Author's Note: First of all, I'd like to note that, for anyone who actually cares, I've revised my Author's Note in the first chapter, the part where I explain why there will be no RoyEd in this fic. I changed it, less because I was afraid of stepping on anybody's toes, but more because I realized (thanks to several people who pointed this out to me, especially YB Fan) that I wasn't expressing myself clearly. This is closer to what I actually meant to say about that issue.

Well, I felt like having a fun action chapter after the last few chapters that were mostly recaps of stuff we already know all about. I think where this came from was that I was thinking about various panels of the manga where Ed or Mustang are holding up a silver watch. The main one that came to mind was a scene where Ed throws down his watch on a table and it's covered with splotches of blood. That, in a roundabout way, led to this idea. Maybe it's cliché, but it was fun.

Timeline: Midseries

Theme 37: Silver watch

When Edward slouched into the office to report, he found Mustang pacing back and forth in front of his desk, looking frazzled and gesturing to thin air. "Seven years ago, our great nation..."

"Okay, what the heck is he on this time?" Edward demanded, turning to the others in the office. He had brushed past them a moment ago, too intent on the prospect of the report he'd have to make to pay much attention to them. Now he realized they were bustling about as well, everyone looking stressed.

Havoc was the one who finally answered, fumbling with the three medals he'd won in Ishbal. "The Colonel's giving a speech in front of the entire military in-" he glanced at the clock "-twenty minutes."

"Speech? What for?"

Hawkeye looked up from holstering her gun more securely about her waist, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why aren't you in uniform, Edward? Don't you know what day this is?"

"Huh?" Everyone spared a moment to roll their eyes as Edward looked at the calendar and let the date sink in. "Oh. Right. Yeah." Great, Remembrance Day. He usually tried to avoid coming back around that time, because there was only so much remembrance of the Ishbal War he could take. It was just easier to be gone during that whole week and avoid the tense feelings that always hung around the office, since three of its occupants were combat veterans. But this time, well...he hadn't really had a choice, had he?

Scowling, Edward stepped over the threshold into Mustang's office, ignoring Fury's murmur of, "I don't think you should..."

"Hey, I've come to give you my report, so the least you can do is notice me."

"Not now, Full Metal." Mustang didn't even look up, just kept pacing back and forth, apparently doing his utmost to keep from running his fingers through his carefully-combed hair. He looked weird without it falling all over the place. "Many good men lost their lives; I for one saw many young, promising lives-"

"Why does everyone have to snap at me?" Edward demanded, crossing his arms. "Doesn't anyone care at all that me n' Al barely escaped with our lives? Aren't you at least going to gloat that I couldn't capture those terrorists or figure out who they were trying to assassinate? Doesn't anybody care that they were gonna keep me as a hostage?"

"Full Metal, I don't have time-" He checked his pocket watch and cursed under his breath. "All right, I need to get down there before the crowds arrive."

He bustled around, barking out last-minute orders and completely ignoring Edward, then marched off. "Sheesh," Edward muttered once he had gone. "What's with him? I would've thought he'd love the attention; isn't he gonna have to get used to this kind of thing?"

"All eyes will be on him," Hawkeye said shortly, her hand flying once again to her pistol. "The people will remember this, and if he makes one mistake..."

Edward swallowed uncomfortably at the fierce look in her chestnut eyes. He decided to hurry up and fetch his uniform.

It was so hard not to fidget. Edward had never been through Basic Training, and Mustang thankfully never bothered with the whole formality thing when it was just the two of them (or he realized that Edward would never comply). Every other soldier assembled in the courtyard before Central Military Headquarters stood ramrod-straight, eyes fixed blankly forward, barely even moving to breathe. It was like standing in the middle of a crowd of marble statues.

Mustang climbed up to the podium, put down his notes, and looked out across the sea of blue (and the knot of reporters off to the side who were poised to take down every word he said). His gaze swept briefly over the front row where the State Alchemists who weren't off on a mission stood in a place of honor. Most of them were veterans as well; on Edward's right stood the mountain of muscle that was Major Armstrong. Edward felt distinctly out of place, even though he was wearing his uniform like everyone else (a rare sight indeed). A fleeting thought crossed his mind that he was very glad he was in the front row; at least he didn't have to crane his neck to see what was happening.

