Each of us is born with a box of
matches inside us but we can't
strike them all by ourselves.
– Laura Esquivel
Where Eagles Dare, Part 2
The wind began again, shaking snow from the trees, lashing their faces with abandon. Hiei maintained the heat churning beneath his skin, warming his companion while forming a path for the enemy to follow. Kurama didn't complain about the water seeping into his cracked boots, mind running through various scenarios again and again. If their pursuer was the type he thought he was, the man with the gloves would be here soon, following the obvious trail–
No good commander would send his men into a trap.
"Are you done scheming?"
Kurama bit back a smile, though the fire apparition couldn't see it. "You're not concerned?"
Hiei straightened his shoulders, reply nearly lost to the gale. "If they are foolish enough to be caught, they deserve to die."
An empty barb, meaningless in this wasteland. If he truly believed Yusuke and Kuwabara could not handle themselves, Hiei would never have agreed to separate. As things stood, if he came after them, their companions had a decent chance of escaping, the hope of safety–
A chance to begin searching for Yukina.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Our only chance is if the man with the gloves follows us. In our current state, the only one who can stand against him is–"
Kurama stilled as a wave of nausea hit, hand flying to his mouth. Still, despite his best efforts the seeds in his hair shivered, shifted in his sleeves, ready to rise and defend. Kurama bit back bile, willing the instinct away, the call ebbing what bit of his power remained.
When the world righted again, Hiei stood facing him, frowning.
"I'm all right." He knew his friend wouldn't believe the lie, would smell it even as it left his lips. That didn't matter, not as long as they both performed well. "Do not hold back because he is human. If what Kuwabara says is true . . . he is a formidable opponent."
A snort. "Power is worthless to a dead man."
"Don't take him lightly." A steadying breath, a hand pressing at his stomach. Kurama did his best to hide the pain, the claws tearing at tender meat. "I need you to do something for me."
Hiei waited, trying and failing to gauge his thoughts.
"If things don't go our way, you must run."
A spark lit his eye and died just as quickly, brow furrowing. "You expect me to flee like a coward?"
"As it stands now, you and Kuwabara are the only ones who can save Yukina. Yusuke has retained some of his power though how much that will help here, I cannot say." The spell passed and Kurama's arm fell; he forced himself to meet that crimson gaze. "They intend to take us alive though if Yusuke and I are captured, it is of no consequence. You still have your flames and speed while Kuwabara can sense which of the humans are dangerous: compared to that, the two of us are expendable. I'm sure Yusuke has come to the same conclusion and will protect Kuwabara at all costs – all I'm asking is that you allow me to do the same."
"I don't need your protection." The word fell distastefully from his tongue. "Or your pity. You should be formulating a plan, not wasting time worrying over me."
"But Hiei–"
"If your next words aren't explaining a strategy, I'll cut your tongue out of your head."
A small smile, one he in no way felt. "The plan is simple: you will fight the man with the gloves, and I will take care of any companions accompanying him."
The fire apparition set his jaw only to hesitate, gaze narrowing. "You are in no condition to fight.
"There are many ways to win a battle, my friend. Fighting is only one."
Still those eyes remained distrusting, hand drifting to his sword – a comforting mechanism leftover from childhood.
"One last thing." He paused when Kurama spoke, snow already a steaming puddle at their feet. "If we find ourselves in the worst-case scenario – if we are captured – I need you to do one thing."
Hiei raised a brow, waiting.
"No matter what they do or say, you must remain silent. Even if they resort to torture or promise to return us home, do not say a word." Silently rehearsing written words, pictures of hungry children with red eyes:
He hadn't bet on human nature in quite some time.
"Our lives may depend on your silence."
Mustang grimaced at the chill overtaking him, the boots designed to keep the wet out but not the cold; he'd had no intention of trekking through the woods while dressing for work that morning, Beneath the uniform jacket he wore only a simple undershirt – nothing lay beneath the trousers. Wool socks fought admirably against slush but it was a losing battle: already winter licked his knees and thighs, chapping skin beneath official blue.
Thin as they were, he was thankful for the gloves on his hands.
