dry toast and a swig of the black coffee.

Breda patted his stomach. "More mass to absorb the booze," he said. Then he realized he didn't want to lie to Hav.

"I let you have most of the bottle," he admitted. "Wanted to loosen you up to find out what yesterday was all about."

Jean had a feeling he should be mad at that, but he felt too awful to handle any violent emotions at the moment. "That was low," was all he could manage. Then, "Thanks for the coffee and the toast."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but it's part of what I do. If you want to deck me when you're feeling better, I won't stop you."

Jean was remembering something and turned to look at the sofa and the coffee table. Oh gods, the chess set was out.

Breda followed where Hav was looking. "You're not stupid," he said. "And you don't need to play chess to prove it."

Jean drained his cup and held it up to refill. "Just coffee this time, Breda, okay?"

"Manny," Breda corrected. "Manny is fine. And you don't have anything but coffee left around here. After you passed out last night, I looked."

Jean grinned. The aspirin must have been taking effect, because it wasn't too painful. "Serves you right," he said.


Havoc actually wandered into the office a little earlier than usual, but only because he hadn't spent his usual half hour at the range first. Hawkeye, Falman and Fuery were already there. He went straight for coffee.

Roy came in just a little bit later, almost a full hour earlier than usual.

Falman was so startled he blurted out, "Are you all right, sir?"

"I think so, Warrant Officer," Roy answered with a slight smile, then looked at the clock on the wall. "Although you've probably never seen me here this early. When does Second Lieutenant Breda usually get in?"

"Another half hour, sir," said Fuery. "The conference room is ready whenever you need it."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Roy said. He looked carefully at the young man. He seemed somber, but all right.

Everyone was quiet and looking toward him, expectantly. "Well, that's it. Don't you have something to do until Breda gets in?" he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

"Hey, Lt Colonel, I can hear you fine," complained Havoc. "Do you have to talk so loud?"

Fuery frowned, puzzled. "He's not talking - ." Falman smiled and shook his head at him, so that he broke off and went back to work, checking some of the equipment on his table.

Falman picked up some filing to do. Havoc sat and stared at the top memo he'd taken from his inbox, to make it look like he was doing something. Hawkeye was sorting through paperwork, much louder than Havoc thought was strictly necessary. Mustang picked up something to read.

After a while, Breda walked in, tea in one hand, briefcase and bag of donuts in the other. He stopped just inside the door when he saw Mustang and looked over at the clock on the wall. "What are y - ," he started.

"I'm early," said Roy, exasperated. "I assure you, I haven't been replaced by an exact duplicate. Let's - "

There was a loud knock on the door and it opened suddenly, hitting Breda and knocking the cup of tea and the briefcase out of his hands. Somehow, he managed to keep hold of the sack of donuts, but the cup shattered and tea spread out over the floor.

"Lt Colonel Mustang," boomed a deep manly voice, whose owner then seemed to notice the destruction he'd caused.

Havoc laughed, but only weakly, being otherwise in too much pain from all the loud noise.

The major, who must have been at least two feet taller than Breda, but even more impressively, twice as wide, leaned over the mess and drew a circle on the floor where the cup had broken. He activated the array and the shards of the cup flew back together and the tea gathered itself back into the cup. "Forgive me, second lieutenant," he said, handing the cup back to Breda.

Breda looked up at the alchemist, then down at the cup. He'd seen very little alchemy in his life and it still seemed almost like magic to him. "Thank you, sir," he said. Then he took a sip of the tea.

Falman looked away, Fuery covered his mouth, Hawkeye rolled her eyes and Roy smirked.

"What?" said Breda nonchalantly, gathering up his briefcase and walking over to his table between Havoc and Fuery. "The good major fixed it."

"You are gross, man," Havoc said quietly when Breda got there. He grabbed the sack from Breda's hand and took out a donut. All he'd had for breakfast had been the dry toast and he was recovered enough now to be hungry.

"You must be Major Armstrong," said Roy. "You work for Major Hughes. He's told me a lot about you."

"Yes, sir," Armstrong said, and saluted.

Roy returned the salute quickly, annoyed. "Go on," he said.

"The Major has asked me to give you these documents about his honeymoon plans and get your input," he said, handing him a manila envelope.

For a moment, the office was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Not the usual reaction to those subjected to the endless details of the Hughes' nuptials. Roy looked at Hawkeye then at Armstrong. "He sent you all the way from Central for this? This had better be good," he said, taking up the more normal annoyed tone.

Hawkeye got up and looked over the others while Roy peered into the envelope. "I didn't realize you were so interested in Major Hughes' honeymoon. Perhaps you would like me to volunteer you to help out?"

"Oh, man," said Breda. "That just sounded sooo wrong."

Hawkeye wacked him with an interoffice memo.

"It is good," Armstrong assured him. "I will be back later this afternoon to take back the package and collect your comments. Sir!"

He saluted again and this time Roy rose when he returned it.

When Armstrong had left, he waved the others towards the conference room, but instead of following them right away, just sat back down at the desk and rested his head for a moment on his folded arms. Hawkeye also stayed back. She went over and put a hand on his shoulder. He sighed and lifted his head part way, looking up at her.

"It worked," he said, very softly.

She nodded.

Then he got up and they both went into the conference room.