Chapter Text
"I can't take this anymore!" Mustang finally managed to jam the tubes out of his arm.
" Sir … "Hawkeye spoke.
Fuery and Falman were already one with the wall. They've been here since 10 when the hospital called Hawkeye in to deal with the Colonel.
"Well, Chief, you haven't been the best hospital buddy either!"
Mustang shot Havoc a nasty look. Hawkeye closed her eyes, trying to keep her calm. They've been at it since last night, or so the nurse said. Mustang pressured Havoc to consider physical therapy, while Havoc wanted to give up. The Colonel yelled at him. Havoc couldn't smoke. It all got heated up. She doubts either of them slept much.
"There must be another option; you can't expect us to just bunk together!"
"… Colonel Mustang, I assure you, we are doing everything we…."
"Then move me! Or move Havoc!" The room was silent. "you know what, just let me go home; I've had enough of this hospital for the next ten years."
"Sir, we had this discussion yesterday and the day before... "Riza tried; she really did. Every day, he asked for his discharge papers; every day, the doctor told him his condition was unstable. He hated the medical wing. The smell of antiseptic brought back bleak memories of a desolate desert and charred corpses.
"I'm fine! Surgery went fine! I can stand and walk… "he regretted it as soon as he said it, "you just focus on the ones that need help!" He pointed by reflex at Havoc.
A flash of pain shot up Jean's face. Hawkeye expected him to explode back at the Colonel. Instead, Havoc's voice was cold, calculated.
"As if there's anything that can be done…."
The Colonel flashed him another angry look. Havoc's attitude aggravated him. "You can't speak like that, Havoc!"
Hawkeye couldn't stop herself from grimacing. In the aftermath of their encounter with Lust, she got out just fine, with a couple of bruises and scratches. Alphonse was good too, as good as you can be, considering. The Colonel, however, pretended to be fine until they were out and safe of that cursed place and collapsed in her arms. He needed emergency surgery to his haphazardly cauterized stab wound, which left him with internal damage.
And Havoc… no one would say it, the doctors would not admit it, the nurses would dodge the question. Mustang outright denied it and continued to press a multitude of solutions to Havoc, pissing him off in the process, because really, the Second Lieutenant didn't know how to come to terms with what had happened. In turn, it riled the Colonel even more, to hear Havoc blatantly give up. He wanted Havoc to fight, to believe. Because if he didn't, that meant it was over. He couldn't follow him anymore.
The Colonel's shame of not saving his subordinate, his friend , grew too much to bear, day by day. And Havoc's guilt for proving useless to Mustang just added fuel to the fire. And with them sharing a room, with no space to process or deal with the trauma, they did the only thing that came easy; yell at each other. Havoc was a mess, and Mustang was a ticking bomb.
"No answer?" He threw the blanket off and sat up, holding his side in pain. "Alright then, Hawkeye, let the doctor know I'll be leaving the hospital today!"
"Colonel Mustang… you can't .. you can barely stand" the nurse rushed to his side, trying to hook him up back to his fluid bag. He wasn't having any of it. The poor girl.
"Chief, please listen, you'll just hurt yourself" even Havoc tried to deter him when it became all too obvious Mustang was ready to storm out in his slippers and a hospital gown if that's what it took to be discharged.
"Hawkeye, the doctor!" Mustang spoke with the finality of a Colonel admonishing his Lieutenant. He didn't look at her, didn't look at Havoc. He was angry.
She turned on her heel, off to find the unlucky soul in charge of Mustang. She was angry too. That night, with Lust, she had given up. That was the truth. She thought he was gone, and she lost herself. The homunculus played her, and she let herself be fooled. She acted irrationally, threw caution to the wind.
She would have gotten herself killed were it not for Al. And then, the Colonel… The look in his eyes, the anger, the flames… it had been years since she'd seen him like this, and she hoped she never would again. She was so, so happy to see him alive, yet so afraid of what he might do. She was angry at him for risking his life to save hers. She was mad at herself for failing him.
The week that followed their encounter with Lust had been difficult, with him in the hospital wing. On the first day, he was in and out of it. On the second day, they put him on strong painkillers. He could barely keep it together. The wound in his flank was deep, and the battlefield cauterization only made it harder for the flesh to heal. It kept him alive then, but now, he had to heal properly.