Hawkeye halted and he stopped beside her, noting the set jaw, slender fingers gripping the pistol at her hip. Though he saw nor heard a thing, Mustang knew to trust his Lieutenant's judgment, her intuition not unlike the rumored sixth sense:
She was not called the Hawk's Eye for nothing.
Still, she allowed him to take the lead, noting the eerie quiet, instincts screaming danger without identifying the source. Fingers ready within his coat pocket, he stopped before an oddity – a circular melt deviating from the path. The other set of tracks faltered though he saw no sign of tree roots or other obstacles, nothing a man could trip over.
Fatigue? Sickness?
Were they fighting among themselves?
Watchful as ever, Hawkeye knelt beside the puddle, testing the water with her left hand. "Lukewarm." She murmured, drawing her weapon as she rose. "They're close."
A nod and he withdrew his hands, voice low. "Remember, we want them alive."
Hawkeye nodded in turn, lifting the pistol to her shoulder as they continued on. The slush grew warmer still, tendrils of steam rising from the winding path through the forest. Not for the first time, Mustang found himself grateful for leaving the Elrics to await backup, confident they would see the gravity of the issue, that Edward would obey orders for once. As the water simmered beneath his soles, flashes of purple flame ignited his mind, bringing with it an ancestral fear, along with certainty.
He did not want the brothers anywhere near that fire.
"Sir."
But the warning was unnecessary; he could see them now, waiting beyond a break in the trees. If not for those prying eyes he would suggest an ambush, knew Hawkeye contemplated it, yet the two knew they were here:
Their stares proved as much.
Mustang emerged from the forest and she followed suit, firearm pointed at the white-dusted earth. They had chosen a worthy meeting-ground: a clearing large enough to house either negotiations or a small battle, depending on which direction talks fell. As suspected, only two were present, a small mercy, considering their lack of manpower. One carried himself as a leader, towering over his companion, taller than both officers though not intimidatingly so. Thick hair bleeding over a threadbare sweater, he watched them with intelligent eyes, an unsettling calm bespeaking years of experience. He carried no weapon, body language open, inviting–
A predator's trap.
They recognized the shorter one instantly. Black robes and fly-away hair unchanged from the first night, he watched on with a detachment rivaling the red head's, lips tightly pressed. Dried blood stained the scarf at his neck, a puckered scar stretching across his forehead – a freshly healed burn. Again, Mustang noted his eyes, eyes he'd seen on countless faces. The eyes that haunted his dreams:
Ishvalan eyes.
"Thank you for coming."
Both stiffened at the velvet voice, the soft pleasantry neither expected. A moment's scrutiny and Mustang recognized him as the screaming man from before, the one his companions went out of their way to protect. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, though asking such a thing was impossible, given the circumstances." He smiled, the barest curling of lips. "You see, we did know how to ask for you."
Already Mustang's mind spun, attempting to reconcile the man's handle on their language, a mastery none of the four showed upon their arrival. He couldn't trace so much as an accent, much less a flaw in the words. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang, of the Amestrian State Military. This is Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye." Hawkeye did not return the stranger's nod, nor did he. "What about you? What are your names?"
"There is no need for you to know who we are, Colonel."
A chill bit his spine, heralded by the hardness creeping into those eyes. "Why is that?"
"There are two possible outcomes for this meeting: you will either cooperate and answer my questions, or you will refuse and die."
Hawkeye stiffened though her gaze never faltered, focused on his silent companion, the hand on the sword hilt.
Mustang feigned indifference and, trusting her to watch his back, gave the taller man his undivided attention. "There's a third outcome you've overlooked."
A red brow rose. "Oh?"
"That's right – the one where you come with us willingly."
He chuckled though his companion did not, crimson eyes flicking between the officers. "My apologies, Colonel, but that is not an option. We do not know why you brought us to your country or the purposes of your circle. Why should we yield ourselves to you when we scarcely escaped the first time?"
Mustang could hardly believe his ears. "Wait–"
He stepped forward only for the short one to crouch; Hawkeye adjusted her aim instantly, barrel pointed at the pink scar. He and the other man both restrained their partners, Mustang with a stilling hand, the red head a soft word.
