Darkpit - I take it you are enjoying it? Reius Devirix - LOL, there will be another showdown, but first Roy has to get out of the hospital. That may be a trial in and of itself.

Thanks for the reply!

Moments in Transition

Hawkeye stood straight and firm as she reached out and knocked on the door to the Colonel's private hospital room. She waited, wondering if she had knocked too softly. Retreating slightly, she wondered where Havoc and Fury had got off too.

From inside the room, she heard a muffled, but clearly frustrated growl. Firming up her resolve, she sighed and opened the door.

The sight that awaited her nearly made her fall over.

Her amber eyes glittered in silent horror as she watched the Colonel struggle to button up his white dress shirt. The open front revealed the thick wrappings entwining his torso. Bandages protected his cut arm, keeping it at a slight bend. "Colonel?" she asked somewhat startled but not entirely surprised.

"Don't just stand there," he barked. "Help me." He looked up, clearly frustrated. "I can't bend my arm enough to get to the top buttons."

She frowned and closed the door behind her. "You are supposed to be resting. You're in no condition to be getting dressed."

"I will not lie around as my people are targeted." He winced slightly as he moved to the next button, fingers fumbling.

Stalking across the room, she stopped in front of him without bothering to mask her unhappiness there was no point. The Colonel would do as he would do; it was her job to help him. Or at least keep him from hurting himself worse.

Gently pulling his hands away, she started to close the buttons. "What do you think you will accomplish by going back to work like this?"

He said nothing and the truth was, for her, he did not need too. She knew him too well and knew his stubborn streak, his pride and his honor would not allow him to sit back while Odessa Rhodes was still out there. Hughes had demanded to keep the attack on him the night before quiet, but as expected, it had gotten back to the Colonel.

Briefly, she wondered where the fresh uniform had come from but she could think of at least four potentially guilty parties. Stepping close to the bed, she picked up the fresh jacket—crisp and blue. Moving around his back, she nudged his left hand and held the sleeve open making it easy for him to slip his wounded arm into. Easing the other sleeve on, she was careful as she pulled the material up, over his shoulders.

Remaining to his back, she glanced to the bed and spied a sling tossed across the white sheets. "You're not going to be completely stubborn and refuse to wear the sling, right?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Just as she gathered herself and started to step around, the Colonel turned.

"Then I suppose I have no choice." His right hand was pressed his left side.

"You could lay back down."

"No."

Hawkeye frowned and pushed his hand down and then closed the buttons on the front of the jacket, ever studious not to tug or lay too much undo pressure on his wounds. She took a moment to adjust the cord and to straighten the various decorations across his chest because she knew he would before facing the public.

A quick glance at the foot of the bed and she saw the white gloves with the red transmutation circle sewn into them. Reaching for them, a wild thought fluttered through her mind. She wanted to lightly punch his side. That would lay him out for another day and give him a chance to recover. Her fingers curled together into a fist.

Before she could put her plan into action, she came to her senses. Sighing softly, she picked up the gloves, fingering the coarse material at the fingertips.

When she turned back, the Colonel was holding his side again. His eyes were closed and his brows were knitted together. "I'm not going to carry you if you pass out," she said.

"I carried you."

"Dragged. My boots were all scuffed up."

"I had a piece of glass in my side," Mustang growled. Huffing, he added, "Besides, you are heavy."

"Sir!"

The Colonel blinked at her a few times and then offered a thin smile. "Well, at least you're not scowling like you have been."

Almost instantly, she felt the warmth of a flush rush to her cheeks as she roughly handed him the left glove.

With some difficulty, he managed to pull it on. While adjusting the fit, he said, "Purple is not you're color."

"Sir?"

He motioned toward the side of her face where the Ishbalan had hit her. Self-consciously, she pressed a palm to her still swollen face. "I am sorry, sir," she said formally. "It was my responsibility. I should have been more prepare—"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The sharp tone made her flinch and look away. Perhaps more startling was the brush of callused fingertips against the tender flesh around her eye.

"You should be more careful."

A frown tugged at Hawkeye's lips as she pushed the other glove toward him. "I should say the same of you."

"You are never going to let this go, are you?" he chuckled but it was clear he quickly regretted it and pressed his hand to his chest. "Just don't make me laugh for a while," he whispered.

"Yes, sir."

Catching the pain in his dark eyes, she looked away as he finished pulling his other glove on. From the bed she picked up the black sling. There was little question in her mind that the Colonel had requested black so it would not stand out against his dark uniform.

Loosening the straps, she slipped it over his neck and then carefully cradled his left arm in it as she adjusted the straps until his arm was gently cradled against his chest.

She looked up to meet his gaze but found his eyes closed, his brows knitted together in quiet concentration. There were beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Without even thinking, she fished out a handkerchief from he pocket and dabbed the perspiration away.