The solemn silence held for a few more moments, and Edward looked up at Mustang, realizing that he would look much the same if he ever achieved his goal of becoming Fuhrer. He would have a neat row of stars and a thick band of gold on his shoulders, of course, but other than that, Mustang already looked the part of a young, charismatic leader. He took a deep breath, and suddenly the deep voice Edward was so familiar with rang out across the courtyard. "Seven years ago, our great nation found itself in the grip of war. It was not the first time we took up arms to defend our country..."

Edward tuned him out. He really didn't like thinking about the Ishbal War if he could help it; after all, that was where Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell had died, and many men from Risenpool had lost their lives or been maimed forever. What Mustang was saying was probably important; knowing Mustang, he would keep a semblance of the official stance on the war, while subtly weaving in a thread of discontent and dissatisfaction with how the war had been carried out – a thread he would later pull into a tight noose around Bradley's neck. Mustang was just like that.

Surreptitiously, Edward shifted his weight to his left leg, remembering how his other foot had ached last time he'd been forced to stand out here for hours on end. He took a risk and turned his head ever so slightly to the left, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone else looked bored. Surely, they couldn't all be riveted by Mustang's speech. Or maybe they had completely tuned him out and were just staring blankly at him and letting their minds wander.

Then he noticed one soldier, five down and in the row behind him, who was also fidgeting ever so slightly. The man moved his arm as though trying to get something out of his pocket without anyone seeing; Edward turned his head a fraction farther, trying to make out the man's face. His mustache was so comically bushy it almost looked fake, but there was something about his eyes... Had they met before? Had they seen each other around Headquarters? Something niggled in the back of Edward's mind...

The man pulled the thing out of his pocket, and there was the tiniest, briefest flash of sun on metal. For an instant, Edward's mind froze in place as he recognized the shape of that item. Then he remembered.

Those eyes, pressed close against his own. The smell of cheap whiskey as a husky voice said, "Yep, it's him all right. He'll come willingly enough." A gun pressed warningly against his temple, the cold steel sending shivers down his spine as he wondered wildly what they were going to do with him, what they were after that would make them this desperate...

His breath caught in his chest as the gun lifted in the air, slowly enough that the soldiers who were staring at Mustang would never notice.

"Many good men lost their lives," Mustang was saying, not even looking in the right direction. "I for one-"

"NO!" Edward was already clapping his hands and throwing himself at the ground, but he realized as he transmuted a hand from the earth that wrapped around the disguised terrorist that he should have transmuted a wall instead. Should have encased Mustang in dirt, or made the podium grow taller, or something. Because a moment before fingers of packed dirt closed around the terrorist's entire body, a gunshot cracked through the air.

Even as the world exploded with soldiers trying to wrest the gun from the terrorist's grasp before he could shoot himself as well, Edward stood frozen to the spot. He whipped his head around as soon as he heard the gunshot, and saw Mustang fall. It seemed to take forever for him to tip backwards, mouth still open for the next line of his speech, and crash on his back on the ground behind the podium.

Then everything seemed to clump together in his head, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, and he was running, but then he was kneeling on the ground, and he was painfully aware of a pebble pressing against his right knee. Hawkeye was already at Mustang's other side, her face as white as a sheet and her gun forgotten. The men stood around them, looking in all directions for another attack. Even Falman, who as Edward understood had never been in real combat before, aimed his pistol at any likely hiding place, his hand not shaking a bit.

Everything zeroed in on Mustang, whose eyes and mouth were wide with surprise. He gave a strange, wheezing cough and didn't seem able to move. Hawkeye, who let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a groan, quickly moved to unbutton his jacket and the white shirt underneath. She peeked underneath, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Fearing what he would find, Edward leaned in and pulled the cloth away a little more. But to his surprise, he didn't find the blood he was expecting, nor the sight of Mustang's failing lungs as they collapsed. A silver watch lay on his chest, right over his heart, now dented in horribly with a bullet sitting in the center. Gingerly, Edward picked up the watch and saw a huge bruise rising on Mustang's skin, in the shape of the military insignia.

Mustang made another try at a winded, wheezing gasp and seemed to catch his breath again. With their help, he managed to sit up and carefully prod the bruise on his chest. Slowly, he looked between them both; Hawkeye looked as relieved as Edward felt. Somewhere off to the side, the struggle had died down and they were leading the culprit off for questioning. But all Edward cared about was that Mustang wasn't dead. He clutched the silver watch tightly in his hand.

"Well, Full Metal," Mustang said weakly, "I think I'll need to hear your report now."