Chapter III –

Edward knew that he had come into the office early—it was obvious; he was in the front door of the place by 0645 hours. He also knew that his early morning meeting would have ended ten minutes after everyone (excluding the Lieutenant General) was supposed to be in, meaning he would be there at about fifteen to twenty minutes after they had all gotten in. So, "Where the heck is everyone?"

Only the empty office answered him back for three minutes until Hawkeye's phone started going off. He looked around for a bit before he slowly walked forward and reached out to pick it up. She's going to kill me, his mind told him as he gripped it and took it out of its cradle, lifting it to his ear "Lieutenant General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist's office."

"Full Metal? Where's the Captain?"

"Lieutenant General? Where are you?"

"That's not important. Why are you answering Hawkeye's phone?"

"She's… out." With everyone else. "Why are you calling Hawkeye's phone?"

"I was just going to tell her not to be alarmed when I come in late. Where is she?"

"She's your Captain. You ask her." He shifted to and fro for a moment, looking at the room and scanning the halls for her familiar body sense. He would know when she was coming the moment she stepped onto the floor, anyway, but he still felt safer knowing that he would be able to consciously look. "Anything else, sir?"

"I was going to have her cancel a meeting, but if she's not there, I can try and make it in."

"The meeting with whom?" He asked, pulling his small pile of paper off his desk along with the pen.

"Why are you asking, Full Metal?"

"Well, just from the influx of your voice when you said that you won't get in at the earliest until half way through the meeting without straining yourself. Who's it with, I'll cancel it."

"You sure are helpful."

"Whatever you say. I'm not asking again."

"Brigadier General Pihou."

He quickly scribbled down the name. "Wait, that guy that works with the Firing Squad, training them?"

"Yes, how do you know him?"

"He's my friend's uncle. I've known him since I was a child. I thought he was going on an MLOA starting today or tomorrow."
"Its tomorrow, I believe. Just ask to push it back an hour; I can be in by then."

He scribbled on the pad "2 hrs" before clearing his throat "Alright. I'll see what I can get him to do. Get in soon or Hawkeye will kill you."

"Thanks, Full Metal."

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you." The other line went dead as he chuckled and dialed the number of the Firing Squad.

"Brigadier General Pihou, Firing Squad Captain's office."

It was some woman's voice. He didn't recognize it at all, but didn't pay it much attention as he reminded himself that he hadn't been there for five years; there were more people here and less there that he knew. "Hello, is Brigadier General Pihou there?"

"I'm afraid he's out of the office, sir. May I take a message?"

"Ask him if he has the ability to push back his meeting with Lieutenant General Roy Mustang for about two hours. When you have the answer please call the Full Metal Alchemist with the answer."

"Of course sir."

As he hung up, the phone rang again. He took a quick double check around the room before hesitantly answering it and clearing his throat, feeling that next foot of dirt under him being dug out right under his feet. "Lieutenant General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist's office."

"Boss? Why are you answering She-Boss' phone?"

"Havoc? Why are you calling? Wait, don't tell me. You're going to be in late?"

"Wow, Boss, for only being gone five years, you sure are good at guessing us again! Ok, try guessing why."

"Uh, my Automail foot's shoved three feet down your windpipe? No? Ok, why don't you tell me?"

"I wound up in the hospital. I won't be able to get in until about thirteen-hundred hours."

"You're in the hospital? How the hell did you wind up there?"

"First time I've heard you curse in years! Anyway, it's nothing really."
"Wait, I caught a skim of the newspaper coming in this morning. Did you get shot or something?"

"See! You could have won that guessing game! Ok, ok, now try: what did I have for breakfast?"

"My fist. What room?"

"No, I didn't. It was a chicken sandwich, though. So you were kinda close, I guess. And I don't know. They won't tell me and they don't exactly want me out of the bed…."

"Ok, room one-hundred something."

"Yep."

"A favorite number? One-ninety-two?"

"You're good. Now, what I am I thinking?"

"That that nurse over there has a nice ass."

"How the hell did you know that?"
He hung up. Once more it went off. He growled for a moment before picking it up. "Lieutenant General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist's office, if you're calling to tell me you're coming in late get in line, Breda."

"How -?"

He hung up, only to answer it once more. "Hello?"

"Ah… Edward-kun? Why are you answering my phone?"
"Why are you calling yourself, Captain?"

"I thought I told Kain to answer my phone if I'm not around." It didn't slip past Ed that she didn't answer him, but the fact that she had called this line of all of them was enough to make him stop searching for her in the halls—though, he supposed, he really didn't need to do that anyway.

