Notes: Here's Chapter Four. I don't really have much to comment about it; go ahead and read on :)

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Chapter Four: Homecoming and Lies

Riza Hawkeye glanced at the clock, anxiety and impatience mixed in her face. Seven forty-eight. There was only twelve minutes until Colonel Mustang was supposed to return to his normal spot at his desk. The three months she had to spend without him seemed to have passed agonizingly slowly. It wasn't just the difficultly of being in charge of four misbehaving men, although she did feel the heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She simply missed her commander. It wasn't like him to leave so suddenly without notice, but she trusted that he had a good reason to do so. As the weeks passed, a voice kept on telling her that it was odd how long he'd been gone for. It had been a while since he'd left Central for more than a week… And Drachma wasn't exactly the nicest place to visit right now, with its turbulent situation…

She sat in Roy's seat with her chin propped up in her hand, staring at the closed door for what felt like an eternity. One by one, the others arrived – Fuery first as usual, then Falman, then Havoc and Breda. Five minutes. There was a visible tension in the room; even the men weren't saying much. At last, just when Riza felt that she couldn't stand it anymore, there was a soft knock on the door. Everyone jumped; Fuery scurried to the door and yanked it open.

"Colonel!" The young bespectacled man squeaked, snapping into a salute. Havoc and Breda broke into huge grins and let out a cheer. Falman simply dropped the large book he had been reading while Riza jumped out of her chair.

"Hey, how's everyone?" Roy had that familiar smirk on his face. "Long time no see."

"Sir!" Riza saluted as he came over. "I've been looking after your duties – the documents are all in the drawers, and the reports are filed away – "

"I see you've kept everything under control while I was away, Lieutenant," he interrupted her with another twitching of the corner of his lips, "and I should thank you for that."

"It is only my duty, Colonel." Riza decided to ignore the mockery for now. She had missed him dearly. But of course, she had no idea how badly Roy wanted to take her and the others up in a giant bear hug. There were days that he'd thought that he would never see their faces again. His heart was full to the brim with pure joy, and he had to make an effort to make it a little less obvious. But they'd taught him things like that at the facility – keeping emotions hidden was a basic part of the training. Roy hoped he didn't have the expression of a little boy on his birthday, opening presents. He didn't.

Riza, not knowing the thoughts that were running through his head, scrutinized Roy carefully. She couldn't quite say exactly what it was, but it seemed like he'd changed somewhere. "Sir, have you lost weight?"

Mustang scratched his head. "I suppose I might have. Drachma's cold and there's not a whole lot to eat... The weather's horrible – ice and snow flying around everywhere. They sometimes cut your face up like little knives." That explained the faint remainders of several cuts that lined his cheeks and jaw. Roy was glad he was in his stiff military uniform; at least they couldn't notice just how much weight he'd lost and how much he'd been cut up. "I'm glad to be back in Central. It's so warm and comfy here."

"And it's good to have you back, Colonel!" Havoc sang, clapping him on the shoulder, earning himself a sharp glare from Hawkeye.

Roy suddenly assumed an air of authority. "Now, now, gentlemen. Why don't we get back to work? It's eight fifteen."

"Yessir!" The men returned to their jobs with more vigour than usual, the smiles plastered onto their faces. Mustang came over to his desk and set down his briefcase on it. Riza, looking at him, asked,

"How did things go in Drachma, sir?"

"Decently. I got everything done." Mustang sighed and sat in his old chair, spun around and looked out the window like he always did before. "Things here haven't changed at all, eh?" Back in the facility, he wouldn't have been surprised if the apocalypse had taken place while he'd been shut off from the rest of the world. This familiar scene relieved him.

"Well, it's only been three months, Colonel… but I was rather curious why you left us without any notice at all."

"I didn't want to, either, but it was an emergency. I didn't expect them to call me out like that… But at least I'm back in one piece."

"I agree, sir." Hawkeye gave him a rare smile and turned to oversee the others doing their jobs.

