A/N: Leave it to a dirty mind to turn something innocent into something . . . less than innocent. Havoc, you continue to be my go-to character for situations like this.

I do not own FMA.

Everything in Context

"Fuery? Do you copy?"

Adjusting the headset clamped to his ears with one hand, the bespectacled young man reached out with the other to adjust a dial on the front of the receiver in front of him. "Yes, ma'am. Loud and clear."

"All right. We're in position; we'll get the transmitter in place." A click sounded as Hawkeye terminated her end of the connection.

The 'position' was the back terrace of a local shipping merchant's house on the wealthier side of Central City. While he maintained a well-constructed façade of honest trade, there were several strong indications that all was not as it appeared. Hence, under cover of darkness, Colonel Mustang and his ever-present lieutenant had infiltrated his back yard to install a hidden radio transmitter. The crooked merchant favoured doing business on the patio of his home, and the military held hopes of getting audio evidence of any dirty deals.

Behind Fuery, across the room, the office door opened to admit Havoc and Breda. Both carried cups of coffee designed to keep them awake for the next few late-night hours.

"Did they check in yet?" Havoc yawned, leaning against the table full of radio equipment.

"Just now." Sitting back in his chair, Fuery folded his arms. "It should only take about five minutes to get the transmitter hidden, and then they'll have fifteen minutes to get out of the area. According to Sterns's assistant, he has an appointment at ten-thirty tonight; nothing good can be happening at that hour."

There was a sudden click from the receiver, and Hawkeye's voice cut in in the middle of a sentence "-little more careful?"

"I'm trying, but this isn't as easy as it looks." The Colonel's voice was quieter, being further away from the mic, but still audible.

"Just hold still."

Before Fuery could speak up and inform his superiors their connection had been re-established, Havoc reached over and hit the 'mute' switch. "Wha — sir, their radio needs to be off. If they get caught, there has to be plausible deniability between them and us, so we don't get caught up in it too."

The sandy-blond man grinned. "Aw, come on: they're too good to get caught. Besides, the way they're talking, it sounds like they're about to have one of their little spats. I don't want to miss out on that."

". . . You actually like it when that happens?"

Breda settled into a chair, coffee already half-gone. "What? It's fun to watch Lieutenant Hawkeye back the boss into a corner he can't talk his way out of."

"Can you reach?"

"A little more . . . all right."

"Make it fast. I don't want to have to explain what we're doing."

"I'm going as quickly as I can. Just be patient." Silence held for a moment, except for a few brushes of movement; no doubt Hawkeye working to install the transmitter in their chosen location. "It's not staying in place."

"What? Why not?"

"It's at the wrong angle. It needs to be tilted up more, but there's no way to keep it like that."

Roy groaned in irritation. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I never kid around when it comes to things like this." Another pause. "Higher . . . higher . . . . A little to the left . . . . There."

Snickering to himself, Breda shook his head. "This is just too weird. Don't they realize what this sounds like to someone listening in?"

"They don't even know their end got re-connected, remember?" Havoc grinned as he propped one elbow on the edge of the switchboard, covering his mouth as he tried to hold the laughter in. "Oh man . . . . It really sounds like they're . . . you know . . . ."

". . . . Like we're what, Havoc?" Dead silence fell, the three eavesdroppers staring in fear at the speaker the quietly dangerous voice had issued from. "Go ahead. What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," Havoc said, a little too quickly. "Not a damn thing."

"Then we'll talk about this when we get back," Hawkeye interjected calmly. Too calmly. "Which should be in about ten minutes. The transmitter is in place. Wait for us at the safehouse."

Slouching in his seat, the sandy-blond man said, "Yes, ma'am." Waiting until the disconnecting click was heard, he groaned. "I'm a dead man."

Breda leaned forward to look at the switchboard. "Fuery, I thought our end was on mute."

"It was!" The young man winced. "When Havoc put his arm on the board, he must have bumped the switch by mistake and the sound got turned back on." He got to his feet. "Good luck, sir."

Breda waved, following Fuery toward the door. "Nice knowing you, man. See you later."

Don't get me wrong; I love Havoc dearly . . . and that's why I like picking on him. Don't forget to review!