"Well, Fury ain't here yet."

"He's not? That's odd; he's always so punctual."

"Are you calling in late?"

"How'd you guess?"

Chief, Havoc, Breda and now you… this is getting suspicious. "Just a… whim I had. I think Fury is going to call in sick in a minute or something like that."

"What makes you think that, sir?"

"Another whim, I suppose. I don't know, actually, I just have that feeling."

"Well, I'll be able to be in at about Eleven Hundred hours. May I go so far as to ask you to keep the Lieutenant General in line until then?"

He pulled out his State Watch and looked at the time. "That's only three and a half hours. I can manage that, sure."

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you then."

"See you, Captain." He hung up. This time, it was his phone that went off. He let out a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, glaring for a heartbeat. I should have stayed behind and taken the long way back here. I hate playing Secretary. "Lieutenant General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist's office."

"Is the Full Metal Alchemist in?"

At least this was the secretary from the Firing Squad. "This is he."

"Well, sir, Brigadier General Pihou said that if the Flame Alchemist cannot make it in on time, then he can agree on three hours from the original planned time." He scribbled it down.

"That was just about the time I was shooting for. Thank you, Miss…."

"Robin. And, may I ask, sir, why are you doing this for the Lieutenant General if you are a Lieutenant Colonel? Or were you demoted since the last I heard?"

"No I wasn't. I just got bored. Robin is a very beautiful name, by the way."

"Thank you, sir."

"Have a nice day." He managed before hanging up. He flipped to a new page in the note pad and scribbled down the note from Pihou before he tapped it on Mustang's door. As he was walking back, he noticed that Hawkeye's phone was going off. He was tempted to answer it like a good little Secretary. "Fuck it I'm going to the hospital."

"Excuse me," he said to the nurse at the Reception Counter, walking up to her. She had on the cliché skin-tight white shirt and pencil skirt with the black heels (off to the side, might he add) and the white nurse's cap on the top of her head with the Red Cross insignia.

"Hello," her cheery voice said, speaking through cherry lips with warm, welcoming blue eyes that only had a few strands of white-blonde hair flicking through them, the rest back in the bun at the crown of her head. "Are you here to see Lieutenant General Mustang or Captain Riza Hawkeye?"

"Um… no." He blinked a few times, startled at her question. "I wasn't aware they were enrolled…. I was here to see First Lieutenant Havoc." His brow furrowed slightly. Wait, Havoc, Hawkeye and Mustang? Well, at least it's not a party I wasn't invited to…. "Um, how many other Military Officers are enrolled?"

Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if she were reluctant to tell him before she turned to the small binder. "Let's see…. Mr. Mustang, Mr. Havoc, Miss Hawkeye, Mr. Fury, Mr. Breda and Mrs. Smith were all enrolled last night whereas Mr. Falman was enrolled… let's see, six nights ago."

"Can you give me Mustang's, Havoc's, Hawkeye's, Fury's, Breda's and Falman's room numbers please?"

"I'm going to need to see some means of identification to release that out to you, sir."

He pulled out his State Watch and let it dangle in the air for a few moments before she started writing them down. With her head bent down, he could see where her brown roots were starting to show through. He took the moment to imagine her with brown hair instead of blonde and had to admit to himself that, yes, she would definitely look better—more natural—with as a brunette. Before he could voice it, though, she handed him the small note. He took the moment to look at it and make sure everyone's that he wanted was there before giving her a charming smile and saying "thank you."

"Have a nice day, sir."

"Yeah, late, uh-huh," he said, walking into the room. In that instant, Mustang looked up to him. His right arm was in a sling and his shoulder was bandaged, too. His chest had a light growth of black hair but it was mainly between his six pack—well, the part that didn't have the huge burn on it—and, over all, there was less than what he had expected.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" was his nonchalant response. Edward had to admit that, sure, he should have, but he still wasn't in a good mood after fielding way too many calls this morning.

"Yes, I did it yesterday, too. A little this morning, as well, by the way. I just can't seem to care with you much anymore."

"Testy today, aren't you?"

"You answer Hawkeye's phone repeatedly when she's not in the office."

"Point made, thrown out and denied."—He grimaced for a moment as he shifted his right arm and he looked down at it as if it were some sort of supernatural thing—"Damn it."

He walked over and took Mustang's arm by the elbow in his left hand, making sure not to jostle it as he gently removed the sling. "So, what exactly happened?"
"Got shot." His tongue was slow, he realized now that he was up close, and it seemed like it was taking everything he had just to speak Amestrian.

