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They sat in his apartment, dimly lit and smoky from a certain smoker. They sipped on high self whiskey and bourbon, swirling the dark liquid around the large cubes of ice that chimed against the crystal. The dark haired man sat back in his seat, head down to his chest, looking as if he was asleep; as if the spirits had taken his consciousness away from them. The smoker drew in the cigarette, a red bud at the end of the tobacco filled roll lit up brightly for a second before he blew the smoke out in a soft and tired exhale. The diligent sniper hovered over a newspaper, her forehead resting in the other hand which elbow was perched heavily on the old cupped dining table. She shook her head as she reviewed the paper, and then another. Her finger ground into her skin as she groaned.
“I don't like it,” she grumped lowly. She looked up at her commanding officer. “Sir, this is circumstantial. We are making assumptions. We can't act on this.”
“Do we want to make the mistake of letting a murderer go free?” The blonde man took another long draw before tapping the ash in the shallow dish by his drink. His glass was empty beside the melting cube and he reached for the bottle. “We all know it's true. He's just good at covering it up.”
“Knowing and evidence are two different things,” she mumbled. “And do you know what this means if we get caught?” She looked up at the Lieutenant General. “You not only will lose the election but you will be put to the firing squad.”
“We all knew about the homunculi, but you didn't ask for evidence then.”
She turned to the other man. “We did have evidence. They admitted it.” She looked back over the papers. “I understand why, and it would benefit us greatly, but can we admit this is not personal? We can't do this with a clear conscious if you are just doing it to eliminate a rival.”
The black haired General took a deep breath, letting out a groan. The room stood still, the two looking at him, waiting for the answer. His answer. After all, they'd follow him to death's door. But it wasn't their intention to help him get there.
“Mustang,” she whispered angrily. “This is a political assassination. This is below you, and you know it.”
“It is not about politics. This man has killed too many people just for his own advancement,” he finally spoke. “He is going to continue Bradley's reign of war and destruction.” Mustang lifted his head and picked up his glass.
“You're a murderer,” she quickly reminded. “Maybe I should shoot you too.”
“You should then,” he replied all too casually. “You never break a promise.”
She snorted loudly and looked at the civilian to her right. “Havoc, this is ludicrous. You can't be agreeing with him.”
He didn't seem fazed. “This man is part of the Western Cartel. We know that to be fact.” He roughly tapped his finger on one of the documents. “Everyone that has publicly spoken out against him has died.” He pointed at General Mustang. “It's only an amount of time before he kills our General!”
She sat back rubbing her face as she sighed too loudly. “That's self-defense. I can reasonably justify that.” She then crossed her arms and stared at the man across from her. He hadn't moved, didn't seem even worried. The same determination he held years ago in the hot desert sands, the same sands he passionately restored and returned it to a broken people. “General, this is a political move for you. With him gone, your biggest rival would be gone and you'd win this election. You'd be lowered to his standard.”
He stared back at her, coldly with dark seriousness.
She turned back to Havoc. “We have publicly spoken out against him, why aren't we dead? I can see the connections, see where we can assume his guilt, but I cannot just shoot someone on suspicion!”
General reached out, swirling his liquor before taking another sip. He looked out the dark window. “Brigadier General,” he said softly. She was more concerned at how level his voice was. “This is our one shot. If he does win, I will die anyway. Our dream will cease to exist. We will go to war with our neighbors that I have worked hard to install faith and trust in treaties and trade agreements. It will disintegrate.” He looked at her, calmly as he took the last sip of his whiskey. “It's about saving this country. We need to do what has to be done.”
“We can cover it up,” Havoc pulled out an article from under the papers. “It doesn't have to be public. He can get shot anywhere.”
“I don't like it” General Hawkeye stood up and paced from the door to the table. “I haven't pulled the trigger on someone in years.”
“You're the only one that won't break,” Lieutenant General Mustang continued. “The only one I can trust.”
She glared at him. “Roy,” she said firmly as she put her hand on the table roughly. He did flinch. His steel eyes met her with determination and certainty. Whatever he was thinking of, Roy was set on. “You can't do this. Let me get him when he goes for you. Let me guard you like I did, like I have.”
Havoc looked at her, then at Roy, then at her.
The senior General stood up, slowly standing, placing his hands on the table to lift himself up although the other two knew he needed no assisting in standing. The man was in peak condition for his age.
“You are beyond my side,” he whispered, looking down at his hands. “With your promotion, you were freed from my side.” He looked at Havoc and then at her, coughing quietly. “How can I ask you this? How can I ask you to protect me? To follow me into the depths of hell, even if the depths were to the end of this life?”
She leaned on the back of the chair, also looking at his hands. They were hands of protection, destruction, love, and hate. He wanted to build a nation with those hands. He never wanted to see blood on them again, or feel that they were unworthy of peace. She looked down at her own. How were hers any different? Were they right? Long was the absence of lives they had destroyed, the triggers they pulled, the fingers snapped and flame charred bodies. It wasn't anything she'd ever be forced to do again. But she never left his side. And it pained her to think that he no longer considered her his adjacent.
Just because she wasn't hovering over him or following him around did not mean her love for him was any less. Their lives were always dedicated to this, to his rise to the top. And they had it. In a fair election, he was favored by the population. But it didn't come without consequences. His entire past was exposed and his reputation was destroyed. She knew that this man's killer would be obvious as the sun's rising. But she also knew this may be their one and only chance.
“I have never left your side,” she voiced lowly. “And I never will. But I won't let you rule this country with murder like this.”
Mustang looked at Havoc, who looked back at Hawkeye. “Then you are dismissed.”
Four words which broke her nearly in half. “Roy! You can't do this!”
