Vengeance
Chapter Six
by Kellen
Summary, disclaimer, and other such pertinent information is on the first chapter.
A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger on the last chapter, y'all. I hope this chapter and this quick update makes up for it.
She would never admit it, but Riza Hawkeye was bored beyond measure. Major Armstrong had refused to let her from her chair and had, in lieu of a blanket, draped his own overcoat over her. She had merely raised an eyebrow and took it in good humor when the big man proclaimed that she, with her smaller stature, was prone to catching a chill, and he, with his Armstrong heritage, would make sure she stayed healthy. Ordinarily, Riza might have objected and found a way to keep busy, but Armstrong seemed nearly glad for the added responsibility of caring for her as well. Her lips quirked in a small smile; the major was a man who was always moving, and to be placed on guard duty certainly chafed at him.
So, Riza sat in the chair, nearly drowning under the major's coat. Her chin rested on her fist and she stared out the window, peering past the streaks of water that obscured her vision. It had only been a couple hours since she'd first burst into the room, looking like she'd been dredged up from the bottom of a river and assaulted the major. A sigh of relief escaped her when she sighted the car Havoc had procured round the corner and drive up to the door directly below her. She let her gaze travel away from the small roadway and across the dreary courtyard. She glanced up, at the clouds, and cursed the weather again.
Movement caught her eye. At first, she attributed it to the rain and wind that caused the small gray mass perched on the opposite roof to flutter. But Hawkeye was a suspicious woman by nature, and her feet were on the floor and she was intently watching through the window before conscious thought registered.
She saw pale flesh; a face peering downward in the rain.
Riza looked down. Mustang had rounded the car and was approaching the door while Havoc escorted Mrs. Hughes from the car.
Her gaze snapped upward as Mustang touched the door handle. A dark-gloved hand caressed, and then steadied a rifle barrel.
Riza stood, fear coursing through her veins. Her hands clenched and she brought both fists down on the window.
Havoc wasn't sure what sound alerted him first: glass shattering, a rifle report, or Mustang's cry. Ignoring instinct screaming for him to turn and look, he grabbed Gracia's arm and pulled her from the car. She gasped, and Havoc winced, knowing he wasn't being gentle as he shoved her down and pulled his own sidearm. He narrowed his eyes, looking intently, trying to find a target when he heard his name spoken. He jumped and leveled the weapon only to find his commanding officer in the line of fire. Mustang growled and Havoc shrugged, managing to look sheepish and scared at the same time. Havoc dropped his arm, the weapon pointing at the ground. His other arm still gripped Gracia's upper arm tightly as she kneeled next to him.
Gracia looked up, wide frightened eyes clearing as her gaze settled on Mustang. "Are you all right?"
Mustang blinked; he'd been about to ask her that very question. "Fine."
Gracia frowned. "You're bleeding."
Mustang grunted; he knew perfectly well his arm was bleeding.
"What now, Chief?"
Mustang shook his head, not looking at Havoc, but instead turning his gaze upward, not toward where the shot had come from, Havoc noted, but where the window shattered on the third floor. "We wait."
Armstrong pulled Hawkeye away from the window and before she could spare him a glance, had a gauntlet on one hand and his sidearm in the other. Riza crouched, cradling her bleeding hands for a moment before steeling herself and pulling her own weapon. She stood up, back to the wall and peered out the window.
"Lieutenant?" Armstrong's voice was deep and strong. He was standing as she was: beside the window, with his back to the wall.
"Yes, sir?" Hawkeye looked askance at him.
"That was stupid. Loyal, but stupid. Remind me to publicly berate you and privately sing your praises."
Hawkeye spared a glance for her cut hands. "Yes, sir."
Armstrong regarded her for a moment, and Hawkeye tried not to shrink back under his gaze. "The shot is yours, Hawkeye."
She didn't smile, but when she acknowledged him, her tone was full of a feral humor that had even Armstrong glad she was on his side. Hawkeye spun, bringing her weapon to bear, training on the gray mass she'd spotted earlier. Armstrong stepped in behind her, weapon level and ready. She fired three shots in rapid succession, each one burrowing deep into the gray overcoat on the opposite roof.
The coat fluttered, and a gust of wind caught it, sending it over the edge of the building. No trace of the sniper remained.
Hawkeye cursed.
"Keep an eye out," Armstrong advised. "Provide cover, should it be needed."