Mustang and Havoc? That's too coincidental. Is there another terrorist group on us already? The last was only a few months ago—though that was in West City, in West HQ, now that I think of it. "Really, now?"

"What's with your tone as you say that?"

"Nothing, nothing," he shook his head. "How does it feel?"

"Like I got shot."

"I'm tempted to jostle you," he growled, laying his sling on the side of the hospital bed before grabbing the white shirt from beside it, quickly finding the right sleeve and slipped his right hand in backwards so he could grab his boss' and hold his arm in place as he gently tugged it up his arm with his other hand.

"You're practiced in this."

"Well, I can't tell you how many times I've gotten shot so that my left arm was bummed. It's the same here, only without all the pain and drugs in me."

"You've been shot?"

"Oh, yeah, you don't know that, do you?" He corrected himself as he finally got the shirt on over the wraps on his shoulder. "Then I haven't." Once more he grabbed his arm with his left hand, using his right to pull the sling up as Mustang quickly found the other sleeve, putting on the shirt correctly and doing up the buttons almost as if second nature to do it one handed.

"When and how? By whom?"

"Well, the first time I was about seven and it was a hunting accident that I had gone on with Brigadier General Pihou and his nephew. Straight through my right forearm; doesn't bother me for some reason—probably because I haven't had my arm for long, huh? Anyway, it's half my fault half his—I was loading my gun and he pulled."—He shrugged his shoulders now that he didn't have his arm in his hands.—"Pihou called it, too, but oh well."

"Pihou shot you?"

"It was an accident. He spent months after it trying to make it up to me before he realized I thought the scar was cool and he felt as if he was repaid. I never cared for that."

"How many times have you been shot?"

He held up his left hand and made a show of counting on it—all the way to ten in Amestrian Sign Language—before he shrugged and said "That's a secret between me and my doc, don't you think?" He grabbed the Military coat off the bed and tossed it at the man's good arm, watching as he easily slid it on one handed, only going as far as to put the other side on his shoulder rather than all the way on. "Oh, yeah, by the way, we have a few more rooms to visit."

"We?"

"Yes, we, now move your ass, we're going."

He stood outside the door and lightly touched his knuckles to it so that the knock would reverberate before he called out "You decent?"

There was a moment before a female voice called back that they could come in. He opened the door farther and walked in with Mustang in tow behind him. "Edward-kun?"

"Hey, Hawkeye. How're ya feelin'?"

"Just fine, thank you. What are you two doing here? How did you know I was here? I distinctly remember not mentioning why I was going to be late when I called in, sir." She was seated on the foot of the bed with the Military Issue skirt on and a white blouse, currently undone. About halfway up her stomach started the line for the wrap and gauze, only ending just under her cleavage line. Every time she shifted, her eye twitched as her form of a grimace.

"To be honest with you, Captain, I wasn't aware that you were here until after Full Metal brought me here." Mustang pointed out and rubbed the back of his neck with his good arm.

"Yeah, it wasn't until I asked the nurse up front to recheck the room number Havoc gave me when he called in, saying he couldn't make it in until Thirteen-Hundred hours at the earliest, that I found out."

"Havoc's enrolled as well?"

"Oui," he paused and just settled with a nod. "Sorry, I, literally, came here from Xing. I'm still getting out of the mind set. Anyway, we're headed towards a few other rooms, and you're required to come along."

"Required, am I?"

He offered up a sly grin. "Unless you know something I don't, yes, you are."
She arched her brow for a moment before gently reaching forward, doing up her blouse all except the top two buttons. Her Military boots tapped on the ground as she turned around and grabbed the uniform coat. She paused and tossed it to Edward. He caught it and folded it over his right arm before gesturing them out once more.

"How is your side, Captain?" He asked as they walked down the corridor, turning left at the next three-way turn. "You were shot in the right side so that it barely missed your lung, correct? The doctors said you were lucky that it didn't hit anything truly vital."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I have no idea."

"Then how did you recite it word-for-word?"

He looked over his shoulder for a moment before shrugging. "I've done that since I was a child. I have no idea honestly. Where did the bullet lodge itself? Third or fourth rib? No, no, wait, fifth."

"Fifth, yes." There was a pause as her eyes filled with mirth and she looked forward. "Remind me to never again bet against you."

He laughed through his nose. "Like you did in the first place."

As they walked through another hall, he stretched his left hand out, catching someone by the shoulder and turned them around. "Breda! Walk with us; talk with us. If you're walking around then your hip must feel better. That bullet hole must have healed almost instantaneously. Why aren't you in a wheelchair?"

"How did you-?"

"Yes, I see, must have been quick then, huh?"

"How-? You're not going to let me ask a question, are you?"