Roy restrained himself from putting his face in his hands. He was astonishing himself with his excellent acting. Every lie was tearing at him. He hated how easily they were coming out and fooling everyone. He wanted to tell at least Hawkeye the truth, but of course that was impossible. If anyone found out about his stay at the facility he would be a corpse in twenty-four hours, and so would his subordinates. Mustang told himself to stop thinking about such things – why couldn't he focus on the happiness of being back home? It felt so alien, though, as if this was the illusion, the dream…

Stop it. Stop it.

Now he could only wonder about what kind of horrors the coming nights might bring him. Most of his paperwork went unsigned that morning, much to the dismay of Riza, who had been hoping that her commander's trip to Drachma had improved his desire to work.

At least it had done other things to other aspects of him, although Mustang couldn't have called all of those 'improvements'.

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That evening, Roy had a good Xingese dinner with Riza, as he had offered to take her out. He hadn't eaten anything so good in such a long time. He was careful not to make it seem as though he was a starved animal, however, and did his best to eat only a respectable amount.

It was his first time somewhere other than his office or apartment since MacDougall had brought him back to the city by car. They'd blindfolded him on the way there, predictably, so he wouldn't know the location of the facility. Not that he wanted to find out. He only knew that it took two hours to get there from his house, which wasn't very helpful information at all. Roy had been conveniently dropped off at his doorstep. These men seemed to be aware of every small detail of his life, but oddly enough it didn't shock or frighten him any more…

He found it funny how no one was wearing masks any more. He found it funny how he wasn't being forced into beating up trainees or doing a couple thousand chin-ups. His old life felt unnaturally comfortable. It almost made him uneasy.

As they walked home, Hawkeye was still in the process of trying to figure out why the Colonel felt so different to her from before. It was such a subtle difference that Riza was still failing to pinpoint it. He definitely looked slimmer, but that was easily explainable by the Drachma mission. Riza knew of how stressful it could be to go to the snow-covered country. Maybe it was something in his black eyes. They seemed... somewhat duller than before. Perhaps it was because of the fatigue of his trip. That was what Hawkeye was telling herself, but deep down she knew that something didn't click with this conclusion. She forced herself to let it go for now.

When Roy got home, the first thing he wanted to do was to go to bed. He had never known how wonderful his mattress was, until after he had the experience of sleeping in a rock-hard cot for three months. However he lost most of his urge to sleep when he found a note stuck to the light switch. It was well-disguised as the papers he sometimes put on the washroom mirror as reminders for himself. But instead of 'Get milk and eggs' or 'Don't forget letter for the Major General', this one simply read 'General Thomas Johnston'. A cold pit formed in Roy's stomach when he quickly deciphered that this man was going to be his first target. Knowing that he wouldn't necessarily have to murder someone tonight only gave him a small relief. He had to find out about this General Johnston before he could attempt to kill him…

First Mustang looked through his address book for Johnston's name. Despite all the training he'd gone through, his stomach still churned when he saw that he'd once asked Johnston for a favour, even though it had been over a year ago. Worse, Johnston was married… He knew that none of this mattered to his syndicate. All that was relevant was that General Johnston was in King Bradley's circle of officers.

What would be the best way to kill him? It would be a bad idea to attempt anything in the military; it wouldn't be difficult to get caught by a skilled soldier in a place like that. Not at Johnston's house, either, for that was an easy way to leave behind evidence and create a large mess… The only option left was to chase him down when he was heading home. That way, at least Mustang didn't have to hurt anyone else…

Roy got changed out of his uniform and into dark clothes. He remembered his brimmed hat as well, since he wouldn't have the protection of his mask, which would look conspicuous indeed. He waited until it was nearly three o'clock. It was then he left his apartment, with his uniform slung over his back in a bag, along with his briefcase. The morning was cool and still, typical autumn weather at Central. Referring to the palm of his hand, where he'd written down Johnston's address, he made his way through the deserted streets until he found the place – a disgustingly massive mansion that was surrounded by a high wall and a wicked-looking gate. Perched in the protection of a nearby tree, Mustang waited.

