A/N: Okay, Okay, so I know I promised that this chapter would be finished really soon after the other one... well... it turned out I was overly optimistic about that. Somewhat. Sorry about that! It also turns out that I was wrong yet again about both the length of this chapter and the fact there wouldn't be one after this... but luckily I've finished that too and can post it right away.
I want to say thanks to ThousandSunnyLyon... due to me being impatient and wanting this story over and done with I didn't ask her to beta this chapter, but her ideas were really important and helpful when it came to writing it. Also, I don't own FMA.
Chris sighed as she leaned back against the cold stone wall. The view from Grumman's balcony really was spectacular but that night she had no patience for it. Her fingers itched to hold a cigarette and she was badly in need of a drink. Still, Chris reminded herself, focus on the positives. Roy was recovering, sleeping off his ordeal in a hospital bed with that Hawkeye girl curled up at his side. Even now, with all danger gone and Roy insensible to the world, Hawkeye would not hear of leaving. That girl really was something special. Truth be told, Chris herself wanted nothing more than to stay with her son, to hear the precious sound of his breathing, proof that he had escaped death's hold once more. Too many times she had watched him walk into the midst of danger, her heart cold with the knowledge that this time he may not return. But never before had she felt that fear so strongly, never had the prospect of her son's death seemed so close to becoming reality. Fate had spared him once again but she couldn't allow herself to feel relief yet. Roy was safe, that much was true, but his would-be assassin was still at large. It was unlikely that he –or she, of course- would make another attempt on Roy's life so soon after the failure of their first but even so, Chris would not rest until she had dealt with whoever had tried to kill her child.
God, she needed a cigarette. She was too old to deal with this kind of stress any more. What had happened to her plans of a peaceful retirement, of gradually disbanding her network of spies and spending the rest of her days as a humble barkeeper? A humble barkeeper who ran several of the most infamous establishments this side of the desert, but nevertheless. Surely that wasn't too much to ask? But when the child that you've raised was Roy Mustang, the infamous Flame Alchemist and the youngest major general for over a century, apparently it was.
A sound caught her attention and she turned to see lieutenant Havoc standing at the door to the balcony. He looked as tired as she felt, his normally cheerful face shadowed with anxiety. Havoc knew as well as she did that the danger wasn't over yet. A good kid, that one. A great deal sharper than he looked and as loyal as any you could ask for. He shot her a weak smile, stepping through the doorway to join her on the terrace.
"Smoke?" He offered, holding aloft a packet of cigarettes.
"Oh, god yes."
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the 'click' of Havoc's lighter and the soft smouldering of their cigarettes being lit. Chris sucked the smoke gratefully into her lungs, watching the tendrils disappear into the darkness as she exhaled. Havoc was the first to break the quiet.
"God, sifting through stacks of tapped phone conversations really gives you a headache. Completely useless, too. So far we've found nothing that could be linked to what happened tonight. What about you? Heard anything yet?"
Chris shrugged, pausing to take another drag before answering. You couldn't rush a good smoke.
"After Knox told me that the poison was put into Roy's wine, I had some of the girls talk to the kitchen staff about it. Turns out the wine was given to them by someone who was supposedly sent by Fuhrer Grumman."
"And they just believed him, without bothering to check at all?" Havoc asked, incredulity clear in his words. "So much for security."
"Well, he did have a note written in Grumman's own handwriting, on his personal stationary." She replied. "And signed with his signature. Everything checked out just fine, apparently."
"Wait a minute, are you saying..." Havoc's voice was a shocked whisper. "Are you saying Fuhrer Grumman had the general poisoned?"
Chris snorted derisively, tipping ash off the edge of the balcony. "Don't be ridiculous, lieutenant. I've known Bertie Grumman since I was younger than you are and let me tell you, he might be a sly old fox but there's not a genuinely bad bone in his body. He's known Roy since he was running around in nappies and he loves that boy like he was his own grandson.
"Think about it, kid," Chris went on, rapping a bright red nail against the side of her head. "You might play the dumb old farm boy with everybody, but I can see you're no idiot. Why would Grumman have Roy killed? He's been openly supporting the kid's political career ever since the Promised Day and it's pretty much common knowledge that he's planning to name him as his successor at the next best opportunity. Why would the Fuhrer go to all that trouble if he wanted Roy dead?"
"I guess he wouldn't." Havoc shrugged, looking suitably abashed. "Who do you reckon did it then? Someone close to the Fuhrer?"
"Unfortunately, that seems the most likely possibility so far," she sighed. "That or some international group hoping to cause trouble that managed to infiltrate security at headquarters. From the way this was organised, we can be sure that Roy was the intended target, but that doesn't necessarily mean it was a personal attack."
