Author's Note: We do not own This is a tag-team piece between Causmicfire and Bizzy. This story is another snippet of happenings in the Spinning Out-universe. If you don't know where Mustang got his alchemy and/or don't know what happens at the end of the manga/Brotherhood, there are spoilers all over the place!

Enjoy!

Olivier knelt down and picked up a chunk of debris with her left hand while Alex busied himself throwing rubble into an area where the street hadn't been torn apart.

"General, someone else can take care of that, you need medical attention," Heinkle told her.

She narrowed her eyes at being given orders and picked up another piece of debris. "I already told Alex that there are plenty of others with worse wounds that need to be seen to first," she hissed.

Armstrong turned to survey the field, and pointed across it just in time to see Hawkeye wobble and then fall over, as if the woman had waited until that moment to fall just to prove her point. "Like her."

Heinkle nodded, and he had to fight the knowing smile on his face. He could work this in his favor if he phrased things just right. "I understand, but it looks like the medics are busy, and she's all but fainted. I might need some help in getting her to one of the triage tents," he explained.

Armstong looked over to where Alex had been standing a minute ago, but he was already on the other side of the field, systematically clearing the rubble so as to not send anything else into further collapse. She huffed and straightened up, concerned that Heinkle couldn't handle carrying off a small soldier like Hawkeye by himself. "I suppose I can help you get her to a tent, she did lose a lot of blood," Armstrong snapped, noting to herself to make sure Heinkle hit the weight room when they got back to Briggs.

Hawkeye was trying to sit herself back up when Heinkle appeared, blocking her vision. She rubbed her forehead, as if this would clear her vision, and turned slightly when Armstrong also appeared. "General Armstrong," she said weakly. "Your arm looks broken..."

Armstrong couldn't help but laugh at Hawkeye's attempt to make conversation. "And your clothes look like they were washed in blood."

Hawkeye's expression darkened. She didn't find that particularly funny. She wasn't squeamish, but a look at her jacket turned even her stomach, if only because she knew that blood belonged in her and not on her.

"Don't go turning colors on me, Lieutenant. We need to get you to a medical tent," she paused and turned to Heinkle. "You take her left side and I'll get her right."

Hawkeye watched them anxiously, and hissed in pain when Heinkle grabbed her under the shoulder. On her feet, she wobbled violently, and her vision swam out of focus. She tried to move her arms enough to grope for something solid, and Heinkle just gripped her arm tighter. "Relax, we've got you."

Armstrong snaked her arm around the woman's waist, as if to emphasize her subordinate's words. Hawkeye mumbled her thanks.

The three made their way to the triaging tents, Heinkle leading the way. He spotted an empty cot, and he lead Hawkeye to it, depositing her on it gently. "I'll wait outside, General. It's probably best you wait here with her." With that, he left, waiting directly outside of the tent smirking to himself. Now, neither woman could leave until they'd been properly seen by a nurse.

Armstrong stared at the flap of the tent, not sure how Heinkle had convinced her to leave the search efforts and get herself into a tent. She looked back over at Hawkeye lying in the bed grimacing, and remembered the last time she saw her in that much pain. Suddenly, she found herself wanting to help Hawkeye with her wound out of more than just kinship and the desire to make sure the woman lived through the day. She could finally see if whatever Hawkeye had been covering up had been worth the burns she'd received. Hawkeye was absently winding her hand to her neck, trying to apply pressure to the wound in her neck that was still leaking blood.

"It would help if you took off your coat, Hawkeye," Armstrong stated as she strode over to the cot and gingerly tugged at the sleeve on the woman's good arm. Hawkeye winced at the tug, anticipating the discomfort. Armstrong didn't particularly want to argue, and gently tugged Hawkeye into a seated position so she could relieve her of her coat. Hawkeye gritted her teeth as Armstrong grabbed at the edge of the coat.

"I can do it myself."

Armstrong rolled her eyes. "I doubt that, Hawkeye. You can't even sit up. Stop being foolish and let me help you."

Hawkeye was tempted to return the eye roll. "You're injured, too," she reminded her.

"Do you see this, Lieutenant? It's a sling. Now stop it with this insubordination," Armstrong awkwardly gripped the hilt of her sword, as if that would convince the blonde as she continued, "And let me help you before you bleed to death. Mustang would attempt kill me, and, as loathe as I am to admit it, I would deserve it for letting you be your pigheaded self."