"I am fine."

It would have taken an even harder blow to the head to make her believe that, but she would not voice her concerns.

Motioning him to the stool, the one she had spent a good part of the previous day perched on, she said, "Why don't you rest and I'll see that a car is brought up to the side doors." Knowing the Colonel as she did, she knew it would be a cold day in hell before he let them wheel him out of the hospital in a wheelchair.

With only a bit of reluctance, he acquiesced and walked stiffly to the stool. His entire body seemed to sink from exhaustion though his back remained straight, as if still at attention.

"I will be back shortly." Relieved, she excused herself and started for the door. Just as she reached for the handle, she was stopped by two simple words.

"Thank you."

Following

The Past

The winds howled and buffeted the semi permanent structure of the camp hospital. The building seemed to shudder under the gale, making the hanging lights swing slightly overhead.

Riza Hawkeye looked up from the chair she had spent the last few hours in and watched a nearby light flicker. The wails beyond the walls only seemed to intensify that ragged feeling that had wrapped itself so completely around her being.

Nothing had affected her so completely as that mess known as Medes. Only two days out, she was still shaken. Most seemed to understand just how bad it had been and given the survivors some time off and light duty assignments.

She had been in the field plenty over the ten months since arriving, but this last mission…

Staring at her hands, gripping a pile of letters, she could see the slight tremble that still remained. It was fading. Still, she had never shaken so much except after that first time. "It's getting worse," she said softly of the storm, trying desperately to brush off those memories of things that could not be changed.

In a week, she would be back out in one of the patrols, or as protection for another State Alchemist. She prayed her hands would not shake then. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across her still swollen forehead. She was lucky only to be bruised and trembling. Her friends got it much worse than she did.

Walberton was dead and Havoc would be out for some time.

She looked to her sleeping friend in the bed next to where she was seated. Havoc's chest and shoulder were bound in white wrappings. It had taken surgery to get all the shrapnel and stop the bleeding, but they said he would recover.

Crisp in her mind's eye, she could still see the Major, whom she could have killed moments before had there been bullets in her gun, crawl down the mountain of debris, check on the wounded and then help Havoc up, urging the men to help the wounded and head for fresher air and hopefully a working vehicle.

A small smile tugged at her lips, then faded as she realized in two days, Havoc would be shipped back to Central for therapy and recovery.

The tent had been lonely with just her. The cots made up as both Walberton and Havoc's belongings had been gathered up, the latter to travel back to Central with him. She suspected she would get stuck with a couple of green recruits fresh from the academy.

Staring down at the letters in her grip, she tried to will her hand still. For a moment, it worked, then the slight tremor returned. Her nerves were shot, she silently mused. She just needed to rest and she would be all right she mentally repeated for the hundredth time that day. So far, the mantra had not helped. Another powerful gust seemed to rattle the building to its foundation. She dreaded having to go out into the chill evening wind, but knew the nurses would soon chase her out.

Drawing the letters close, she held onto them as if the wind would tear through the hospital and blow them away. The smell of flowers lingering in the paper, teased her senses as she took in the fading fragrance. The letter was from her mother. As usual it was filled with local news highlighted with notes about which of her childhood friends had another child, it was her mother's subtle way of hinting that she wanted grandchildren. The letter was also peppered with the usual questions, asking how she was, if she was eating enough and if she had seen her grandfather lately. Her mother did not quite understand that the front lines of the Ishbal rebellion were far from the relative safety of Eastern HQ.

Maybe it was better that way. The woman worried enough as it was. Staring at the letter, she wondered how she was going to reply. There was doubt that she could hide the trauma of the last few days even in written words. The reply would definitely have to wait until the trembling stopped. She did not want her handwriting broken and jagged.

"Hey," came a quiet whisper.

Hawkeye brightened. "Hey."

Havoc offered a thin smile and then his blue eyes searched his surroundings. "I need a cigarette."

"You can't have one in here."

"I wasn't going to light it." He smiled and looked down across his chest. "Not that I easily could."

Without a word, she straightened in the chair and twisted, scanning the room. The only nurse she saw was busy writing notes on a chart further down the room. Deciding the coast was clear, she pulled open a bedside table drawer and fished through Havoc's belongs until she found the paper carton. It crinkled in her grip as she drew out a single, white stick and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, sounding almost relieved.

"You're going to get me banned from here."

Hanging the stick off his lower lip, the blond haired man smiled and seemed to sink back into the pillow. "Now just hand me my lighter."

"No."

"You're no fun."

"Someone has to be sensible here," she said as she folded up the letters and stuffed them into her blue jacket. Rising from the chair, she pulled her long coat on. "I probably should be going. You need your rest." She smiled. "And I want to avoid the nursing staff's wrath."