Havoc nodded. "He'd be the perfect target for anyone wanting to provoke panic and unrest in Amestris without sending the country into complete turmoil. Breda's been talking with the Fuhrer and some of the generals, telling them what we've found, and a few of them are convinced that this was all a Drachman plot. Or a Cretan one, or Ishvalan, I don't even know." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, gazing out at the lights of the city below. "If we're not careful this could lead to a major international incident, maybe even another war."
Just as she'd thought, much smarter than he looked. Although she supposed it didn't take a genius to work that one out. Unfortunately, the lieutenant's fears were all too likely to become reality. She herself had heard of talk from some of the more bloodthirsty generals about taking military action against this latest threat against the heart of Amestris. Mostly leftovers from Bradley's regime, who hadn't even liked Roy anyway, but they could still make their voices known.
"Do you reckon the kitchen staff could be in on it?" Havoc's voice broke through her worried thoughts. "Their story seems a little convenient, after all."
"Not possible, I'm afraid," Chris said, shaking her head. "I've had girls working in those kitchens for years now and I trust them absolutely. They'd know if anything like this were going on and they'd put a stop to it straight away."
"What about the messenger? Were your operatives able to recognise him?"
"Unfortunately not." It stung to admit it but her network had found nothing. Perhaps the recent years of peace and security had left them all too complacent but no one had anticipated an attack like this, herself included. In the days of Bradley's regime her girls would have been on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, but these were far different times and in the hustle and bustle of the party celebrations no one had thought anything unusual about a message sent down from a fuhrer known for his little eccentricities.
"A few of the girls remember seeing him, but that's about it. They say he was an ordinary soldier- or, at least," Chris paused, rolling her eyes. "Wearing a soldier's uniform, which as we all know is not always the same thing. He didn't give his name, but his uniform identified him as a private. Unfortunately, the description each of the girls gave could have matched any number of soldiers in Central Headquarters and, with no name, we've really got nothing to go on."
"I guess our best lead is to investigate everyone close to the fuhrer," she went on. "Luckily for us, that's a pretty short list. Bertie doesn't trust many people, I can tell you that. When it comes to military personnel, the list is even shorter. Aside from Roy, there are only five generals out of the whole of the Amestrian high command that he's particularly close to. They're the only ones who'd have any chance of accessing Bertie's personal stationary or forging his handwriting."
Chris turned away from the view, choosing instead to watch Havoc's face as she listed the five names. She could tell from the minute changes in his expression that he was committing each name to memory; a skill that had no doubt been vital in the years spent serving under her son, working in secret to undermine Bradley. Well aware of her scrutiny, Havoc was keeping his face purposefully calm but, for her, it was all too easy to read his surprise and disbelief as the identities of their five top suspects were revealed. Every one of the generals was well known within the Amestrian military, renowned not only for their tactical excellence but also for their reputation as fair and sympathetic leaders, men of generous spirits and great moral fortitude. It was almost impossible to believe that any one of these men could have engineered an attack as cowardly and underhand as the one they had witnessed that night.
Truth be told, Chris was having some trouble accepting it herself. She had come to be acquainted, to a greater or lesser degree, with all of Bertie Grumman's military friends over the years and had never found any of them to be anything other than pleasant company. A bit set in their ways, perhaps, but then, wasn't everyone? But she had examined the details of the attack for hours now, examining them from every possible angle, and this was the only conclusion that seemed at all reasonable. There was always the chance that Roy's poisoning was the action of some as yet unknown terrorist group, of course, but surely any such organisation would have wanted to make themselves heard by now? No, much as she might want to believe otherwise, the facts of the case could not be denied. In the absence of any new evidence, one of those men had to be behind the attempt on her son's life.
The walls were crowding around him again, in a way they hadn't done in years. Havoc kept his head high as he strode through the corridors of Central Headquarters, very deliberately not glancing behind him as he walked, not looking out for some shadowy pursuer or straining to catch the whispers of imagined conspiracies. The hallways of this building hadn't seemed so threatening since that first fateful transfer to Central after Maes Hughes' death, a whole other lifetime ago now. These last few years he had grown so used to thinking of Headquarters as a place of safety and hope, a place where the dreams they had worked so hard towards finally had a chance of growing into reality. But now the man who had inspired that hope lay unconscious in a hospital bed and the only likely suspects for the attack were within the inner circle of the Fuhrer himself. When the danger lay so close to the heart of their country, how could they know who to trust? It was just like the old days; anyone could be complicit and they could never afford to stop watching their backs. Even if –no, not if, when- the poisoner was caught, would they ever be able to return to how things had been? Or would the fragile peace that Roy and Grumman had so carefully built be shattered by this one malicious act?