"You think we made that transmutation circle?"
The green gaze once more, passive this time. "Can you prove otherwise?"
Obviously, the answer was no. Up until now, he'd been sure rebels made the circle, possibly even the four they were hunting down. But what if that wasn't the case?
These two didn't seem to know anything about it.
"I thought not." Another smile from the red head, hinting cruelty. "Talking will do us no good, for we do not trust one another. However," A straightening of the spine, mirth withering. "I cannot allow you to harm those I care for. If you will not tell us what we wish to know, Colonel, we have no choice but to use force."
The swordsman sprang without warning, a blur of black and screaming steel. Hawkeye fired but missed her mark – shots which would have proven fatal to any other opponent. Noting the intended target, Mustang snapped, igniting a wall of flame before her.
"Colonel!"
But he didn't need her warning. Fingers flying, he snapped twice, aiming for both the red head and where he thought the other should land. The swordsman did indeed touch down inches from the barrier, as predicted. However, Mustang did not expect him to sprint away, faster than before – nearly too quick to follow. He did not foresee that blur intercepting his fire, blade slicing through the heated wave, sputtering flames reflected in his eyes.
A word from the red head and he nodded, glare unyielding as the taller man made for the trees. Mustang snapped only for the swordsman to conjure his own flames, purple and red clashing, hungry maws devouring each other. More gunshots, bullets burying in wood or blanketed white.
A curse he barely heard, a familiar back racing away.
"Wait–!" But the stranger wouldn't let him follow, small body shifting to stand between them. This close, Mustang finally noticed the almond-shaped eyes, peach skin bronzed by the sun:
Xingese traits.
The woman burst through the trees only to dart behind a forgotten trunk, reloading her weapon while peering around frayed bark. Kurama watched from above, tucked behind snow and lusty pine needles. Searing heat from where they'd fled, dual flames racing skyward, though he didn't have the luxury to worry over them–
Hiei would keep his end of the bargain.
Ready now, she emerged from her hiding place, gun poised, eyes sweeping the perimeter. She followed his prints with slow steps, noting the trail's abrupt end beneath the canopy, the branch he rested upon:
Humans had long since forgotten to sense danger from above.
He studied her as she drew closer, the set of those small shoulders, bound hair exposing that pale throat. No fear marred her face or scent; anxiety found no place, either. Rather, he found determination in their place, unprecedented calm, an almost primitive protectiveness:
Sentiments he understood.
She stopped at the end of the tracks, circling offending snow, gaze searching everywhere but up. Fatigue threatened but he pushed it away, rising to a crouch slowly, silently. What did it matter if leaping from this high pushed him to his limit, that even now the seeds shivered in his hair, anticipating danger? Restraining them took more effort than he thought possible, these plants he developed to act on his will, feeding upon his energy – a quickly-drying cistern.
Their eagerness meant nothing. He would finish the woman quickly, offer her a painless death. After all, she was just following the Colonel's orders:
It was not her fault her commanding officer was incompetent.
However, several things happened as he sprang, things Kurama could not foresee. He did not expect the woman to look up and, even if she did, that she would be stunned, at least momentarily. He could not have predicted the fire in her eyes, narrowed with killing intent as she raised her pistol to his face, firing without hesitation. Again, she missed, a narrow victory as he twisted in the air. The shot did not effect his trajectory and he fell upon her as expected, one hand at her chest, the other reaching for her gun.
She was ready, firing even as she lost her footing beneath him. Not even he could dodge bullets at point-blank range and while inhuman grace spared his life, his shoulder screamed as he rolled away. The Lieutenant matched his speed and rose into a crouch, weapon fixed on him once more. Again, he darted into the trees, forcing her to follow.
Kurama raced through the forest, instincts reeling even though he knew he wasn't prey. Blood seeped around the hand at his shoulder and the seeds rallied, roots sprouting, taking what they wanted. Heat in his belly, a surge of energy not his own; strands of silver, tingling in his bones–
No, not yet.
Not while there was still time.