“I know what I'm doing,” he roared in return. “How dare you question my motives?”
“This is not the man I chose to follow,” she countered angrily. “What happened to you?”
Neither men responded but they didn't bring their eyes from her dark walnut ones.
“What is this greed? This recklessness and disregard for the law and fairness that you held in high esteem!”
“Its not,” Havoc put out his cigarette, tapping it in the ashtray. “We are saving the country. Even if we are declared traitors, and we fail, we stopped another murderer and manipulator from rising to the top. We are stopping another Ishval. Isn't that what you wanted?”
Hawkeye's rage turned to him. “Don't you ever dare to tell me what I wanted!” Her finger pointed back at her General. “And he will be no different.” She stood straight pulling her gun from her holster. She leveled it at Mustang who didn't even flinch. His eyes didn't grow sympathetic or regretful. He stared back at her
. He held no fear of her ending his life. It was no different from long ago with Envy, and it terrified her no less.
Havoc jumped up but Mustang lifted his hand to stop him from interrupting them. “You knew this would come,” he said as he stood straight up so she could get a good shot at him. “So you are going to kill Havoc and I, then yourself? You will be ready to admit your guilt so early?”
“Give me a reason why not to.”
“Because you know I'm right.”
Her finger shook on the trigger and her breathing deepened.
“If you can't do it, then leave. I relieve you. Feel no remorse.”
“How can I? How can I when I know what you are going to do?”
“Hawkeye,” Havoc said loudly but quite firmly.
“You promised me,” she whispered to Mustang. “You promised me you'd never go this low again. You fool. You stupid man.”
“Pull the trigger, Riza. Pull it,” Mustang yelled. “Rid the world of my ambition. Save the world from my sins!”
She heard the click before the loud bang. Havoc froze, in complete shock that she would ever fire upon him. Ever. He could only imagine all the nights they had escaped the world. How their bond was above any other in East or Central Command. And it had come down to suspicion of guilt in a political rival. But in the next second, they both looked at the dark-haired man, still standing by the table. Hawkeye set the gun down on the table as Havoc saw a hole in the wall to the right of General's head. He didn't flinch, but there was never a moment Havoc could ever recall that the Hawk's Eye did flinch either. She never missed, so she must have done it on purpose. Was it a warning shot? Or was her age and inactive use of her pistol finally wearing on her?
Mustang turned to Havoc. “Leave,” he commanded. “Riza and I need to talk.”
Havoc turned to confirm it with Hawkeye who lowered her head and refusing to look at him. He stood up, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and walked out.
“You failed to fulfill your promise,” he said evenly.
“I can't. I can't do it.” Her words shook as she still refused to look at him.
“He's a bad man,” a whisper broke the short silence. “I can't trust anyone else. It will be the last order I ever give you. Pull the trigger once more for me.”
She bent over, putting her head on the back of her hands
on the back of the chair.
“This is the hell we asked for. I am not above it, I am it.” He walked calmly over to her, reaching out. His hand pulled her face tenderly to face him. His features had grown soft, the features of the man that she had woken up with all these years. The gentle eyes which kissed her body in the moonlight on summer nights. The calm hands which held her close when the terrors were too much. “I vowed to protect the people below me. And he is the wolf that threatens my sheep.”
Riza didn't say anything as she stood looking at him, letting his hands cup her face in comfort and trust. It had come down to this. And she knew the man was indeed guilty. She knew as much as Havoc or Mustang. It pained her to have no solid evidence. She was a General now. She had deeper obligations than a scoped rifle and a bullet. She assigned people to do this. It'd been too long since she even entered the field. If anything, she was nearing her own retirement. Tired was she of the long days and weary nights. And yet… she could not part from him.
Him
. The one man she ever said yes to.
“Sir,” she breathed. His lips drew close to hers and she could not bring herself to break away. “Sir…”
“What do you need,” he breathed upon her. “What can I give you?”
Nothing. He had given her everything. She could not ask anything of him. “Give me a location.”
His lips pressed gently on hers. Their noses rubbed as her hands tightened around his shirt, their bodies growing closer. She felt him groan, ever so lightly, then pulled away. His lips pecked hers two more times before he stepped back. “On us… On our love, I swear to you it is not for political advancement,” holding her hand in his. “Please believe me.”
She nodded slowly. “I believe you. I never doubted you. I just….”
“I won't ever kill an innocent man again. If there ever was a doubt, I wouldn't be asking you.”
She looked at the door which Havoc stood behind. “We are old,” she whispered. “We are not meant for this. We are retired from action, from the field of blood and honor. We now lead those who effortlessly serve our command to victory and glory. We must choose the path for them. We can't waver or second guess ourselves for it is their lives we risk.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath. She was right. It wasn't time for war. It wasn't time for mistakes. It was time for certainty and peace.
“General Mustang, after this, I will not pull the trigger again.”
He continued to nod as he looked at the door. He scratched his hand as he brought them in front of him. “Havoc,” he called out.
The blonde man popped his head in the door, exhaling a plume of rich tobacco smoke. ”Sir?”
He turned to sit in Havoc's former seat, pouring another glass of whiskey. “Hawkeye.” He looked up at her. “Contact Colonel Breda of Western Command. I want a week's worth of Intel. I want solid evidence of his guilt. No questions asked. Breda will move in for the arrest.” He took a long drink of the dark spirit, finishing the two fingers that he poured himself. "Hawkeye's men will stand by. We will move in as soon as we have evidence on all whos involved. We will not leave anyone out. We will not focus just on him, but everyone that is guilty."
Havoc nodded, his cigarette bouncing between his teeth as his jaw slipped to form a grin.
Hawkeye stood straight up, saluting her General. “You have my army. I will deploy at your command.”