No, no that couldn't happen. He knew Mustang and, whatever the man had been through that night, Havoc knew he wouldn't let it threaten everything he had worked for. That thought in mind, Havoc let his feet carry him through the halls, his anxiety lessening as every step took him closer to the team's office. Of course, he hadn't had much cause to come here himself in the last few years and he knew that Mustang had long since moved to a much fancier room on the third floor, but he was glad to see that their old centre of operations was still in use. The floorboards were squeaky and the windows let in an awful draft and he'd only really spent a couple of months there before his... injury... but still. There were plenty of memories attached to that room, not all of them bad.
Knowing it would be locked, Havoc knocked on the door. He grinned as he heard Fuery's still-boyish voice call out:
"What's the password?"
Even though he had been with the team since the start, had faced just as many dangers as they all had- if not more- Fuery still managed to retain an almost adolescent sense of gleeful excitement whenever they embarked on covert operations of any kind. Of course, in the long hours before Mustang's safety was guaranteed, when the prospect of their commander's death still hung heavily over their heads, Fuery had been as solemn and anxious as any of them. But now, with the immediate danger gone, he was free to indulge his love of espionage, unashamed to bring the full weight of his expert knowledge from spy novels and films into play.
"Come on, Fuery, no one really bothers with that password nonsense; that only ever happens in books. Let me in, will you?"
"I can't let you in without the password, you could be anyone." Fuery called back. Havoc rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, but I'm not and you know that. You know it's me. Look, this is silly. Breda, will you just let me in?"
A loud, exaggerated sigh issued from behind the door and Havoc grinned as he heard Breda's heavy footsteps making their way towards him. A soft 'click' of the key turning in the lock and the door was open, Breda standing behind it. There were deep shadows under his eyes- this night had taken its toll on all of them- but his face broke into an answering smile at the sight of Havoc.
Breda ushered Havoc into the room, locking the door again as soon as they had crossed the threshold. Paranoia was casting its shadows on them all, it seemed. A mass of equipment lay sprawled over every surface of the office, wires snaking across the floor and dangling from the backs of chairs, pages of near-illegible notes coating every desk, the soft crackle of static and the whirring of tape recorders filling the air.
"So," Havoc asked, leaning back against his own desk, making sure he kept his tone cheerful. "Found anything new?"
Fuery leaned back in his chair, his fingers twisting the wire of the headphones that rested on his desk. "Nothing..." he breathed, barely concealed exasperation in his voice. "We've found absolutely nothing since you left." He leaned back even further, his head tilted back until he was gazing at Havoc upside-down. The attempt to appear relaxed was painfully obvious and belied by the way he continued to wrap the cord of the headphones around his fingers, each twist of the wire pressing harder into his skin.
"Well, I wouldn't quite say nothing," Breda remarked. He raised his head from the sheaf of papers he was shuffling through, one eyebrow arched and a wicked grin on his face. "I mean, the transcriptions of Lieutenant Colonel Roberts' phone conversations have been very entertaining. Quite enlightening for young Sergeant Fuery here, too."
The slightest hint of a blush crept onto Fuery's cheeks and Havoc could see him struggle to bite back the retort that, actually, he was almost twenty five, thank-you-very-much, and that he'd had a girlfriend for just under two years now, unlike some people he could mention. It was a rant that had grown to almost Ed-like proportions over the last few years and Havoc probably knew every word of it off by heart now. Fuery snapped his chair back to upright position, directing a mutinous glare in Breda's direction. But he finally let go of the wire and, when he spoke, his voice had lost the edge of anxiety that had been so clear before.
"What about you, Jean? Was your talk with Madame Christmas helpful at all?"
Havoc nodded. "Very, actually. Thanks to her, we might be able to narrow our list of suspects down to just five men. She reckons the assassination attempt was most likely organised by someone close to the fuhrer."
Fuery gasped and Breda looked up once more, his eyes now fixed on Havoc. "That's quite a serious accusation," he murmured. "What evidence does she have to go on?"
Havoc swallowed around the tight knot of unease that had lodged in his throat ever since his conversation with Chris Mustang. He was just as aware as Breda of the gravity of the claim and, away from the Madame's confident, authoritative reasoning, he suddenly felt much less sure of himself. But Chris had been right; it was the only conclusion that matched the facts they had and he needed to remind himself of that.
"The message sent with the courier who brought the poisoned wine was written on the fuhrer's personal stationary, in his own hand," Havoc began. Breda raised his eyebrows again but this time there was no mirth in his expression. "Not to mention that they have motive- either envy over Mustang's favour with Grumman or distrust in Mustang leading to them acting out of a misplaced desire to protect the fuhrer."
"Makes sense," Breda admitted, the corners of his mouth pulling downward in distaste. "So, who are our main suspects? Members of military high command, I'm assuming?"
"Yes, unfortunately," Havoc replied. "According to the Madame, our five main suspects are Major-General Darnell, General Matsudaira, Lieutenant-General Scott, Lieutenant-General Reynolds and General Krieger." His eyes glanced between Breda and Fuery, seeing identical expressions of shock on their faces. He could still scarcely believe it himself, if he was honest.