That second night, that was the worst. She was there when he woke up, trashing in his bed. She'd been by his side since they brought him out of surgery. Fuery and Falman took care of the office, and she was given three days of medical leave. She spent them all in an armchair next to his bed. Havoc was in intensive care, and no one could see him. She cried for him.
Falman and Fuery visited the Colonel when they could, and none of them said anything about why she wasn't at home, resting. Breda was still out. Word should have reached him by now. She had no good reason to explain why she slept by his side every night. She was thankful they didn't ask.
When he trashed in his sleep, screaming her name, she rushed to his side. She tried to comfort him as best as she could, but the pain and the meds screwed with his head. And the way he looked at her, with such fear in his eyes, it screwed with her mind too. She reached for his hand and squeezed it as he whispered, "I thought I lost you." His hand shot up to cup her cheek, and she left it there. She let him caress her face and bury his head in her neck as he calmed down and fell asleep. She cried that night too.
Next morning, he was back to his usual self. They didn't speak of the embrace and the tears. They never did. They both knew it wasn't the right time. It never was. It wasn't right when he was her father's apprentice, and they would sneak in the attic to gaze at the stars. Him, afraid Master Hawkeye would catch him fooling with his daughter and her, too shy and to admit she fancied him. It wasn't right at Berthold's funeral when his hand rubbed her back. It wasn't right when she held her shirt to her chest, baring the circle on her back to him, and he was so angry he punched a hole in her father's walls. It took him a week to finally look at the array. He hugged her tightly that night and kissed her forehead, saying how sorry he was, again and again. And it wasn't right in Ishval either, when the desert cold would make her sleep with her head on his shoulder. She smelled of gunpowder, and he smelled like burned corpses.
The 3rd day gave her hope that this, too, could be forgotten, just another bump in their road. Mustang was awake and eager to jump back in the race. She filled him in with details, and Fuery brought him field files and his alchemy notes. The mood was lightening up. Until Havoc was brought in.
Throughout the following days, the hospital room quickly transformed into a battlefield. Havoc couldn't walk and couldn't feel his legs. The doctors wouldn't say when he would recover. Mustang tried apologizing, and Havoc wouldn't have it. The Colonel kept as optimistic as possible while Jean drifted into a darker and darker place. On The 5th day, the arguing started when Havoc's depression riled Mustang up, and Mustang's guilt was too much for Havoc to bear. Arguing was easy, yelling was known ground. That's men for you, Hawkeye thought.
"Colonel Mustang, you must understand, I cannot discharge you. Your wound needs cleaning, you need to take the antibiotics, not to mention you are in no condition to stand and walk for prolonged periods of time. You need to be under watch…."
He begged her with his eyes. She knew she'd regret it. "We'll take care of Colonel Mustang, doctor. We'll take shifts to do check-ups, make sure his condition is improving for the rest of the week until he is fit to be back in the office."
"We.. yes, of course. First Lieutenant Hawkeye is right, sir; we can keep an eye on you as you recover," Fuery spoke. It was Falman's turn to sigh.
The doctor resigned. No comments. Just the sound of a pen signing release forms.
"Alright, sir, one more set, and we'll be up," she panted. He had his arm around her shoulders, leaning in hard. His other hand held his side in a futile attempt to appear fine. Six flights of stairs proved his insistence to heal it off at home idiotic. Alas, Hawkeye didn't comment, and he pretended to keep it together for a couple more stairs.
He leaned on the wall, fishing for the keys in his coat pocket. It felt good being back in regular clothes, out of hospital pajamas. He put the keys in her hand.
"Here you go, Hawkeye, you do the honors."
A click, and they were inside. There wasn't much, really, and she'd seen it before. A small one-bedroom rental with a modest kitchen at the front. Just enough furniture to call it a house - a couch, a coffee table, his desk, and of course, those damned alchemy books, in bookcases, on the floor, on the fridge. In short, she hated them. They reminded her of her father's study. A small hallway connected to his bedroom, which she never saw. It always seemed too intimate, like they'd be crossing a line they weren't ready for. In the living room, they could pretend, keep their masks up. In a dark bedroom, she was afraid she'd slip. So even when she dragged him home, too drunk to drive from a night out with Havoc and Breda, she'd tuck him in on the couch. He once asked her to stay. They never spoke of that.
