Disclaimer- I do not own any of the characters from Full metal Alchemist. All rights go to their respective original creators.

Warnings- Do not read if you haven't seen the anime up to Episode 26. I will be making references toward the deaths of certain characters and hinting at relationship connections. Also be aware that I may change some FMA history in order to make my story work (though it won't be drastic). If you don't like it, don't read it. Thank you very much for at least getting it far! -bows- Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1- Wake Up Call

A gorgeous man with shining jet black hair sat slumped in a chair in front of a giant fireplace, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. Even though his eyes were unfocused, there was some inner fire burning inside his soul that made them glitter like dark gems. His face somehow managed to be masculine and yet beautiful at the same time. He was clothed in a military garb, but they were wrinkled and unkempt, as if the man had slept in them the night before.

The glass of amber liquid tipped in one direction precariously. Before any of its precious contents spilled to the floor, the man lifted the glass to eye level and stared through the liquid into the fire.
"Here's to you, Roy Mustang. Congratulations on your promotion." He said mockingly, toasting himself, and tipped the liquid into his mouth. He swallowed and winced as it burned his throat on the way down to his stomach.

He should be happy. In most ways he was. But then there was this little nagging voice that whispered to him constantly. 'I should call it Edward.' He thought to himself and laughed harshly, his voice bursting from his lips like the bark of a dog. Actually, it would be very apropos. It said things that reminded him of Ed and all his naivety. It spoke of 'what ifs' and asked him 'why'. It also asked him questions he couldn't answer, rhetorical ones, and repeated ones he had once asked himself when he had been younger.

It had never hit him so hard before. Well, actually, that was a lie. It had never hit him so hard so many years after like this. Memories. It was his own memories of his actions and those of his fellow alchemists that made his insides twist in pain. Had they really been so casual about killing then? Yes. Yes, they had. They had been cocky and arrogant, so sure that they were fighting on the side of good.

He laughed bitterly again. So foolish. The world wasn't so simply divided into categories of black and white. But then… then it had been. Only Marco and Armstrong had been voices of reason throughout those days of mindless slaughter. It certainly was a pity that the two of them hadn't been enough to bring the lot of them to their senses.

This particular relapse had not occurred by the mere stabbing pain of those memories biting at his heels, but also by his recent promotion and also recent death of his best friend. There in lied the question. To be promoted, to get one step higher on the political rung was his life.

So why did he feel like shit? Then, dully, he realized, 'Those that died because of me, died for no other reason than to get me a bigger pay check. Almost like they had become the rungs I needed to step on in order to climb that oh so special political latter.' He thought, his own voice filled with contempt.

He took another gulp of the amber liquid and grimaced. He'd never really liked the taste. He considered it a kind of medicine for his depression and that mind set allowed him to drink and leave his conscious guilt free. As if it needed more weight. He made the motion to take another swig of his liquid, but saw the glass was empty. Mustang glared at it, feeling as if the glass were to blame, and stood to pour more into it. He wobbled a little getting up but walked steadily over to his bar and poured more of the recently opened liquor into the offending glass.

He lifted it to his lips and just as the cool glass caressed them, several loud knocks on his door sounded. He sighed and set the glass down. "I'm busy. Go away." He said bluntly to who ever it was and made to pick up his glass again.

"Sir, this is First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Open the door." Said a soft, feminine voice on the other side of the door. It was a voice that was lilting and yet firm. That was Hawkeye for you. A barrel of contradictions. Hawkeye wouldn't disturb him unless it was absolutely necessary, and yet…
He refused to be swayed, "Can it wait till tomorrow, Hawkeye?" He asked, thinking the Elric brothers had gotten into another scrap.

"No, sir. This is urgent." She said firmly through the door.

He sighed, and picked up his glass, "Well, it will have to. If they can't handle one day without me then they deserve to get hospitalized." He said, thinking it was definitely the Elric's. He walked back to his chair and sat down, nursing his glass.

There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door, and then he heard a soft sigh. Without warning, three gunshots sounded from outside his room and then after a pause the door smashed to the floor with a crash. Mustang's jaw dropped.

Riza Hawkeye strode in, walking over the door she had kicked in, while putting away a lethal looking pistol in its shoulder holster. She was also in military garb, and her long blond hair was kept in place by a clip. Her eyes, similar in color to the liquor in Mustang's glass, flashed with determination. Hawkeye waltzed up to Mustang, still seated in his chair and stood in front of him for moment in complete silence.

They stared at each other for another heart beat then, Hawkeye broken the contact by closing her eyes. She sighed again. "Forgive me, sir." She said then opened her eyes. She then knocked the glass out of his hand and on to the floor. "Those of us who have followed you loyally through out the years have voted that I should give you a wake up call. We feel it's it your best interests, sir." Hawkeye drew back her hand and slapped Mustang back handed against the cheek, the crack echoing in through out the room.

He remained froze, his head still turned away from Hawkeye from the force of the strike. He looked fairly shocked, and he reached a tentative hand up to his cheek to feel the heat radiating from it, as if he didn't believe Hawkeye had hit him.

Silence permeated the room and was broken by the ever observant response of second lieutenant Havoc, who was craning his neck around the door, "That… was… the most beautiful thing I have ever since in my entire life."

Fury and Farman only groaned in response.
"I'm glad Hawkeye is doing this and not me. I'd never get away with it." Havoc continued, obliviously.

Hawkeye grabbed Mustang by the collar of his military uniform and dragged him out of the chair then out of the room, Havoc, Fury and Farman following behind.

(A/N: Well that's Chapter 1. What did you think? Should I keep going or stop? If you think I should stop, let me know, and I'll tell you to go lie face down in a gutter and play dead. -Laughs evilly- Did you really think I'd end the madness so easily? I have many plans for ol' Roy. Many plans, -Laughs maniacally but nearly coughs up a lung-.)