Breda, at least, seemed to recover from the surprise quite quickly. "Well, I suppose if that's the case then our best plan of action is to focus only on transcripts of all the calls going in and out of their offices. Kain can tap all the generals' personal lines quite easily, too." He glanced over at Fuery who gave a faint nod, still looking slightly stunned. Even in the old days they'd never gone as far as to listen in on high-ranking officers' private calls. Staging a coup, that was one thing, but phone tapping, it seemed, was quite another.
"We can bring in Falman and Armstrong to help us with that," Breda continued, his fingers tapping against the desk as he mapped out his plan. "We should leave the rest of the Investigations team in the field; it's probably not a good idea if too many people know who our main suspects are. Besides, for all we know, it might all have been a plot by some foreign group, we can't rule that out just yet."
It was still possible, of course- but far from likely. No, Havoc thought, Madame Christmas had been right. Whoever was responsible for Roy's poisoning was among the five men who they were closing in on with every move they made. Impersonating the fuhrer's documents had been a major flaw in their plan and Havoc was confident that it was that same arrogance that would lead to their discovery, sooner rather than later.
Fuery yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last hour, draining the remainder of his coffee with a grimace. The drink had long since gone cold and Breda always added far too much sugar. Although he supposed it was needed at a time like this; they'd been working almost non-stop since they realised General Mustang had been poisoned and it was almost morning now. Not that Fuery resented the work, of course not. The thought of anyone killing Mustang- their friend, their leader, their king in more than just metaphor- was as appalling as it was inconceivable. Fuery was resolved to chase the culprit down, however long it took, and he knew the others all felt the same. Nothing had been said but he could see in their eyes the same shocked disbelief that he himself felt, the same anger and determination to bring the would-be assassin to justice.
Right at that moment, seeking justice involved pouring over transcripts of all of General Krieger's communications, a man Fuery was convinced could never have planned to assassinate Mustang, not with the amount of time he spent flirting with women over the phone. Breda had pointed out that people had thought exactly the same of Mustang for all those years, up until the point where he overthrew the government. But still, Krieger was no Mustang and if he had to read through another page of smarmy compliments and girls' simpering replies Fuery thought his head was likely to explode.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door, a light tapping that was far too timid to be Havoc or any of the other team members. Both Breda and Fuery glanced up, silence filling the room as they waited for their unknown visitor to announce themselves.
"Who is it?" Breda called out when no reply seemed imminent. His tone betrayed no hint of caution, but Fuery could tell he was suspicious. They were all on edge tonight.
The voice that answered was instantly recognisable. "My name's Janet, I-I'm a maid in the kitchens downstairs. I was hoping to talk to Kain Fuery. I-it's about what happened tonight... I think I might have some information that would be helpful."
Breda looked over at Fuery, his eyebrows raised. Truth be told, Fuery was just as surprised as he was. The shy, diffident girl he'd dated a few years ago, now suddenly coming forth as a witness to an attempted assassination? It didn't seem possible. True, Janet was on the kitchen staff downstairs so she could have seen something, but it was still strange. Breda gestured to the door, his impatience clear, and Fuery hurried to open it. Excitement bubbled up inside him at the thought that they might finally have a lead of some kind, a clue to help them unravel the tangled maze of circumspection and suspicion that that case had become.
Janet hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her, almost a year ago now. She was still wearing her maid's uniform from earlier that evening- of course she was, Fuery remembered, none of the kitchen staff had been allowed to leave- and it was hard not to notice the dark shadows under her eyes or the slight trembling of her hands, clasped together so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Whatever information she had, it was clearly costing her a lot to tell it to him. He led her into the room, resting his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Even without hearing what Janet had to reveal there was one thing Fuery could be sure of; she was not here to confess to a part in the poisoning. He had known her for a long time and she was simply not capable of something so malicious.
After clearing away piles of paper from one of the chairs Fuery gestured for Janet to sit down. She did so, her eyes widening as she took in the tangle of wires and equipment covering the floor and the precarious stacks of notes and files balancing on the desks. He had to admit, it did all look rather messy. But then, they'd hardly had time to organise their research, so focused had they been on catching the perpetrator. Of course, back when these kinds of operations had been standard for their team, Fuery had been able to set up and pack away everything he needed in far less time than this, but it seemed that even he had gotten a little lazy in the past few years.
"Thank you for coming to talk to us, Janet," Fuery began, trying his best to make his voice seem as casual as possible. Whatever the circumstances, Janet was a friend and he didn't want it to sound as if he were interrogating her. "What was it you thought we should know?"
"Well... there were some people in the kitchens earlier this evening, not long after General Mustang had been poisoned, talking to all the staff and asking if they'd seen anything and they mentioned..."