Mustang took his shoes off and sat on the couch with a thud. He looked around his house, pretty much in the same state it was last he'd seen it. He wished he had cleaned up, made it look more presentable for her.
"Ok, Colonel, I'll be right back."
She offered a small, tight smile. Even after all this time together, Hawkeye was hard to read. He watched her disappear out of the apartment and checked his flank, where the homunculus stabbed him. He had a lot of time to think about that night - Havoc falling limp beside him. Havoc was bleeding out fast, him, slowly. He couldn't move, paralyzed by pain and fear. Until he heard her, Hawkeye, his Hawkeye, screaming. Then, it was all a blur. Faint images of Havoc, barely breathing, gunshots, a lighter, that damned transmutation circle he knew so well, this time carved in his hand, blood, a snap, pain, so much pain, and running, running to her. And when he found her, she was a shell of the Hawkeye he knew, so utterly broken and afraid, because she thought that he…
The door closed with a clink. Hawkeye placed his suitcase down near the coat rack and the grocery bag on the kitchen table. He could hear the paper crinkle as she pulled stuff out.
If he were to be optimistic about all this, he was alive, Hawkeye and Alphonse were mostly unscratched, and Havoc… well, it was such a relief to see him breathing. And he was home, out of that dreaded hospital suit, where every bicker with his "roommate" reminded him of his failures. And Hawkeye was here, taking care of him, with no office to be late for tomorrow, no paperwork to fill, and no higher-ups to grease. He made his way to the kitchen. Standing and walking around were alright, as long as he didn't lean too much on his injured side.
"Lieutenant, you can't seriously be making me dinner."
He startled her. She let the knife down on the cooking board and turned to him. She was still in her military pants and black shirt, jacket, and boots replaced by his apron and house slippers.
"You don't like my cooking anymore, sir?"
"Mm, depends what you're making" he played into it. There was no point in offering to help. She'd just turn him down.
"Beef stew," she smiled. This time, a genuine smile.
He laughed. "Alright, alright. You know that's my favorite."
"Don't get used to it. It's just this once," she turned back to her carrot, "you got to eat, and I don't think the junk you always order is doctor-approved."
He sat at the table, remembering a shy girl and a stupid boy, eating stew together when her father wasn't home. "We got to eat. For sure, you're staying to eat the dinner you're making, right?"
She pondered for a second. "Of course, sir."
"I'm glad we could reach a compromise, Lieutenant" he was pleased with himself. If it weren't for that uniform, he might have dreamed for a second that this was his life. Riza's stew, every day. He cleared his throat.
"At least there's no office tomorrow, now that's what I call a silver lining."
"For you, sir. I still have to be in at 8000. Fuery will drop by tomorrow morning to help you change the bandages and make sure you are taking your meds."
"Why do you assume I wouldn't?"
Her lifted brow was answer enough. "Right. I'll have Fuery drop by Havoc after while Falman and I sort out the paperwork regarding, well, … you know," she gestured vaguely.
She pulled out a big pot and dusted it off. It was probably a year since that was last been touched.
"...I know," he concluded grimly.
"We've got to get everything ready for when you're back in the office."
"If it were my choice, I'd be in tomorrow."
"Didn't you just say no office was a good thing, sir?"
"I was just trying to make the best of a bad situation, Lieutenant."
She shrugged, setting the pot on the stove.
"I hate it when he gets like that, by the way. Havoc. I won't allow him to quit."
She felt a strange pressure in her chest. "People have different ways to process things that happen to them. That's just Havoc's way."
"There's nothing to process. Havoc will be fine. They'll take care of it. It can't end like this"
She didn't know how to comfort him. She wasn't even sure if he actually believed it or was just lying to himself. Better not to entertain this thought.
"Well, all in all, you have to admit, Hawkeye, the plan was sound! Brilliant, if I may add."
"Sneaking into my father's study? To steal his transmutation books? Great plan"
"He'd been keeping me on baby books for 3 months at that point! Even 5-year-olds could draw those arrays!"
"I remember him saying you needed a, hm, "she thought for a second, "proper education."