Red returned before she appeared, shouting something he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. More running, a spirited game of tag. Even though he couldn't hope to match Hiei's speed, Kurama was just fast enough to outmaneuver her bullets, brass ricocheting off unfortunate trunks. Still, he needed to separate her from her weapon.
He couldn't hold out much longer.
Spinning on his heel, he set his sights on her, weaving through the trees. She saw him coming but knew retreating wasn't an option, not when it meant showing her back to the enemy. Another shot, bullet buzzing near his ear and he was upon her, hand pressed to the gun's slide, jamming the thing. Her free fist flew, a well-aimed strike for the ribs hitting home. Kurama didn't try to avoid the blow, grip shifting to press at her hand, the beloved pressure point. She echoed his grunt, fingers opening reflexively – a momentary reaction but just what he needed.
Tightening his hold and twisting, he was rewarded by her dropping the gun, which he immediately kicked away. A flash of anger and she bared her teeth, an action he returned as she struck at his chin, forcing him to release her. He was beyond caring if she saw the fangs in his mouth – she wouldn't live to tell of them, anyway.
The woman made no move for the gun but pressed another attack, strikes and kicks aimed for his face, his abdomen, his groin. Though they appeared evenly matched, she pushed him back, not feeling the blow to her clavicle, the kick which should have dislocated her hip. No, she maintained her momentum, splitting his lip, jabbing a kidney, trying and failing to capture his foot with her own.
Another leafy whisper, roots threading his hair. At this rate, he would lose, and while he had no qualms with that fact, he knew Hiei would not forgive him.
He hated weakness even more than fools.
So Kurama gave in, allowing the flora to do as they wished. Her eyes widened as green shoots burst from his nape, spiraling down one arm – the beginnings of a death plant. She pulled away but he wouldn't allow it, grabbing her arm while spurring the vines on, noting brown eyes hinting haunted things, willing the bud to bloom. A little longer, a handful of seconds and the flower's jaws would open, snapping the head from her shoulders. Almost, just a bit more–
Fire lit his blood and the world tilted, unyielding black overtaking all. Unbearable pain, thorns snaking through muscle, piercing his bones, splitting his skull only to retreat and begin the process again. He screamed; he was sure he screamed but no sound came out, only leaves and shoots and blossoms. They festered in his hair, brimmed beneath the skin: his plants turning on him, devouring him:
Rejecting his human blood.
Another debilitating wave and he was before the Door in the white room, watching the dark hands slip beneath his fingernails, inside his ears, crawl into his mouth. The same fire as they punctured his veins, draining what he valued most–
His humanity.
Truth's promise.
One last cry and he awoke, trees slowly coming into focus. Mouth reeking of copper, Kurama noted the red-dyed snow, the blood still seeping from his lips. The plants on his arm withered and sagged, beautiful even in death. Head swimming, he tried and failed to rise, coughing up still more blood.
A low crunch, the press of steel against his temple before sinking once more into darkness.
He could only hope Hiei fared better.
They began before she was out of sight. Mustang watched his opponent sink into a crouch, sword held in both hands, barren neutrality encompassing the youthful face – a killing look.
One he'd seen too many times to count.
A shot echoed in the forest and the swordsman lunged, little more than a blur against the snow. Tucking thoughts of Hawkeye away, Mustang snapped, nudging the boy away from the trees. For truly, he was a boy – everything in his build attested to that.
Mustang didn't want to kill a child unless it was absolutely necessary.
The boy danced away, smoke orbiting flame. Cloak catching the breeze, he paused as more gunshots rang out, never taking his eyes from the Colonel. Mustang returned his stare, noting once more the culture clash on that face, knowing he was right. An Ishvalan and Xingese union was odd but not unheard of, especially since the two shared a border. Still, both sides prized themselves as mono-ethnic peoples, rarely marrying outside of their own bounds.
Why would such a child be with the rebels?
There would be time for that question and others. "If you're worried about your friend, let me to put your mind at ease." The boy remained silent but Mustang knew he was listening, fingers firm in their grip, glare unyielding. "He won't evade the Lieutenant, just as you won't escape from me."
