[roy/riza; pg-13] Crocus Angustifolius - 3/6 Theme: 44. The possibility of zero (52_Flavours) Characters: Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Rating: T (PG-13) Notes: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. This is a work of fanfiction for personal entertainment only. Both concrit and comments welcome and desired. The entire anime and movie are spoiled liekwhoa. Title:Crocus Angustifolius : Chapter 3: Whiskey Lullaby (Part 3 of 6) Author:emilie_burns Word Count: 14,000 Summary:"Real life isn't a storybook! I told you, there's no such thing as a happy ending!" Original LJ Post Date: December 18, 2005 @ 52_Flavours
Crocus Angustifolius Chapter Three Whiskey Lullaby
"When it all breaks down, I won't be the one that's running, But under every rock and stone I try to hide. And it's hard to believe that behind this smile there are tears, I hold them all inside." - Chantal Kreviazuk
There were flak jackets that could offer protection from bullets. To Jean Havoc's dismay, there was nothing short of a full body suit of asbestos that might shield him from fire alchemy. Considering some of the tricks he'd heard credited to Mustang, Jean wasn't that confident even a suit would pose a hindrance.
Really, the only thing that motivated him to gallantly offer to handle trying to get some information out of his commanding officer while Sheska attempted to talk to Hawkeye was his lack of confidence in the ability of a sports cup to stop a bullet. A knee, yes. A bullet, no.
He glanced into the rearview mirror as he pulled to a stop outside of Mustang's favorite pub, and hoped that a glass or two of bourbon would get the brooding major a bit more cooperative to conversation. The winter wind held a sharp bite, amplified in contrast to the car's internal heater as he opened the door and quickly moved around the car to open his commander's. The older man's eyes held a bit of a smirk as he stood, noticing the way Jean tried to keep his teeth from chattering.
"Maybe you should spend a year up north," Mustang said as he walked past him to the door.
"Not if I can help it," he retorted, following him in. They took a table and ordered drinks -- bourbon for him, and a beer for Jean -- and conversation was at a standstill until the waitress had departed. Mustang took a few sips then stared into the glass as if the liquor held answers to whatever he was currently thinking. Jean killed a few moments by examining the longneck bottle, then carefully began to wade into what held all the earmarks of being a very messy situation.
"Six weeks," he said, keeping his tone casual and taking a sip of beer as he looked at the décor.
Mustang glanced at him, his eyebrow arching slightly over his lone eye. "Beg pardon?"
"I was just thinking about how long you've been back." Jean grinned and pulled out a lighter as he dragged an ashtray over to him. "Good to be home?"
"Meh." He picked up the Old-fashioned and looked at the amber liquid briefly before taking another drink.
"Paperwork's a bitch, I'll grant you that," Jean said around the cigarette between his lips, and paused to light it. He took a few quick drags to ensure the fire took, then tapped it to the ashtray. "At least Lansen knows his way around a file cabinet better than either of us."
A vague nod was the only answer Jean got. He glanced up at the ceiling hoping that wherever she was springing her trap, Sheska was having better luck with Hawkeye.
"I think he's working out all right," Jean continued. "He's loosened up a bit since the first week, and he's nothing if not punctual. What do you think?"
Mustang shrugged, toying at the glass. "He'll do. He's a good kid."
"Think we can trust him?"
"Trust him with what?" He looked up at Jean, then looked to the door. "We have a Parliament now. There's no more 'top' to reach. It's over. Let the kid have his career. There's nothing to drag him into anymore."
Jean counted to ten then pictured his boot connecting with Mustang's head while he sipped his beer. "Yeah, you got a point." He looked at his superior's glass and wondered how many more sips it would take to make the conversation a little be safer.
***
Maybe asking Lieutenant Hawkeye to stay over at the office to help her with inventory wasn't the most conductive of circumstances for an enlightening conversation, but it was the only viable scheme which came to Sheska's mind. The lieutenant was extremely efficient, and Sheska knew that if she didn't find a way to open the topic, they would be done before she could start.
After Sheska convinced Winry that there were serious problems that needed immediate fixing, it was suggested that Sheska obtain backup. Lieutenant Havoc was the most likely candidate, and after arguing past his initial bout of misgivings for the task, she was able to get him to throw his hat in.