He scoffed. "Yes, well, as I was saying, the old goat was supposed to be out for hours fixing the front gate! It was about time to show him I knew more than just basic transmutation."
"I told you then as I am now, you really overestimated how much he cared about that stupid house."
"Yea, well…" he smiled, putting his fork down.
She laughed "he made you clean that whole attic; no alchemy allowed."
"Yeah…" he laughed softly too. "God, that took ages. He even scolded you for giving me the better broom."
"My heart couldn't let you torture yourself with that old one."
"Good old Hawkeye, making sure I've got the proper cleaning tools."
He liked making her laugh. This felt normal, just two childhood friends eating stew and laughing about their teenage years. It was almost mundane. In moments like these, he could pretend she wasn't his Lieutenant, and he wasn't her Colonel. It was easy to eat her stew and think he'd love to have it every day.
She stood up, still laughing, taking both their empty plates with her.
"Thank you for the meal, Lieutenant."
"Your welcome, sir. There's enough for tomorrow too. Just remember, meds after" she handed him a pill. He groaned but took it.
"No protests, I see."
"Don't get cocky."
She finished cleaning up the table. Mustang made multiple attempts to help, only to be sent away to his bedroom to get out of his street clothes. The bandage needed changing as it was already staining his shirt. She made him feel like a child sometimes. Even when they were teens, she always took care of him. He thought, eventually, they would grow out of it - she would be less pinning, and he would be less irresponsible.
A short knock on his door.
"Yeah, it's alright, Hawkeye."
She opened the door slowly, standing in the doorway, almost afraid she'd be crossing an invisible line. Like the rest of his house, it wasn't much. A dresser and a desk (a second one, really?), littered with papers and pens. The med box rested there, untouched. On the other side, pushed to the wall, a bed and a bedside table. The lamp on it was on, casting a strange glimmer on his silver pocket watch. He had a nice view, overlooking the city. The window was cracked open, and the night air was breathing in. He had gotten out of his dress clothes and into a striped short pajama. It felt strange seeing him like this, like they were back into her father's house, talking about constellations, and she was 14 again. With his uniform gone, the tailored shirts away, he felt less like a colonel and more like.. like.. she didn't dare finish that thought.
"You know you can come in, Lieutenant."
"Of course" she stepped inside. "Did you change your bandages?"
"Mm… mhm," he tried
A sigh. She grabbed the med box from his desk. "Just let me help you with it. We'll get it done fast, I promise."
"We could just, you know, leave it be, Lieutenant. I'm sure it's fine."
"Please don't argue, sir. This was the condition on which you could recover at home. Don't make this hard on me. I'll drag you back in the hospital if that gets infected."
He flashed her a choreographed smile. "Make it hard on you? I would never, Lieutenant."
He reached for his shirt buttons and hesitated. Well, it had to come off, and it was hardly the first time Hawkeye saw him shirtless. There wasn't even much to see, really. Yet this felt… intimate? For one, they were in his house in his bedroom, if you wanted to get specific. It was night outside, and they were alone. The week sitting in the hospital did him no good. Since he almost lost her, she was all that occupied his mind. He felt like someone was punching his guts every time he thought about Hawkeye. Of course, the concept of death was not new, nor the thought that eventually they'd be gone. But last week hit too close. He could have died. She could have died. He always thought he had more time on his hands.
"Sir?"
"Sorry, Hawkeye, here you go" he shrugged his pajama shirt off. He felt his heartbeat pick up. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her glancing at him.
Hawkeye felt silly. It was hardly the first time he was shirtless around her. She helped clean his wounds in Ishval, and cut his shirt off in a particularly nasty mission, that left him nicked in his arm. He had a small scar on his shoulder to show for it. This was nothing more than a medical act. So why was she acting strange?
One look at his bloodied bandages snapped her out of it. She reached for his side and undid the soaked material. He winced but made no move to stop her. She could tell he was being uncomfortable. Maybe he felt this was strangely intimate too.
"I'll need you to be still. It could sting a little." She removed the last part of his bandage.
He couldn't really dare look down at the stab wound. "Is it bad?"
"It's healing. It will probably leave a nasty scar, I'm afraid."