A flicker of emotion and he straightened, sheathing the blade as another volley rang out, farther away this time.
"You could just give up, make it easy on both of us." Mustang felt the tension ease in his shoulders but did not lower either hand. Experience was a cruel teacher; he'd seen too many men fall from a false surrender. "You won't be harmed if you come willingly – I give you my word."
A soft snort, scowl wrinkling that thin nose. Birds erupted from the trees beyond, their cries nearly drowning the gunshot that followed. The boy raised a hand, purple flames flickering in his palm, lighting the smirk curling his lips.
Mustang didn't waste time imagining how he conjured fire without a circle, nor the blaze's peculiar color. Rather, his fingers flew, calculated flames zipping toward their target. The boy dodged these with ease, feet wheeling him toward the Colonel so fast there was no time to think, so Mustang didn't try. Rather, he fell back on years of practice and instinct, allowing both to guard against his opponent.
He met those flames with his own, a grueling give-and-take. Whenever one gained ground, the other took it back twofold, red and purple falling together until fire lit the trees, gnawed at the black cloak, made the earth weep. Mud sloshed beneath their feet, a frenzied game of tag Mustang knew he would lose. Reflexes could only hold against speed for so long and his opponent showed no signs of tiring. Something ate at his gut, a wrongness he couldn't place until he noticed the silence:
Hawkeye had ceased firing.
The boy slid in the muck – an unexpected blunder – and Mustang snapped, flames descending upon the small frame. Not enough to kill, though sure to leave nasty scars.
Only nothing happened.
He rose slowly, uncaring of the fire eating his cloak, licking his skin and hair. Soon a bare shoulder emerged, then an arm and the garment fell away, embers sputtering in the damp. The smell of singed hair and cloth filled the air, though not the hated aroma of roasted flesh. Somehow, the boy was fine, unharmed–
He wasn't burned.
Mustang couldn't fathom his own expression, the look betraying suddenly weak knees and a leaden stomach; but the boy saw. Crimson eyes took in the momentary crack, the basest of emotions seeping into his face – fear.
The boy smiled, a deliberate baring of teeth.
And then he disappeared.
Mustang swallowed a curse and spun on his heel, scanning the clearing in vain. Smoke stung his eyes, shrouding all but the burning trees, radiant silhouettes croaking death knells. As the seconds slipped by and he gathered himself, Mustang wondered if the boy had retreated, ran to help his companion. Then the smile returned to his mind's eye, the feral look overtaking that face, if only for a moment.
No, the boy wouldn't leave.
Not until he secured the kill.
The low slosh of mud and Mustang snapped, flames cutting through the haze. Purple rose to meet them though the boy didn't bother dodging his attack – there was no need. The greeting blaze appeared nothing more than a formality, honoring the Colonel's efforts. Shoulders rolled back, legs setting a comfortable, confident pace, a knowing smirk:
He appeared more smug than Fullmetal, if such a thing were possible.
Foreign flame weaving between his fingers, he rebuffed Mustang's fire again and again, never slowing his steps. The Flame Alchemist ground his jaw, fully aware his attacks weren't working but finding no alternative. He had to stop this boy, or at least hold him off until backup arrived – he could not be allowed to rejoin his companion. Memories came unbidden: fire erupting on Riza's back, flames – his flames – eating the hated thing, a treasure without price. Shrill screams and burning flesh; her flesh–
He would never let her be burned again.
Purple in the bandaged right hand, smirk creasing into a smile and Mustang snapped, thrusting one arm parallel with the ground, erecting a flame wall easily ten feet tall. He couldn't let this boy reach her; she wouldn't stand a chance. How was she faring against the red head? Was he as formidable as his companion?
Could he use alchemy without a transmutation circle, too?
A sudden silhouette, a small hand reaching through the fire. Mustang scowled, sending up first one wall, then another, shifting toward the heated forest. The boy continued on, reaching still, flames devouring cloth but never his skin. This was impossible. Nothing could withstand flame: even rock melted, given a high enough temperature, and human beings were not as sturdy as stone. How could this child withstand–
Another burst of speed and that hand was at his throat, clamped around his windpipe. Mustang grabbed his wrist, pulled at those fingers even as he was forced onto the balls of his feet. However, the boy didn't seem to feel the abuse, the kicks aimed at his knee and shin. Somehow, he lifted the alchemist higher, arm stretching until his feet barely touched the ground.
