Vengeance
by Kellen
Summary, disclaimer and the like can be found on the first chapter.
A/N: Well, would you look at that. There is a plot here. And here I thought it was just going to be random shootings. And fryings. And maybe some BBQ. Sorry, Hughes fans; Maes is still sleeping. Poor guy needs his rest after what I've done to him, though. As always, I am willing and able to take concrit. Don't look for updates until after the first week of December; Kel's going on vacation.
Chapter Four
Riza Hawkeye had left the boarding house with every intention of tracking down her commanding officer and presenting him with the news of her attacker. She had been three blocks away when it dawned on her: she had no idea where they were. Oh, certainly she could make the rounds at the many hospitals and clinics in Central. When they'd arrived, Mustang had made sure she was squared away and asleep before moving on to see Hughes with Havoc. And, if they had pulled her out of Central barracks in the middle of the night, it stood to reason that Hughes wasn't at the base hospital. (She thought had heard murmuring while she was half-asleep; Mustang's voice she knew, talking about Hughes' predilection for making things difficult. He'd tried to wake her, she remembered that, and told her they'd be back well before morning. That they were going off base.)
Now it was almost dawn, and Riza was backtracking and looking for a way to the roof of the building across from the boarding house. The rain was still heavy, and the thunder and lightning still rolled in the heavy clouds. Riza shivered; her long coat was heavy with water and cold. She wished she'd remembered her hairclip; wet blonde strands of hair hung uncomfortably on her neck. She smiled grimly as she rounded the building and looked down the alley; there was a fire escape clinging to the side of the building. Turning, she gauged the distance from the broken third floor window in the boarding house across the street, and then turned back to the rickety fire escape. Five stories. Joy, she thought as she walked into the alley.
First things first. Getting to the escape. Like most of these contraptions, it was inaccessible from the ground. Riza frowned. Inaccessible, at least, to the less determined. Hands on her hips, she looked around and then nodded when her gaze fell on the pile of broken crates further down the alley. Rifling though them to find a couple that actually looked like they would hold if she stepped on them, she stacked them under the escape and carefully climbed onto them. She reached up, her fingers barely brushing the cold wet metal of the rusted stairs. Stretching, she wrapped her hand around the bottom rung and pulled. The escape groaned, but the ladder didn't swing down as it had been designed to do. Muttering a curse under her breath, Riza pulled again, this time throwing her full weight into it. Again, all the ladder did was creak and groan. The crates under her feet swayed and Riza let go of the ladder in time to jump off of her collapsing make-shift stepladder.
She sighed, restacked her crates a few feet to the left, climbed up again and reached for the balcony on the second story. Again, she could barely reach, and her fingers only brushed against the cold railing. Riza frowned, stretched, and finally hopped, grabbing the railing and pulling herself upward.
And was immensely glad no one was watching her ungainly climb onto the balcony. Never had she felt so graceless as her hands and feet slipped on the wet metal.
It wasn't long before she was on the roof of the building. She'd gone up the fire escape as quickly as she'd been able, mindful of being in plain sight. She crouched where her attacker likely had been, frowning. The sniper had to have known exactly where to look. She wouldn't have been seen from the street, and simply following her and Havoc to this building wouldn't have been enough to guarantee this prime a location.
Riza discounted sheer dumb luck, and even if it had been, someone wearing what looked suspiciously like a military uniform had shot at her, and Mustang had moved their lodgings from Central barracks to a nondescript boarding house.
"They had to have known exactly where I was," she whispered as the pieces started to fall into place. She may have been tired when Havoc checked them in, but she knew she hadn't seen anyone else in the lobby when the proprietor gave them their room numbers.
She shook her head. She needed to find the colonel. The old man who ran the inn could wait, and if he had truly ratted them out, she'd take care of the problem personally. Right now, she needed to talk to someone she could trust.
Biting back a curse – Mustang always knew how to get them into the most difficult situations – Hawkeye bounded down the fire escape, heading for the first pay phone she could find.
Gracia had insisted that the small pub was a safe place to discuss things. "Maes comes here," she'd said quietly as they ducked through the door. "He meets informants sometimes. The owner and staff are indebted."
Roy didn't ask why; if Gracia said Maes trusted the place, then he'd have to go along with it.
Hughes always did say Roy was too paranoid for his own good.
He, Havoc and Gracia had made their way to a secluded table in the back corner. By silent agreement, Mustang and Havoc sat to either side of Gracia, and Havoc had turned his chair slightly so his back wasn't completely to the door. The proprietor brought a hot pot of tea, and when Gracia expresses surprise that he knew her preference, he'd only smiled and told her that her husband was irrepressible at times.
Now, Gracia sat, shoulders hunched and fingers curled around her mug of tea, and avoiding Mustang's gaze. "It was a few days before the attack that we had an inkling of trouble. We didn't think a thing of it then," she said.
"Hindsight's clear sight," Havoc said sagely.
Mustang shot him a look. Havoc snapped his mouth shut and turned his attention back to the door.
Gracia hesitated for a moment, then decided to ignore the exchange. "There was a ruckus in one of the military prisons; one of the ones to the east of here. It didn't seem major, and it doesn't house the highest profile criminals."