He laughed. "That's the least of my worries."
"I don't know, sir… It might be harder to impress the ladies."
"Wrong, Hawkeye"
"Mm, how come, sir?"
"Ladies love a good war story, and scars just make you cooler. Women fawn over rough, manly soldiers with big cool scars."
"If you say so, Colonel."
"Trust me, Lieutenant, once this heals up, every lady in Central will want to see it up close" he winked at her.
"I'm sure" It was hard to contain her laugh. It was easier to pretend and joke than to admit the truth. They both knew there were no ladies, no other women. Mustang was no womanizer. He was good at playing the playboy, and she was good at acting as his babysitter. But she knew all the dates where information swaps and all the rumors about stolen girlfriends and wooed women just happened to fit his persona. She sometimes wished the stories were true. Maybe that would make it easier to let go, to move on. She knew why he didn't sleep around, who he was waiting for.
"Hold this here."
"I'm sorry you have to do this, Hawkeye" He had a hunch she was uncomfortable too. She didn't like wounds and blood.
"It's my duty, sir."
That felt like a punch to his gut.
Maybe she saw his pained look. Perhaps she felt it sounded wrong but added, "plus, you'd do the same for me."
She was sitting on the edge of his bed, working on the bandage. He was standing, looking over her, giving her the best access to his midsection. His eyes drifted down to hers, and she offered a sad smile. She didn't have to say it. After all this time, he knew what she was implying.
"That was different," his voice was strained "we had to keep it a secret. I couldn't take you to a doctor. You deserved better."
She shook her head. "You did a good job. Maybe you should consider a career swap."
"I didn't, Hawkeye. I know it scarred badly. It never healed well. You couldn't sleep on your back for months."
She regretted dragging the conversation in this direction. His voice was pained, and she could hear the shame and guilt he carried. When they were alone, he had fewer filters. She could read him better. It wasn't the first time they were discussing her tattoo. He didn't want to forgive himself, no matter how often she told him that it was her decision. He didn't believe her when she said she didn't care about the scar or about the pain. She was just happy to be free of her father's burden, and for her, Roy was the one that set her free. She tied the knot to his bandage, hoping he'd get the hint that they were done. He didn't move.
"I thought you said scars make you cool," Riza spoke.
"Not that kind, no."
"So your scars make you a cool soldier, but mine don't?"
"I got this one in combat."
"Well, no one knows I didn't."
"I know I gave you yours."
She was tired. "I don't care much about it, sir. It was my decision, anyways". They've been through this before. Again, he wouldn't budge.
"We could have found a better way…."
"It was good enough, Roy" her voice was kind, but she looked tired.
His jaw locked at the sound of his name, and he took a step back. She stood up.
"It needed to be done, it had, you know that. And it wasn't your fault. I asked for it, I begged you…."
"I should have said no."
"You did what I asked you, nothing more, nothing less."
"And I regret doing it every day, Riza" he raised his voice over hers.
"Well, it's done, and I'm happy my back is mine again" she smiled, pretending to be unfazed by his outburst. "You can't change what happened, sir."
He reached for his shirt and put it on, getting to his senses. He was feeling that awful pit in his stomach again.
"You're right. I hate it when you're right."
"You're just a sore loser."
"I'll let that comment slide, Hawkeye. As a sign of gratitude for taking me out of the hospital."
She nodded. "Well, it's getting late, sir… if you are good, I'd better get going," she spoke from the doorway of his bedroom.
He couldn't hide his disappointment. He still felt a bit raw from their discussion. He dropped his fingers from his shirt buttons, abandoning it open.
"Ah"
"Sir?"
Again, he couldn't read her. His body moved before his mind caught up, and his hand shot out for her elbow. It always happened like this. They would have a real conversation, not banter or office talk. He would get angry, she would try to deflect. And she'd leave before he did anything stupid. Maybe she was protecting him in her own way. Perhaps, he thought, she was defending herself. But last week, he had time to think. This was stupid, the running in circles. The way they pretended everything was cool and calm, how they were collected and unaffected, like good soldiers, ought to be. He always let her go, thinking he'd get another chance. But if anything, last week proved he was already living on borrowed time.
She didn't react, frozen by his unexpected touch.
" It's… late. You should stay"