"I hung up on you, didn't I? I owe you that much."

"How the hell did you know what room I was in? Or where I was?"

"I'm just psychic like that." He joked as he noticed the almost split second look at the back of his neck. "C'mon, we gotta meet with a guy who has a hole in his bicep."

"How do you know where everyone has been shot, Full Metal?"

"Well, I knew Breda's just because he's Breda. If I were to shoot him, his hip is the optimum target zone, which means…. Actually, I don't want to repeat myself anymore than is necessary t'day, so I'm gunna wait until we're all congregated. Until then, however, we're gunna keep walking. Just tell us when you need a shoulder, Breda. I'm perfectly healthy, unlike these two."

When they all walked into the next room, Ed smiled warmly, noticing that the curtain was drawn around the bed. "Yo, Fury, it's just us, you can come outta hidin' now. We ain't got no needles."

"That's a double negative, sir," Fury's small voice muttered as his head peaked out from behind the only-slightly-magenta curtains and he offered up a wary smile. "Is that supposed to imply that you have one, sir?"

Ed laughed and shook his head. "How's your arm, man? I heard there was a lot of bleed out before the Ambulance managed to pick you up. You ok to walk?"

"Yeah, I've always had overactive marrow," the man nodded as he pushed the curtain aside. His left arm was in a sling and his chest was covered by the black missionary shirt that he preferred over the white button up (to be honest, so did Ed and Havoc) and his Military coat was on over his right arm, slung over his left shoulder much like out Mustang had his. "So I'm fine now."

"That's good to hear."

"Full Metal, how many of my team have been shot?"

"Everyone, idiot. I hunted and everyone else was in one war or another."

"Very funny, Full Metal. Answer me seriously."

"I know; I'm a riot."

"Are we going to go see Havoc, now?" Fury asked, cocking his head slightly. "I was a little worried that after no one answered my call no one would know I'd be in late when they wheeled Havoc by in a chair. They were taking him outside."

"Yeah, they're s'posed to have dropped him off in the room that I asked them to."

"Oh, that's good. It doesn't look like Breda can walk too far."

"Yeah, I'm waiting for him to drop his pride and ask."

This time, as they walked in, Ed had to drop Breda's arm and help him limp in from the hallway to the chair near Havoc (where had been wheeled in) beside a now very awake Falman, who had kicked off the covers and was now seated up on the head of the bed. He looked up at him as he walked in and gave him a smile. "How's the pneumonia treatin' ya, Falman?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm feeling better now, thank you. At this point, I'm just waiting for the doctors to declare me healthy. It's nice to see you back in a uniform, by the way, sir."

"That's right, the last time I saw you I was still in my doctor's uniform, huh?"—He let out a whistle—"Been a few years since I've seen that without the burns on it."

"Burns, sir?"

"Long story short, I'm not on good terms with my ex wife." He waved his hand in the air.

"Ex wife?"

"Is it really that hard to believe that I am capable of sustaining a relationship long enough to propose to someone? Honestly?" He rolled his eyes and took a few steps back and turned to Havoc. "How's your leg feel?"

"I'll tell you when I can feel it again," the blond banged man shrugged his shoulders. "Ok, let's continue with our game from earlier. Alright, I got it, what am I thinking about this time?"

"That you can't imagine me having a PhD in the Medical Field," he answered, simply before moving to the large window and sitting on the sill.

"How in the world do you do that?"

"Anyway, getting over Havoc's obvious vie for an answer, let's cut to what y'all actually care about. Not that we don't care about you, Havoc, we do, just not right now."—("Thanks, jackass.")—"I can honestly say that I felt a little left out when I found out everyone here had been shot—minus you, Falman."

"You felt left out of all emotions?" Hawkeye asked, cocking her left hip out and putting her hands on both of them. She leaned forward for a moment before deciding that it hurt too much and straightened her spine once more. "How- how- Excuse me, sir, but how stupid can you get?"

And she was once an Upper Class Child? "Well, considering I have been shot and walked it off for three miles before passing out from heat stroke, why don't you tell me? At this point in my life, being shot at feels like a weekly thing; being it is only a biweekly thing."

"Sir, you cannot walk off a bullet wound."

"Of course you can. It went clean through my right thigh. I was seventeen, of course, before you ask. Greed laughed his ass off, too, when I caught up and said I had woken up from heat stroke. He asked if that had anything to do with the hole in my thigh and my reaction was to say 'you mean that wasn't a mosquito biting me?' It was definitely a… different time."

"How much of your pride was mixed in with that message?"

"What pride? I said I was with Greed, didn't I?"