Disclaimer: FMA belongs to Arakawa Hiromu
Notes: A bit of twisting of events.
Fifteen: Scent of Blood
It was midnight when the knocking on his door started – the clock in the hallway had just chimed – but a few minutes passed before the insistent tap-tap-tap (and finally thud-thud-thud) woke him and dragged him out to see what the commotion was. An urgent hollering cut off mid-sentence when the door swung open. Mustang found himself suddenly awake.
A pale-faced Feury supported an even paler Hawkeye on Mustang's doorstep.
"Sir, he knows!" she cried weakly, clutching at her side with the hand not draped over Feury's shoulders. "The time to act is now!"
Ushering them in and closing the door on the empty doorstep, Mustang let Feury fuss over Hawkeye as she spoke, staining his lounge with the blood on her coat.
That was the night that set their coup into action. They didn't fight to kill, but injuries had to be made in order to win. It wasn't as bad as Ishbal – it didn't haunt his nightmares; but whenever he woke in the night, he could still smell the blood on the streets and on his lounge.