Havoc laughed. "Sure." Just as she started to walk away, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hey, have you seen our illustrious Major?"

The question caught her. "Not since the other day. He came by to check on everyone. You were asleep."

A more serious look glossed his features. "Tell him thanks for me, if I don't get a chance to before shipping out."

"Sure." She adjusted her coat. "I'll check on you in the morning. Take it easy."

She left quietly, hoping the nurses would bar her from visiting again tomorrow when they catch him with the cigarette.

The strong winds, filled with sand, slammed into her nearly knocking her from her feet. She struggled for footing even as she tugged at her coat, drawing the collar high around her face while stepping into the gale. Growling softly, she raced through the dusty streets carved between various tents and buildings, eager to find shelter in her empty tent. She winced and closed her eyes, trying to shield them from the coarse grains that flew about like tiny projectiles. Running with her head down, she was oblivious to obstacle that lay ahead.

A startled scream tore from her as she slammed into something solid. The wind compounded the moment and she almost imagined being blown like a tumbleweed through the camp until something—someone—grabbed her arm.

Her voice was muffled under her hand and coat. "Lieutenant?" she asked.

Hughes looked her over even as he held his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the weather. "Hawkeye, right?"

"Yes, Sir!" she started to salute but the wind made it difficult.

"You were one of the lucky ones, I see," he said loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind.

"Or unlucky depending on your point of view."

"I guess you are right about that."

Hawkeye glanced about. "Sir?"

"Yes?" While still holding her arm, he motioned and pulled her close to one of the buildings where the wind was not so violent.

She braced herself, already taking a step in a direction she had not planned too. "Have you seen Major Mustang?" Of course he had, she was certain. The man saw the orders coming down the line and was, from what she had seen, Mustang's friend. Although, it was strange, since she had not seen the alchemists and the regular soldiers intermingle much except where duty demanded.

"Roy, I mean the Major may not have returned yet from today's mission."

"Mission?"

Through the wind, Hughes' voice was barely heard, "No rest for the weary."

"I see."

Hughes pulled the hood of his coat low, sheltering his face in shadows.

Hawkeye looked at him a moment, noting his intense look, and then tried to explain, "I just wanted to—"

"It's not any of my business," he interrupted and waved a hand between them. "The brass want to end this thing hard and fast, they don't give the alchemists much rest. If you do find him, don't expect much conversation, okay?"

"Yes, sir." She watched as the tall man rushed off down the street.

For a short time, she wandered about the camp but found few people braving the wind and sand that blasted every surface and being in its path. Over the wind she caught a whiff of stale coffee and the mix of whatever was being cooked for the late shifters in the mess hall. The smell only made her stomach turn.

It was easy to give up for the evening, not that she truly understood why she had embarked on such an expedition.

No, that was not true, she wanted to thank him for Havoc.

Admittedly, there was more to it though. She could still see herself, just days earlier, turning. The memory was disconnected from her body, as if she were watching from someone else's point of view. She had been functioning on pure instinct, heightened by an adrenaline surge. The touch of the trigger under her finger as she squeezed.

click

click

That look of disappointment in the Major's eyes still haunted her.

No, certainly she had misinterpreted in the rush of the moment. She had a concussion and was shook up. It would be so easy to read more into it than there was.

It was stress, or madness. For two days, she had been waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Certainly her firing on a superior officer—bullets or not—deserved some sort of reprimand, but strangely the event had been neglected in the official reports.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention and she retreated slightly as she turned to face the figure that had approached. It took only a fraction of a second to recognize the man in the pale lights swinging from tall posts situated at most crossings throughout the camp.

It was as if she were caught in a flashback. Mustang stood there silently lit by the electric overhead glow. His blue uniform and gloves were black with ash. The powder only seemed to heighten dark circles around weary eyes.

"Major?"

Mustang smiled as he watched her snap to attention. "No gun this time, Sergeant?" he asked. Stepping close—shoulder to shoulder—he paused and looked at her. "Next time, make sure you have bullets when you fire on me."

She had heard some of the younger nurses gossiping and giggling happily about him. All it took was a smile and they lost all sense of propriety. Perhaps she would have too had they crossed paths far from the front lines of the Ishbal Rebellion.

"It was a mistake, Sir. I—"

"Nothing to apologize for." The smile never reached his eyes.

"Why was I not reported for my recklessness?"

An absent shrug of broad shoulders. "I must have forgotten to mention it." With that, he walked away.

She twisted to watch him head toward the mess hall.

After a short distance, the Major turned. "Are you just going to stand there in the wind, or would you like some tea?"

"Sir?"

"Are you coming with me?"