Janet broke off as Breda walked around from his desk to stand by Fuery's side. Fuery thought she must feel a little intimidated with the two of them standing over her like that but both of their own chairs were across the room and it would be awkward to move them through all the wires littering the floor. What should he do? Should he try moving his chair anyway, so they'd all be at an equal level? Or should Janet be standing too? But she looked as if she needed to sit down... Fuery had never imagined he'd need to worry about such things. The general would have known what to do, Fuery thought with a touch of desperation, but- of course- it was because of his absence that they were in the situation in the first place.
Breda met Janet's gaze, his expression calm and patient as he motioned for her to continue. After a moment, she did so, her voice stronger than before.
"They mentioned that the wine that had poisoned the general had been delivered by a soldier, someone low-ranking; they said they'd been told so by someone from the kitchen staff. They said he probably wasn't in trouble but they needed to talk to him as a witness." Janet paused, looking down at her hands and taking a deep breath before starting to speak again.
"I didn't want to say anything at the time because I was afraid... but I know the soldier they were talking about."
Fuery's breath caught in his throat at her words and it took all his self control not to rush over to Janet and demand that she tell them the name that instant. He looked over at Breda and saw the same excitement on his face, the same impatience to discover the last, elusive piece that they needed to solve the puzzle.
"His name's William... William Marshal; he's my cousin," Janet went on. "He's a private in Lieutenant Grenville's company. I remember when he came in to deliver the wine; he was really excited because he said some big-shot general had trusted him to deliver a package from the Fuhrer himself." Her voice quickened and she began to twist her fingers together as she spoke.
"William's not going to get in trouble for this, is he? I've known him all my life and he's a good man, Kain, he would never have done anything like this if he'd know what was going to happen, I'm sure of it. He'd have come forward himself, I know he would have, but he got reassigned just a few days ago you see; I don't know why..."
Fuery knelt down besides her, holding up a hand to stop the rapid flow of words. He looked into her eyes as he spoke, trying his best not to notice the tears that had welled up inside them. "Don't worry, Janet; if he really acted without knowing what he was doing then your cousin's not going to get into any trouble, I promise. Once we've arrested whoever's behind this then we'll need to talk to William as a witness and check that his story adds up, but from what you've told us, it seems he'll be fine. He might even get transferred back to Central, if he'd like."
If he really was innocent, of course, Fuery thought to himself. But even without any proof, Fuery found himself believing Janet's heartfelt assertion. It was just the kind of dirty trick that would be pulled by anyone who would stoop so low as to use poison; implementing an innocent man in the crime and ruining his career in the process, if what Janet had said about a transferral was anything to go by. Sending the soldier away had been a clever move though, Fuery had to admit that. Without his testimony it would be impossible to know who was behind the attack and knowing the state of the military's records, it could take weeks to track him down. Unless...
Fuery glanced at Breda, seeing his own question reflected in his friend's eyes. If Private Marshall had talked to Janet about the delivery... it wasn't too much to assume...
"Janet," Fuery spoke softly, trying not to let his tone betray the urgency of his question. "Did your cousin mention the name of the general who gave him the wine? Do you remember who it was?"
For a long moment she sat very still, her head down and her long hair hiding her face. Fuery imagined her eyes were closed; she often did that, he knew, when she was trying to remember something. "He did mention a name..." she began, her voice halting, almost a whisper. "I didn't pay much attention at the time but I knew I'd heard the name before. It was a lieutenant general, I'm sure of it... William's captain was under his command. He was one of the older generals, I think... oh, what was his name?" Janet muttered, almost to herself. She fell silent again before looking up suddenly, her eyes meeting Fuery's. When she spoke again, all traces of uncertainty were gone from her voice.
"I remember now," She said. "It was a lieutenant general, as I thought. Lieutenant General Reynolds."
"Oh, General Reynolds. I was hoping I'd find you here, sir." Havoc shut the door behind him, moving over to the table where the general was sitting, his eyes downcast and his arms crossed over his chest. Reynolds was alone in the large meeting room, the latest meeting of the evening having finished over ten minutes ago when Fuhrer Grumman had announced his intentions to pay a personal visit to the hospital to see how his youngest general was recovering. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
Reynolds looked up at that, his expression sombre. An indication of his guilt, possibly? All of the other members of High Command that Havoc had seen had appeared overjoyed to hear that Mustang was going to live. Reynolds wore a face that looked as if all his hopes had been crushed. Still, Havoc reminded himself, there was no need to get ahead of himself. However likely it might seem at this point, they needed proof that Reynolds was the poisoner before they could act. He sat down in the chair next to the general's, shifting a little as the pistol hidden in his jacket dug into his side. It'd been years since he'd last carried a gun but it wasn't something that was easy to forget. Havoc hoped there wasn't going to be need for it, although he suspected that was mostly wishful thinking. Reynolds didn't seem the type to go down without a struggle.