The first determined course of action would be the simple one, they agreed. One of them would talk to the other, preferably around the same time, and perhaps things would be straightened out. Winry mentioned in her last letter that if nothing else worked, she had one last trick up her sleeve. She also told Sheska not to breathe a word of it to anyone, even if the letter didn't disclose what the trick might be.
"Thank you for helping me with this, Lieutenant Hawkeye."
The older woman glanced up from the box she was putting away and gave her a small smile. "You're welcome, Sheska."
Sheska paused in counting the boxes of pencils. "How have you been?"
Her reply wasn't immediate. "Fine." The lieutenant looked up and smiled to emphasize her statement. Perhaps if Sheska hadn't seen her exchange with Major Mustang back in late October, she would have believed it.
Perhaps.
"No, you're not," she blurted out then clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that. Hawkeye looked up and arched an eyebrow.
"I beg your pardon?"
Well, she wanted a way to bring up the topic, even that hadn't been the most graceful way to do it. Be careful what you wish for next time. Not for the first time, Sheska regretted that Winry was too busy to come to Central, kept in Rizenbul helping Pinako with numerous automail orders that came in after the invasion.
"Ummm..." Sheska faltered and looked around, then drew in a nervous breath before plunging straight ahead. "You're upset because you and Major Mustang aren't on speaking terms. That's not right, you two are supposed to be together! It's bad enough that Ed and Al are both gone now, but you two still love each other!"
The blonde's cool expression congealed into one of a numb sort of blank. "Things happen sometimes, Sheska. Life isn't a fairy tale. There aren't any happily ever afters."
"But you do, right?" Sheska pressed, walking over to her. "You still love him, don't you?"
Hawkeye wouldn't meet her gaze. "It doesn't matter anymore whether I do or don't."
"I don't believe that. As long as there's still love, there's--"
"Don't give me that!"
It probably wasn't the first time Sheska had ever heard Hawkeye raise her voice, but at that moment, she couldn't remember ever hearing that note of frustrated, angered pain before. At the dangerous look in her amber eyes, like a wounded animal, Sheska took a step back in self-defense.
"Real life isn't a storybook! I told you, there's no such thing as a happy ending! Love does not conquer all, no matter how pretty the idea sounds! There are some things which nothing can forgive!"
"I'm sorry," Sheska stammered, backing up against a desk. She slipped her fingers under her glasses and wiped the tears out of her eyes. "I'm sorry. What happened? Did he do something?"
The anger left Hawkeye's expression immediately, and her face went pale. "No," she finally replied. "No, he didn't." She hesitated, then closed her eyes and shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyway, all the records say otherwise."
For a heartbeat, it seemed as if she might reveal the answer, but in the end Hawkeye turned away. "How much more do we need to do for the inventory?"
The tone of her voice broke Sheska's heart. Or rather, the complete absence of a tone. Her voice as completely flat, weary and old. Sheska looked away and bit her lip.
"There... really isn't any inventory to take," she admitted with reluctance, and peeked at the older woman out of the corner of her eye. "I wanted to talk to you about this, to try to help you if I could, but I couldn't think of any other way you'd meet with me alone and if I told you the truth, I was afraid you wouldn't agree."
Hawkeye looked at her for a long moment, then sighed, pushing herself to her feet. "I'm going home, Sheska. It's late, I've had a long day, and Black Hayate's probably wondering where I'm at. Do you need a ride?"
Sheska shook her head and looked down at her toes. "No, ma'am. I already arranged for a friend to pick me up in a little while."
On her way to the door, Hawkeye stopped and placed her hand on Sheska's shoulder. "I'm not happy with this, but I understand why you did it. Thank you for your concern. Now please, let it go."
"Yes, ma'am."
***
Two and a half glasses later, Jean felt Mustang had enough in him to mellow him out. At any rate, he wasn't likely to order a fourth, so the clock was starting to work against him. The beer long finished, Jean sipped his water and focused on working up his nerve. It was a shame Breda was working night shifts, and wasn't scheduled to have a day off corresponding with a Friday night anytime soon. In spite of the man's outward appearance, he was the only one in the group who could keep up and hold his own with Mustang's ability to dish out double-talk.
