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Thanks for reading all.
"I thought you might have learned by now: keeping secrets this big. Altruism accounted for," Hawkeye said as they walked together, her shoulder touching his, just.
Mustang tutted and cast her a look somewhere between injury and incredulity. "It's necessary."
Hawkeye said nothing. He stopped abruptly and grabbed her elbow, aware but uncaring of the rest of his small team a few steps behind them. He'd started doing that more and more lately; acting in front of his men the way that was once reserved for Hughes. Hawkeye wasn't sure of its meaning or wisdom. The men noticed it too, Havoc settling effortlessly if a little uncomfortably into the role of court jester and guy-who-had-unwritten-permission-to-kick-Mustang's-ass-if-required.
Mustang met her eyes, and she his – gaze level and appraising as ever.
"It's necessary, lieutenant." Everything about him begged to be believed.
She could smell the cigarette on his breath and sympathy surged through her middle. Of course, as the train pushed into the hot winds of Ishbal, Hawkeye's heart had sputtered in her chest. She had her own memories, her own demons to wrestle in these yellow sands, but this was different. She was a sniper, and you don't dig mass graves for the victims of a sniper.
Sympathy was not her counsellor though. That sort of thing would have killed them both years ago.
"Respectfully, I cannot agree with you, sir."
Mustang cocked his head, eyes narrowing, boring into her. The footfalls behind them ceased and she was sure she heard Havoc groan and light up. There was the sound of metallic tinkering: Fuery with his radio. A breeze caught them and pushed the hair from Mustang's face, a black halo against a yellow son.
He smirked. A sad little offering.
"You damn woman."
He bit his lip, blinked hard and released her elbow.
He took two full steps before a sharp crack broke the silence.
It still amazed Hawkeye – that her gun could be in her hand and cocked before she knew it. Glancing around with keen eyes, she noted that the rest of the team were just as crisp. Havoc, Breda and Fuery were back to back, legs spread and feet steady. Only Mustang remained still; he would not raise those hands again in this desert place. Though how horribly his fist trembled at his side.
Havoc was indignant. "Gunfire?"
"Was it?"asked Breda.
"Where?" Fuery scanned the horizon.
Another crack, this one louder and less sharp. Hawkeye adjusted her stance. Her heart was racing and she wished desperately that she had worn gloves. Her palms were almost too sweaty to be useful.
"Goddamnit -" Havoc complained, clearly bothered by how spooked everyone, including himself, was.
Hawkeye supposed that when you love a man as these guys did Mustang, this place would have ghosts for you too.
The earth sagged beneath her and there began a rumble that rose to a groan. A stone skipped over her boot and bounced towards her commander.
A beat of awful silence, bloated with inevitability.
"General!" she cried.
It was too late. The desert sands opened like a dragon's maw, hot, putrid breath hissing from the cavity.
She fell forwards to her knees then back, the sky tipping blue over yellow. A hand fastened under her arm and then another scrabbled for her belt. She was heaved towards her comrades, backside dragging through the rushing sand. She tried to call out but her throat was dry and choked full with grit.
"Shit, shit, shit..." someone – Breda - was saying again and again.
Another beam, like the one which had surely broken, snapped and tumbled into the hole. Dust flew up and hung about the desert's mouth like ravenous slobber.
No one was calling, Report! No one was snapping – measured and intelligent – calling the elements of the world to right this situation. Hawkeye gasped and turned wide eyes to Havoc who clung to her still, fearful of what she might do.
Where was he?
"Where is he?"
Where was he?
"Where is he! No! Sir!"
Mustang was nowhere to be seen.
The desert had swallowed their leader whole.
Thanks chaps! One or two more to go after this :)