"My name's Jean Havoc," he started, keeping up his friendly tone. It wouldn't do for the general to get suspicious. "I'm a retired lieutenant, a former member of General Mustang's team." Reynolds' eyes narrowed at that, just slightly, before relaxing once more. As Havoc watched, the general's face contorted into an expression of friendly concern, a smile finding its way onto his lips from somewhere as he leant forward, his arms uncrossed, his hands resting on the table, the very picture of openness and sincerity. If he was indeed guilty- and Havoc found no reason to believe that he was not- then he was an impressive actor.
"Ah yes, I believe I've heard Mustang talk about you once or twice. What is it I can do to help, Mr Havoc?"
Was it just Havoc's imagination, or had Reynolds put a slight emphasis on the title? As if it was a subtle reminder of Havoc's civilian status, his lack of standing within the walls of Headquarters. If that was his intention, he was wasting his time. Those tactics weren't going to work on Jean Havoc. As silently as possible, Havoc slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and switched on the miniature tape recorder Fuery had given him. The young man had assured him it would work perfectly, despite its size. Havoc just hoped he was right; even if the plan succeeded and he was able to trick Reynolds into admitting his crimes the confession would be useless without evidence.
"Well, General Reynolds, as I'm sure you're aware, we're currently conducting an investigation into who could be responsible for the attempted assassination of General Mustang." Of course he was aware, Havoc thought, he'd been stuck in meetings discussing that very question for hours now. Hopefully the strain of having to lie so many times already would have left the general feeling uneasy, vulnerable to Havoc's questioning. There was only so long one man could keep up a perfect facade. "We thought it might be useful to talk with you as you were sitting next to the general when he was poisoned and you were the first person to notice his symptoms." All a little too convenient, of course. Havoc had been watching closely at the time, from across the table, and what he'd thought had been kind gestures on the older general's behalf now took on a far more sinister air. He'd seen the way Reynolds had faked concern at Mustang's signs of illness, offering meaningless words of comfort while hurrying to assure the worried onlookers that Mustang was fine, suffering from nothing more than a momentary spell of dizziness. Reynolds had lied with a smile on his face and sincerity in his eyes, all the while knowing that his words were sending a man to his death; the death he himself had arranged. The thought disgusted Havoc.
"We were wondering if General Mustang might have mentioned anything to you that could help us in the investigation." Havoc continued, watching Reynolds' face closely.
"Such as what, exactly?" the general asked, still smiling pleasantly. "I'm afraid I can't remember General Mustang saying anything that could be considered relevant. Could you be more specific?"
"When exactly did the general first tell you he was feeling unwell, for instance?" Havoc asked. "Or did he mention that anything was worrying him; perhaps he'd seen someone who looked suspicious earlier that evening?" Of course, whatever Reynolds told him would most likely be lies concocted to save his own skin but Havoc was hopeful that his questioning would succeed in unsettling the man, at least a little. And of course, if it turned out that their suspicions were wrong and General Reynolds was innocent then any information he could give them would be useful.
"The first I knew of it was only moments before he had to leave." Reynolds replied. His demeanour did not change at all but Havoc thought he could detect a hint of tension in the old general's voice. Perhaps their plans to catch Reynolds out would have some success after all. "It all came on so suddenly; Mustang seemed quiet for most of the dinner, that's true, but I didn't think too much of it. It was only when I asked him about it outright that he admitted he was feeling ill."
"I see, Havoc replied. An idea gripped him, a way, possibly, that he could catch the general out. The man had been lying for nearly seven hours straight, he had to slip up sometime...
"The reason I'm asking you these questions, General, is that while the doctors have succeeded in identifying which poison General Mustang had been given, they were unable to discover how, precisely, the poison was administered." Havoc had never been a particularly accomplished liar in his youth but years of working under Mustang had enabled him to learn from the best. His blue eyes gazed guilelessly into Reynolds' narrowed browns; a textbook image of honesty. The general was highly intelligent, that was true, but he made no secret of the fact that he was not a man of science. Havoc could only hope Reynolds' knowledge was so lacking he would not think to question the lies laid out before him. "Obviously, this information would be invaluable in discovering the identity of the poisoner, which is why we need your help. Sir."
This time there was no mistaking the tension in Reynolds' voice. "Yes?" he asked, his arms crossing once more over his chest. The old general sat up straighter in his chair, almost eye level to Havoc. His facade of pleasantry had not yet shattered completely, but the cracks were plain to see. "How, exactly, can I be of help, Mr Havoc? What other questions would you like to ask me?"
"Well, Sir, if we knew at roughly what point General Mustang started to become ill, we would have a much better chance of deducing how he had been poisoned. If it came on as suddenly as you said, then it's likely he was poisoned by something from the dinner, most likely in the food or in his wine..."