As soon as three shots echoed from above them, Mustang was moving. "Gracia, door. Havoc, cover." There was a moment where no one spoke or moved. "Now," Mustang hissed.
Gracia leapt for the door, and Havoc followed. Mustang stood, weapon ready, and came shoulder to shoulder with Havoc. Gracia fumbled for the door knob, sobbing in frustration when her shaking fingers slipped.
Another shot echoed in the courtyard. Havoc cried out, his gun dropping. He followed shortly after, Mustang dropping with him in a vain attempt to catch the man.
Gracia yanked the door open, stumbling backward and falling as a bullet embedded itself in the door just above her head.
"Havoc! Havoc!" Mustang shook the man's shoulder, but was rewarded only with a groan. Gracia lunged forward, away from the door. "Gracia! What the hell!" Mustang reached for her arm, but missed.
The small woman – a woman Mustang knew was smart and resourceful but never once had he imagined vindictive – grabbed the gun Havoc had dropped and had it aimed slightly up and to the right. She pulled the trigger and the rebound nearly threw the gun from her hands. Mustang hooked his hands under Havoc's shoulders and pulled him inside. Gracia followed, hands covering her ears as more shots rang outside.
Hawkeye watched, her anger rising sharply, as Havoc fell. It wasn't until she saw Gracia pick up Havoc's firearm and aim that Hawkeye found her target. "Major!"
"I see it," Armstrong replied.
There was movement on the bed behind him, and pale green eyes opened to the chorus of gunfire.
Gracia had closed the door as soon as they were all inside. Mustang knelt over Havoc, the heels of his hands pushing against a red-blossoming wound in the man's shoulder. Gracia set the gun down carefully and then lowered her face into her hands, her fingers squeezing her scalp. "Not now, Gracia," he said sharply. "I still need your help."
She shook her head.
"Gracia!"
She looked up at the shout, eyes wide.
"I still need your help," he said quietly.
She stared blankly for a moment, and thenblinked at him. "You yelled at me."
Mustang smirked, though there was no amusement behind the expression. "It's nothing compared to what Maes will do to me when he finds out what I just did."
Gracia smiled, but it wavered. "What do you need me to do?"
"First, make sure there're medics headed this way. Then, go upstairs and sit with Maes."
She nodded, smiled again, and ran off, corralling a doctor while still in Mustang's line of sight.
Mustang closed the door quietly behind him; Havoc was enduring all manner of medical torture in that room and he doubted the lieutenant would appreciate his commanding officer watching. The colonel went to rub his temples, but winced as the movement pulled at the wound in his arm. The bullet had pierced his upper arm, just under the shoulder. He shook his head; it was only thanks to the bad weather and the glass shattering above him that he was still alive. He never thought he'd be thanking the rain for having a part in saving him. He knew from experience, though, how difficult it was to aim in a storm.
He looked up at the sound of booted footsteps and tried his best to smooth his worried expression as he saw Hawkeye approaching. Her face mirrored his, he noted with dry amusement. Worried, but trying not to look it. He held up a hand, forestalling her question. "He's going to be fine."
She seemed to wilt. It was then that he realized she was running on anger and fear. "Hawkeye?"
She blinked, seeming to gather her wits about her. "Are you all right, sir?"
Mustang nodded. "Right as rain," he said dryly.
"With all due respect, sir," she returned, "then you are in need of attention."
"It can wait." He cocked his head, frowning, then reached out and caught her wrist. He raised an eyebrow as the gashes on her hand. "Other hand." She held it up without question. "You broke the window. You aren't even supposed to be here."
Hawkeye didn't say anything. She just watched him with a mild gaze.
"Lieutenant, why didn't you use something besides your hands to break the window?"
Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. "Major Hughes woke during the commotion, sir. He asked after you."
Mustang snagged a roll of bandages and a pitcher of water from a nearby cart. "Let's not keep the Major waiting then, shall we, Hawkeye." He walked past her. "And I expect you to protect me from him; I doubt he's going to be happy with me."
Riza sighed, and turned to follow him, hands held close to her chest.
"And I'm not letting you out of my sight until your hands are taken care of, got that, Lieutenant?"
She tried not to smile.
TBC…
See? I'm not all bad. This isn't a cliffhanger.
Next chapter: Major Hughes interrogates Mustang. Mustang interrogates Hawkeye. And Kniffen – poor sod has the worst luck – falls back on Plan C.