Even with the whiskey in his favor, Jean doubted his commanding officer's wits were dulled enough for him to be able to get to the root of the problem without a direct route.
"So, you've been here for six weeks now."
Mustang looked at him over the rim of the glass poised at his lips. "You already said that," he replied before sipping.
"I did. How much longer are you gonna keep this up?" Jean asked.
A look of warning blazed in Mustang's eye as he looked at him. His motions slow and deliberate, he set the old-fashioned back on the table and looked at Jean. "Keep what up." His voice dropped at the end; that hadn't been a question. They both knew exactly what he was talking about.
Jean wasn't about to let him try to intimidate him into silence. For all his temper, Mustang was never one to truly lash out at those loyal to him. Although, the bourbon did make it somewhat iffy.
"How long are you going to keep pretending Hawkeye doesn't exist?"
Mustang started speaking before Jean stopped. "This isn't a topic open for discussion."
Now he was getting a little irritated. "Bullshit. Both of you are my friends, and I'm getting sick of seeing this killing you two slowly."
"I said--"
"I know what you said," Jean interrupted. "Now you listen to me. You're being a mule-headed bastard, and she's no better. Are you two gonna blow the rest of your lives dancing around your feelings, or are you gonna try to sort out whatever the hell happened?"
He was silent for a moment, then downed the rest of his drink in a quick swallow. "You know what happened."
"Yeah. I know she thinks it was her bullet. I know she transferred. I know you got good and pissed and dropped off the face of the earth to disappear up north. How long have you known her? The only one of us who knew you longer than that was Hughes."
"Now they're both gone."
"Hughes might be dead, but she's not! But the way she's been, she might as well be! A year and a half is a hell of a long time to be holding a grudge, especially with everything she's done for you over the years."
Before Jean could blink, he reached over and grabbed him by the front of his uniform jacket, pulling him closer. "Do you know what she sees when she looks at me?" Mustang growled. "She sees a mistake. Do you know what I see? A damned kicked puppy looking for any reason to remind herself how guilty she is, and too damn busy with her little hobby of self-flagellation that she left me when I needed her the most!"
Jean narrowed his eyes and gripped his wrist. "And you're just going to let it lie there?"
"I'm not some act of attrition for her to find penance in, and I sure as hell can't offer anyone absolution!" He let go of Jean's uniform abruptly and shoved him back. "I'm not..." Mustang faltered and reached for his glass, forgetting he'd emptied it a few moments before.
"If you can't save yourself, how can you save anyone?" Jean finished. The glare he got confirmed his hunch had been on the target.
Mustang stood, swaying for a moment before steadying. "I'm going home, one way or another. This conversation's over and it's staying over."
Jean sighed and pulled his wallet out, tossing enough on the table to cover their tab and a tip, and followed him out the door.
***
Shivering under her coat, Sheska waited just inside the doors, squinting out through the glass every time headlights appeared. When she finally spotted his car pulling up out front, she braced herself for the wind and tried to mind the ice as she hurried down the steps.
"How did it go?" Lieutenant Havoc asked as she slipped in the passenger door, grateful for the blast of hot air which greeted her. It felt so good against the bitter cold that she didn't even mind the stench of his burning cigarette.
"Eh. Don't ask." Sheska shut her eyes and rested her head against the seat.
"That bad, huh?"
"I tried. I really did. How did it go for you?"
"About the same." Havoc shifted the car into gear. "We should compare notes though, and figure out a way to get them to talk."
"Yeah." Sheska sighed and watched the landscape fade in and shadows as they passed the streetlamps. "Not tonight, though."
"Not tonight. You go write Winry, and I'll see if Breda can give me any pointers. Chin up. We may have lost the battle but I don't see why we can't still win the war."
"I know. It's just..." Another sigh. "Later, we fight. But tonight, we sleep."
"Sounds like a plan."
It was on the tip of her tongue to mention Winry's allusions to a secret weapon, but those were cards Winry insisted on playing close to her chest.