Lungs screaming, Mustang fought harder, carving bloody lines into the boy's skin. Through dimming eyes he saw the lips no longer smiled, flattened to a neutral line. Instinct demanded he transmute flames in the boy's face, even though that would injure him as well, even though he knew it was useless. He had to try something.
He couldn't die here.
Suddenly, a gunshot sounded from close by – a warning shot. The boy glanced away though didn't loosen his hold. Consciousness receeding, Mustang could do little more than watch. Hawkeye stood with her back to the burning trees, pistol pointed skyward. Uniform jacket torn and missing buttons, she appeared nonplussed of the swelling at her cheek and left eye, the welt below her throat. Dirty and bruised, hair loose and whipping her face:
An avenging angel.
"Release the Colonel!" Her voice rang out, unchecked by pain or fear. "Unhand him immediately, or he dies!"
Only then did Mustang see the burden at her left, the suspect held up by her strength alone. Clearly unconscious, the man sagged against the grip on his arm, jaw resting on his chest. Blood seeped from the shredded shoulder, stained various points at his abdomen and legs, leaked from lips and nape. Though his injuries seemed grievous, the withered vines clinging to his arm and hair alarmed Mustang, so much so he clung viciously to wakefulness even as his head swam.
Despite seeing his companion, the boy didn't loosen his grip.
Hawkeye pressed the muzzle beneath the stranger's chin, pulling him closer. "Let. Him. Go." She pulled the hammer back, readying the shot. "Now."
Still, the boy watched, no doubt weighing her resolve. Ideally, the military wanted both captured alive but really, they only needed one.
She'd killed men for far less than threatening Mustang.
A soft wheeze and her captive coughed, bloody droplets landing on her hair and jacket sleeve yet Hawkeye did not budge. The crimson glare darkened, fingers pressing harder at Mustang's windpipe, earning a strangled sound. A familiar coldness, murder shining in her eyes as she forced his head farther back with the front sight, muzzle pressed to the sub-mental triangle. The boy watched a moment longer before releasing his captive, mouth tight with anger.
She paid the her commanding officer no mind even as he slumped to the ground in a gasping, coughing fit. "Step away from the Colonel. Slowly."
He did as he was told, steps light, deliberate. Only when Mustang was out of immediate reach did she say, "Stop."
The alchemist rose as he obeyed, light-headed but ready, fingers poised. "Are you injured, sir?"
"Nothing I can't handle." Mustang hated the wisp of his voice, that speaking hurt. "You?"
But she remained silent, full attention on the boy whose feet had spread marginally apart. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear: if you attempt to run, harm my comrades or disobey my orders in any way, he dies." She made no further moves against his companion; there was no need. A gurgle and he let forth another watery cough, red creeping from the corner of his mouth. If left this way, he would drown in his own blood and they all knew it. "Understood?"
The boy said nothing; he didn't even blink.
"Good." Hawkeye tucked her chin, gaze flitting to his hip. "Take your sword from your belts."
If possible, the glare hardened and he scowled, baring his teeth.
A metallic click, her grip on the gun tightening. "Now."
Mustang's eyes widened as the boy submitted, black scabbard slipping free to be held aloft in callused palms, neither straying near the grip.
She offered no praise this time, focused on keeping her captive vertical. "Place it on the ground." He did so, with the right amount of slowness. "Kick it to the Colonel."
He complied before Mustang could truly register the command, sword spinning lazily to land at his feet. Even then, it took him a moment to comprehend the situation, the change in the boy.
Would he be this compliant if Mustang were the one to catch his companion?
"Sir."
Hawkeye's voice cut through the fog, drawing him from his stupor. Mustang knelt and retrieved the sword, gaze never leaving the boy, ready to snap any moment, futile though it may be.
Only when he was upright did she speak again, voice rising above another coughing fit. "I'm going to lay him down, now. If you move so much as an inch, I'll shoot him in the head."