Mustang nodded; he'd heard about it. It had caused a mess of paperwork. Technically, the prison was in his jurisdiction, but it was run by Central personnel. "There were three escapees. One was caught right away. Thanks to the chaos, it took a few days to figure out exactly who was gone." Roy steepled his fingers. "Seemed like a paperwork error, but one of the convicts should have been in a higher security facility. Jerome Kniffen, I believe. Former First Lieutenant, trained in stealth operations and an excellent sniper. His hand to hand skills are exemplary." Roy frowned; a barely recalled conversation tickled the edge of his memory. Maes spoke of Jerome a couple times.
Gracia nodded. "Maes caught him two years ago when Kniffen murdered three people."
Mustang's hands dropped to the table. "He did, didn't he? He was particularly upset the night he spoke with me."
Gracia's mouth quirked in a small smile. "He was. All his hard work and the military didn't say a word about it. Maes was so stiff and sore for weeks after that."
"Kniffen was the military's bastard child at the time. They didn't want the public to find out that their best operative was a murderer on the side." Mustang frowned; Maes would say his paranoia was in full swing, but the implications of the information unsettled him. At the time, Hughes had been somewhat upset because his superiors had stopped just short of reprimanding him for his capture of Kniffen.
Gracia's soft voice cut through his thoughts. "Roy, it was Kniffen who attacked Maes. I know you're thinking conspiracy theories, and I am to, but I know for certain that Jerome Kniffen tried to kill my husband."
"Who took Elysia?"
Gracia looked down, her hands tightening around the now cold mug. "I did some research. Those may be classified files, but I'm not without my own resources. Kniffen was never known to kidnap. He only murdered. And if this truly is part of a personal vendetta, wouldn't he just kill outright?" Her gaze swung upward and Mustang was momentarily stunned by the determination in her face. "I know Maes follows you for a reason, Colonel. I don't know what's going on, and I probably don't want to know exactly." The rest was left unspoken, but it was clear. Prove to me why Maes believes in you.
Roy Mustang had no intention of letting her down.
When Hawkeye arrived at the hospital, she was cold, wet, tired, and to say she was annoyed would have been a grievous understatement. Central was a big city, and aside from the military base hospital, there were only two other fairly large establishments. Visiting hours were a far cry from the middle of the night – Riza suspected, though, that it was only a few hours before dawn by now – but locked doors had never been a problem for her before.
She knew her way around hospitals. It wasn't something she was especially proud of; wartime and a dangerous job combined to make one more intimately familiar with medicine than wanted. Riza bypassed the lobby downstairs, and after only a couple wrong turns, found herself in a dim hallway next to a wide desk. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, Riza leaned over the counter and grabbed the roster sitting next to the phone. She ran her finger down the list of names, stopping and tapping the paper when she found Hughes listed.
It wasn't until she was outside Hughes' room door – only five down from the desk – that she realized those desks were nearly always manned.
She drew her gun, and quietly wrapped her other hand around the knob. She drew a breath and then quickly shoved the door open while bringing her weapon to bear. A meaty hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand upward, until the weapon pointed at the ceiling. With her other hand, she landed a punch solidly on her assailant's ribs.
He didn't flinch; instead, he laughed quietly. "You have a strong hit."
Riza relaxed. "Major Armstrong." She instinctively tried to salute, but the major still had her wrist trapped.
"Good to see you, Lieutenant." He let go of her wrist and Riza holstered the handgun, resisting the urge to rub her wrist. He turned away, turning on the lamp on the side table. Riza took the opportunity to flex her hand and rotate her wrist. By the time Armstrong turned back around, she stood at attention.
"What possessed you to come in here like that, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"
"The night clerk was gone, sir."
Armstrong smiled. "Very good thinking. Wholly unnecessary, but very good thinking. You do that uniform proud." He blinked. "Of course, you're not wearing your uniform."
Hawkeye nearly smiled; Armstrong, despite his tendency to be over-exuberant, really did put her at ease. "Have you seen Colonel Mustang, sir? I need to speak with him."
Armstrong shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. He and his subordinate – Havoc, is it? – left with Mrs. Hughes an hour ago. Is there something I can do for you?"
Hawkeye shook her head. "No, sir. It's the colonel I need to speak with."
Armstrong nodded sagely. "Of course. He should be back soon." He turned, placing himself at the foot of the bed and coming to attention. "In the meantime, join me in this illustrious guard duty."
Had anyone else said it, Hawkeye would have called it sarcasm. She turned to Hughes, offering the sleeping man a heartfelt "get well, sir" and resignedly joined Armstrong.
When the major noticed her coat was still dripping on the floor and that her hair was wet, he stripped her of her coat, ordered her to a chair and wrapped an extra blanket around her shoulders.
Hawkeye was never happier to follow orders.
TBC…
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I have beautiful reviewers.
omasuoniwanbanshi: I'm so glad you're enjoying the ride. Thanks for the tip; I'll keep an eye on characterization. This one's hard for me. I've never really struggled with keeping characters in-character before, and FMA is giving me fits. (But I'm having fun!)
Windlion: Thanks ever so! Trust me, I tried to keep these plot bunnies in check. There are plenty of things I should be doing besides writing FMA fic.
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And thanks 'specially to: random reader…, emina64, Rachel E.A., and Kizmet. Thanks for the wonderful reviews. Each one of them gave me warm fuzzies like you wouldn't believe.
And to Nekotsuki: Thanks for being wiling to beta, even though it turned into something completely different. blushes Yeah, I know. I'm scatterbrained during the best of times.
Oh, and misslady, you are a great friend. Thanks for being confident enough in yourself and in me to tell me all the stupid things I do (in regard to writing, anyway…)