It was nearly seven thirty when Johnston finally emerged from his house. By then there were a few people in heading to work in the streets; this was a relief. Roy jumped down from the tree and began to follow the man from about ten metres behind, taking care not to be noticed. He memorized the turns Johnston took on his way to the offices; this way he could have a good idea of where to lie in wait for him the following evening. Since it was Tuesday a general of Bradley was probably too busy to go to a bar or party after work…

Stalking a military officer. Roy already felt like a criminal. Just wait until this evening, Roy. Then you'll be a real criminal. Just wait.

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The day passed without much event. An hour or so earlier than his usual leave time, Mustang told Hawkeye that he was feeling rather tired and asked her to take over for the rest of the day. Again, the lying… It was perfectly plausible as he was supposed to have just returned from an exhausting trip in Drachma, which was probably why Riza let him get away early this time. He bid his subordinates a good night and got home as quickly as he could. He fetched his equipment from under a loose floorboard near his bed – his black coat, shirt and pants, a knife, pistol and his personal favourite, a cable with weights on both ends. It was strong and light, useful for swinging on, for tripping, securing or strangling enemies… He took off his uniform, donned the dark clothes and put the weapons in his belt. He glanced at the last object left – the mask that MacDougall had given him. He hesitated before picking it up. He looked over it for the hundredth time, the black face reminding him of a demon or something of the sort... At last, he decided that he'd waited long enough. He pulled the coat closer around him and pulled the window open. He lived on the second floor. When he was sure that there was no one looking he swung himself out the window, and landed lightly on the ground. Before he could change his mind he put the mask on, paused for a moment, and disappeared into a nearby alley.

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What an extraordinary sensation. He'd never felt anything like this before. It was as if a foreign body had entered his consciousness. He felt powerful without his face being exposed to the rest of the world, yet he had a sense of vulnerability at the same time. When he had this face covering his own, he was Raven, Tyson MacDougall's assassin. He wasn't Roy Mustang. It was surprisingly easy to convince himself of this. For why would Mustang, a Colonel in the military, be sneaking around in the dark with a mask on? It was an almost laughable thought.

He was strangely confident as he waited for Johnston to cross paths with him. Anticipation and adrenaline was coursing through his system. The cable was in his hand and his knife was in the other, ready to catch Johnston unawares. Roy Mustang, from under Raven's mask, whispered, Why the hell are you looking forward to killing someone? Raven probably would have just grinned, if he weren't the faceless demon he was.

There were footsteps coming this way. Raven confirmed that it was indeed Johnston, perhaps about twenty metres away. He flung up the cable and made it catch on the metal stairs that hung over his head. Quietly, he swung himself onto the bottom steps, and slowed his breathing down again. He untangled the cable from the stairs and wound it around his hand. He wanted this to all go down perfectly. It was going to be his first perfect kill, and definitely not the last.

Johnston came into view. He was a tall man, far larger than Raven himself. He'd learned early on that many people were bigger than him, since he wasn't exactly the tallest man in Amestris, so he needed to make up for his lack of size with strength and agility. Johnston had a strong, confident gait, similar to Mustang's own, quite common in men in the military. Thick hair, so he wasn't as old as some of Bradley's other generals. He didn't look too hard to bring down. But Raven kept in mind that Johnston was a soldier. He couldn't underestimate him.

Raven hurled the cable in Johnston's direction. The general gave a strangled yelp as it wrapped itself around his right leg and pulled him to the ground. Raven, not wasting a moment, secured the weight of the other end between the steps, then flung another one out, felt it catch around a street lamp – he swung down from his perch on the stairs and to the street, kicking down Johnston, who was attempting to get up again. He went once around the lamp and let go, using the momentum to land close to his victim. Johnston had managed to get onto his knees. He saw the black-clad, faceless assassin storming his way, and his eyes widened in fear.

"What the fuck are you?" He screamed as Raven's knife glinted brightly in the dimness. "What do you want from me?"