No response, not that she expected one. Still, Hawkeye trusted Mustang to guard her as she lowered her captive, giving the unconscious man her full attention. He watched as the boy watched her lay his companion down and roll him onto his side, binding the shoulder with a strip of the tattered sweater, making sure his airways were unblocked. The simplest of first aid but still more than she had to do, more than most would do.
In that moment, Mustang fell in love with her all over again.
"Colonel!"
A familiar voice and he turned back the way they'd come. Havoc, Falman and a dozen men raced across the clearing, flanking their commanding officer in a semi-circle. At the 2nd Lieutenant's look he glanced at the trio, Hawkeye kneeling still by the injured man, the boy stayed by the gun aimed at his companion.
"About time you showed up!" Mustang returned their salutes briskly, addressing his subordinates directly while the others aimed various firearms at the boy. "What took you so long?"
"Sorry sir, it took us a while to find you." Havoc rolled a damp cigarette to the other side of his mouth. "It's a good thing you set those trees on fire – otherwise we'd still be looking!" He noted Mustang's pinched brow, the color draining from his face. "Don't worry, Fuery's already dispatched Command about the fire. They'll have it out in no time!"
"No, that's not–" He straightened, years of training alone keeping his voice level. "You didn't meet with Fullmetal and Alphonse?"
"That's just it, Colonel, we couldn't find them." Falman came to Havoc's aid, pistol pointing at the ground. "We followed the tracks until they split in two, one full of slush, the other with giant footprints."
Dread knotted his stomach. "Giant footprints?"
"Yes sir. We thought they may have been Al's and started on that trail but before we got very far, the tracks disappeared." Falman frowned at the sky, musing over dark clouds. "It hasn't snowed since this morning, right?"
"No." Still, Mustang could easily deduce how the trail 'disappeared': Alphonse's bulk could knock snow from any low-hanging branch, much less if he accidentally bumped into a small tree.
"Well, I'm just glad you're both in one piece." Havoc peered over Mustang's shoulder, taking in the suspects. "Those our guys?"
"Two of them. There are two more out there, maybe more."
"And you think the Elrics went after them?"
But Mustang was already turning to the other men, giving orders for half them to assist Hawkeye in securing the suspects. The other half would accompany him in pursuit of the remaining two. Hawkeye appeared ready to protest but kept silent, focused on the man at her feet and the boy who had yet to move. Twin rubies flashed to him but didn't remain, unwilling to leave the woman.
"Colonel, what about Ed and Al?" Havoc demanded, trailing him as they retraced their steps. Falman rushed to Hawkeye's side, left behind with the rest of the squad.
"When we find the suspects, we'll find them," Mustang pulled his jacket tighter against his chest, fighting the urge to shiver.
"Well yeah, but how do we find them? The trail's gone, remember?"
A sudden tremor hit, shaking the forest and nearly throwing them to the ground. The soldiers grabbed at tree trunks, each bewildered and more than a little afraid. Amestris rarely experienced earthquakes, especially this close to the Xing border and while their training included handling natural disasters, few before now had actually been in a quake.
The shaking lasted roughly a minute before dying down, though it felt much longer. Steeled against possible aftershocks, Mustang rose, noting that though a few trees were downed during the episode, none fell on his men. "Is everyone alright?"
Before they could respond, a new sound filled the air – the deep groan of splintering stone. Sure enough, the Colonel looked up in time to see the nearest mountain shudder, a crater 5 kilometers wide stretching across the rock face.
Havoc was the first to recover from the sight, releasing a low whistle. "I think we just found 'em."
A/N: Hello and welcome back! I apologize for the inconsistent update schedule this year: 2020 has been rough for everyone but thankfully, we can come together through our love of anime and fanfiction. Thank you guys for your reviews, follows, favorites and for reading this story; looking forward to another year of writing for you in 2021!
So Hawkeye saved the day and Hiei and Kurama are officially in military custody. Will Yusuke and Kuwabara escape Mustang's grasp? And how did Alphonse fair against the Spirit Gun? Find out next time, please leave a review!