Reynolds' held up a hand, cutting Havoc off. "Now hold on there, let's not go jumping to conclusions," he said, his words coming a little too quickly in Havoc's opinion. "It's true that the symptoms only started to show halfway through dinner, but, as I said, Mustang had been quiet all evening, even before we started eating. Unusually so, you could say. It didn't occur to me at the time, but it seems quite possible now that his mood was an early symptom of the poison."
Havoc leaned forward, struggling to keep a very Mustang-esque smirk off his face. Was Reynolds really going to fall for it? "So... you're saying that it's likely General Mustang was poisoned before sitting down to eat, General? In your opinion, at least."
Reynolds nodded. "Very likely, I'd say. He definitely didn't seem well even before the start of the meal." I've got you now... Havoc thought. The doctors were certain that the poison had been delivered through Mustang's wine, the wine he'd only started drinking about halfway through the first course of the dinner. Havoc himself had spoken to Mustang only moments before taking his seat at the table and had noticed none of the ill-effects Reynolds had described. Of course, it hardly counted as binding proof- the old general could always claim he'd simply made an honest mistake- but for Havoc it was easily enough to cement the man's guilt in his eyes.
Unaware of what he had just done, Reynolds continued to speak, seeming to warm to his story. "I did wonder why he seemed so out of sorts, but I just assumed he was unhappy about something and so didn't say anything about it. After all, the man does have a reputation of being rather highly strung."
Despite his best efforts, Havoc's disapproval must have shown on his face for the general's demeanour changed instantly, his hands going up in a disarming gesture and that pleasant smile returning to his face once more. "I mean no offence, of course. Mustang is an incredibly talented general and a valuable asset to this country's military. The government owes him a great amount for his role in protecting Amestris during the Promised Day and the overthrow of the old regime." His smile did not reach his eyes and the gaze he turned on Havoc was cold and assessing. "A man who has seen and committed such terrible things as Mustang has... particularly at such a young age... it's hardly surprising that he'd be a little temperamental now and then. I meant nothing by it, Mr Havoc." A short laugh. "I know how protective you people can be of him."
Yes, Havoc thought, we protect him because he deserves it. Something it's clear you'll never understand. Temperamental? When has Mustang ever let his emotions get in the way of his duty to his country? Even when faced with Hughes' murderer, he still managed to stay on the right path. He's a far better man than you'll ever be, General Reynolds...
"Yeah, well, force of habit, you know..." Havoc laughed. He needed the general to drop his guard, needed him to keep speaking as freely as he had just moments before. Perhaps that way he could gain some understanding of the man's motives, perhaps use his prejudice to manipulate him into confessing his crime. "To tell you the truth, we all worry about the general now and then, too. He can be so unpredictable sometimes... occasionally it's a little scary." The words threatened to stick in his throat but he forced himself to say them. Let Reynolds think that they were on the same side, that he too shared the same concerns for Mustang's state of mind; that the general's ignorant, fear based judgements did not disgust him.
"I'm glad you understand my concerns." Reynolds sighed. "Loyalty to one's commander is an admirable thing but it is also necessary to recognise that a leader is human, too, and may have flaws. I often fear that those who surround Mustang are too loyal, love him too much to ever see how dangerous he really is."
You're wrong, Havoc's mind whispered, his anger turning to sorrow at the thought of how much fear Mustang inspired still, how few people truly knew him. He thought of Hawkeye, of what little he knew of what happened between her and Mustang when he faced Envy in the tunnels beneath Central. Reynolds could never understand such fierce devotion, the love that would drive Mustang's closest protector to put a bullet through his skull before she would see him take a single step off the path he had chosen.
The general gave another heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I know he has Fuhrer Grumman's trust, that they've known each other for many years, but I still can't escape the thought that perhaps it was not wise to have promoted Mustang so high, so quickly. The power he wields... his alchemy... it's so unnatural, so dangerous. Power like that ends up corrupting even the best men. He's already killed so many..."
"You mean during the Ishvalan conflict?" Havoc asked. He did his best to keep his voice even but inside he was seething at the injustice of Reynold's words. "That campaign was authorised by military high command; General Mustang only ever killed when he was ordered to." Havoc knew he should maintain his pretence of sympathy with the general, that defending Mustang was a dangerous move, but he couldn't help it. Havoc had seen only too clearly the way Roy suffered because of his actions in Ishval, the way the war came back to haunt him time and time again. It was something he would never be free of however long he lived and to have this man, this general who had been on the council for the war, had approved the order to send the State Alchemists into Ishval, sit there and condemn Mustang for his own failures... Havoc took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.