Raven had been taught to work in silence. He didn't answer; he just forced the man down again with his foot, raised the knife. Then the pure terror he saw in Johnston's eyes made him falter. Mustang was again feeling Ishval. Ignore it. Ignore it, Raven was commanding him. The few seconds he'd just wasted had cost him. Johnston, even from his position under Raven, had managed to draw something out of his pocket. It shone. It was small. It was a knife, a gun or a watch. Judging by the way it was being held, it was a small revolver. Oh, shit. The gunshot rang out; simultaneously, Raven swerved his upper body to one side. Instead of finding his heart as it should have, the bullet just grazed his collarbone. However, some blood flew into the air, but perhaps that was an advantage for him. Raven deliberately took a moment to recover from the shot; Johnston visibly relaxed, obviously thinking that he'd won. Too late, he realized that Raven was very much alive. The masked man, this time without hesitation, pushing away the Colonel's emotions, drove his knife directly into Johnston's chest, piercing the heart and killing him almost instantly.

Raven felt ridiculous. He was again reminded that if he didn't finish his victims first, they would try to finish him. Hadn't the facility taught him that? Stupid Mustang. Stupid, stupid Mustang and his emotions. Get that, you idiot Colonel. Kill or be killed. It's that simple, Raven jeered. It's not so hard.

But why was it Roy that was left staring down at Johnston's corpse? Why was it Roy that was left with the dull stinging of the bullet wound? Where was Raven now? He removed his mask, aware of the danger of the act. Mustang then bent down and reached over; he closed Johnston's glassy eyes, still wide-open in mortal terror. He pulled his knife out of the general's blood-soaked clothes and began to wipe it clean on the familiar blue uniform.

You're a real criminal now, Mustang. A murderer.

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Roy had made a mistake by not considering how demanding his schedule had been the day before. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. That little spying mission of his in the morning had taken too much of his sleep. At least the assassination hadn't taken quite so long… Still, when he got back to his apartment, it was well over midnight. After rubbing some alcohol into his wound and taping a folded handkerchief over it, he collapsed into bed. He fell asleep in a matter of seconds and slept like a log.

When morning came he dragged himself out of bed and did a few hundred push-ups like Snake had advised him to. Then the sit-ups. He was no longer doing intensive, all-day exercise routines, but he still needed to keep himself in peak condition… He found that his little workout had warded off his drowsiness; he checked his clock and saw that it was seven o'clock. Not bad at all. First changing handkerchiefs, he got dressed in his uniform, made himself a sandwich and headed off to work, no earlier and no later than usual.

He greeted his subordinates and picked up the morning edition of Central Times. He saw what he had been expecting on the headlines – A New Killer on the Block? General Thomas Johnston found brutally murdered! The part of him that was Raven felt a surge of pleasure; Roy just felt sick.

"It seems like we're having more trouble here in Central, sir…" Mustang almost jumped. Hawkeye had been reading the paper from his side. For how long had she been standing there? Had she noticed anything?

Roy forced himself to speak normally. "Yeah… Has this been happening while I was away?"

"No, Colonel. Not this kind of stuff." Breda answered from the other end of the room, his mouth full of hot dog. "We haven't had a straight murder like this for a while."

"Since those killings from last year, you mean?" Mustang feigned curiosity. He was pretty damn good at this.

"Probably, sir." Fuery said. "It's strange how this person went for another man in the military, just like that other one…"

"Also, wasn't this Johnston guy one of Furher Bradley's generals?" Havoc piped up, his cigarette smoking. "Whoever this murderer is sure doesn't seem to like the military. You think he's the same person from last year?"

"Who knows?" Falman shrugged." It's perfectly possible…" Roy let them argue about what they thought about the incident. He sank into his chair, suddenly more aware of the dull ache below his neck. Would something give him away? What if he'd left behind some kind of evidence without knowing? What if someone became suspicious of him? What if –

"Colonel?" Riza's concerned voice interrupted his panicked train of thought. "Are you all right, sir? You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Mustang answered, commanding his heartbeat to slow down. Everything was normal. Everything was all right. He wasn't going to get caught. No one would suspect him. He'd done a good job last night.

TBC. Reviews are my life!