"I recognise that, of course," The general said. "His alchemy helped to win the war far faster than it would otherwise have ended; a commendable result, there's no doubt about it. I just..." Reynolds raised his head at last, his eyes meeting Havoc's. For the first time that night, Havoc saw genuine conviction shining in his gaze. His facade was gone completely, Havoc realised; the general truly believed every word he was speaking. "I can't help but worry the effect that such a violent conflict would have had on Mustang's psyche. Some of the strongest, most honourable soldiers I've known have broken under the weight of guilt. I know that, outwardly, Mustang appears to be fine but I fear that his experiences in the war could have tainted his feelings towards the military in dangerous ways." Reynolds eyes drifted to the far wall, as if seeing visions of his fears brought to life. "His coup against the Bradley administration... while necessary, certainly, and greatly beneficial to the nation... can you truly tell me that it was not motivated by anger towards the military?"
Perhaps it was, Havoc thought. But not in ways that you could ever understand. And for reasons you could never hope to believe. But it would have been useless to voice these thoughts to Reynolds. There was only one thing to ask the ageing general now.
"Is that why you had him poisoned?" The words were scarcely more than a whisper yet they seemed to echo against the walls. Reynolds glanced back, shocked. Indignation burned in his eyes, flushing his face a ruby red but his anger soon disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"Yes." He spoke so quietly Havoc could hardly hear him, his voice heavy with weariness and defeat. Despite himself, Havoc could not help but feel a slight stirring of pity for the old general, so hopeless and forsaken. "I told myself it was for the good of the country- for the good of the fuhrer. Truth be told, Mustang terrifies me; he always has done, ever since I first saw him as a young major, cutting down the Ishvalans in their thousands. And after he brought down Bradley's regime... who's to say he wouldn't try again with another one?" The general held Havoc's gaze for several moments before, uncomfortable, Havoc turned his eyes away, no longer able to bear the weight of that brutal, unrepentant stare. There was no remorse in Reynold's eyes, Havoc realised, the revelation awakening the embers of his anger once more. He felt absolutely no guilt for what he had done.
"But the fuhrer- your friend- cares deeply for General Mustang, loves him almost as if he were his own son. They've known each other for nearly thirty years, for God's sake." Havoc forced himself to lower his voice, not to let his anger get the better of him. "How can you think that Mustang would pose a threat to Fuhrer Grumman? And how could you ever think that what you did was for the good of the Fuhrer, that he would be grateful to you?" Havoc just couldn't understand it. After the initial, victorious rush of having secured a confession from Reynolds, he was left with nothing but bewilderment and a sense of betrayal. Reynolds had been one of the finest generals of his generation, a man that every soldier looked up to, Havoc included, once. And now, to hear him confessing to the attempted murder of the greatest man Havoc had ever known, the only man who stood any chance of saving Amestris from itself... it just didn't make any sense.
Reynolds shut his eyes, resting his head in his hands, saying nothing for a long time. But when he raised his head, the resolve had returned to his eyes and he spoke proudly, his chin held high, only the slightest hint of regret colouring his words.
"I never expected Albert to be grateful to me... in fact, I thought it almost certain that he would hate me, if he ever discovered that I was behind the assassination. And seeing him today... the terror on his face all throughout the hours when no one knew if Mustang would live or die... it was incredibly difficult. But even so... I knew I had no choice.
"I'm a soldier. I have been for over thirty years now, and I've always served my country faithfully and unquestioningly. I may not always have agreed with the decisions made by our leaders but I've always followed the rule of law. That's all anyone can do; follow the law that their country has laid out for them, whether it be right or wrong. But Mustang... he took that law into his own hands, changing it as he saw fit, not caring what he destroyed in the process. A man such as that... I could never trust him. And if Albert... that is, Fuhrer Grumman... knew what was best for him, he wouldn't trust Mustang either. And perhaps what I did was wrong- certainly, it turned my stomach to resort to such an underhand method as poisoning- but I don't regret it. My only regret is that I failed."
Havoc sat in stunned silence, his thoughts scattered and his mind a war of conflicting emotions. He had come into the room expecting, in the final confrontation, to rail at the man who had tried to kill Mustang, to call him a coward, a monster; to rejoice that justice would soon be served. Now, looking down at Reynolds, he found he could do none of those things. Havoc could never forgive Reynolds for his attempt to extinguish the life of his general, the man he loved more than the dearest brother, the greatest king. Reynolds' beliefs were wrong, based on nothing but ignorance and fear and nothing he could say could make Havoc doubt the path Mustang had chosen, the path he himself had followed for so many years. Yet against all that his heart told him Havoc found himself- perhaps- beginning to understand. His anger drained away at the sight of the man before him, tired, weighed down by fear and wishing only to protect a friend from a man he saw as a monster. Could he truly say to himself that he would not do his best to protect Mustang from those he saw as a threat, by whatever means necessary?
Reynolds was the first to break the silence, a bitter, resigned smile on his face. "I believe this is the point where you call in the men waiting just outside this door and have me arrested, is it not?"
Yayyy! It's done! Just the epilogue to go now... Drop a review if you have time and thanks for reading. :D