Hawkeye refused to let that hit a nerve and ignored the pain for a moment. "Technically, we're deserters," she had to pause to keep herself from calling Armstrong ma'am or general, "At least until we get this thing cleared up, that is."

"We're Briggs Bears, we don't desert, just shed light on what needs fixing. Or, in this case, fix it ourselves. Now, your wounds need fixing, so I'm cutting off your coat. This isn't an argument." Armstrong decided not to give the other woman a chance to reply; she bit back the pain in her right arm as she pulled the fabric of Hawkeye's coat taut in the center, and sliced upwards with her sword. With the garment easier to remove, she slid it off of Hawkeye's good side first before gingerly trying to lift it off of her wounded left shoulder. Hawkeye let out a string of colorful curses, the likes of which Armstrong didn't think the polite woman had in her.

Garment removed, Armsrong looked around for some gauze before opening it and pushing it against Hawkeye's neck. "Hold this there, and don't move."

Hawkeye followed her orders, but pulled away when Armstrong grabbed at her shirt to remove it as well. "I...if you pull that off, everything will bleed more." The tone of her voice made it difficult for Armstrong to tell if it was because Hawkeye was really afraid of the pain, or if she was concerned about something else entirely.

"Hawkeye, I need to see your wounds."

Hawkeye pulled out of Armstrong's grip, yanking the gauze from her hands. "A nurse...will come." She paused, still attempting to hold enough pressure to her neck to stop the bleeding. It only served to remind her that she hadn't been particularly good at this when she'd initially been given the wound and she still wasn't. "I'm fine."

Armstrong pulled back her lips into a sneer. "That isn't just a flesh wound Hawkeye. Or do you not remember practically passing out on the battlefield there. I'm pretty sure you needed Mustang to hold you up as much as he needed your guidance. I've seen enough battle to know that your shoulder is dislocated. And as for the slice in your neck...I knew you were defenseless against swords. That's going to need a good set of stitches at least. The shirt has to come off sooner or later, and trust me when I say sooner will hurt less."

Hawkeye just stared at her, blinking in surprise, not only at the woman's jibe at her weakness against swords, but also her knowledge of medical treatment. Besides, she was right. Mustang had been practically holding her up on her feet. But she couldn't let Armstrong get the upper hand just because some of her logic was reasonable.

Because Hawkeye was finding all of her available options in this situation unfavorable, she decided to do what she felt was the next logical thing: get up and leave. She surprised herself with her ability to make it nearly to the flap of the tent, until she walked directly into Heinkle. She stumbled backwards, Heinkle grabbing at her arm to keep her from falling while Armstrong caught her from behind.

A slew of curses left Armstrong's mouth as she, on reflex, made to catch the tumbling Hawkeye with her broken arm, despite it being confined in a sling. Frustrated, she grabbed Hawkeye's left shoulder with slightly more force than was necessary. Hawkeye's breath caught, and all she could do was whimper as Armstrong guided her back to the bed with Heinkle's assistance. Again. "Sit down. Your ability to make stupid decisions hasn't changed over-how long has it been now? Ten years? And here I was hoping you'd have proven me wrong by now."

Hawkeye looked to Heinkle, unable to see Armstrong's nod of dismissal. The tent flap had barely closed behind him when Armstrong pulled the back of her shirt tight, careful not to tug Hawkeye backwards off the cot as she did so. She looked down at Hawkeye for a moment, making sure she didn't try to escape at the last moment, and when there was no attempt from her to get away, she drew the sword with her left hand and carefully slid it upwards, so focused on making sure not to add her own artwork to the Lieutenant's back that she didn't even see the lines of ink until the already tattered neckline ripped from the pressure of her pulling on it. She just stared, her anger mounting as she made the connections to Mustang's array.

Hawkeye was stiff as a board, and before Armstrong could get out a word at the sight revealed to her, she'd managed to choke out, "I...I can explain. Don't kill him."

"Nobody will be killing anyone today, Lieutenant." The nurse poked her head into the tent, smiling pleasantly at the two of them. "Right, General Armstrong? My my, it's been a long time since I've seen you."

Armstrong tore her eyes away from Hawkeye's back to her favorite nurse, Shirley from Eastern Headquarters. What the hell was she doing out here in Central? "Of course there won't be any killing today. As you probably saw on your way here, there has already been more bloodshed than necessary," she hissed, the nurses words stinging worse than any of her wounds as she thought of her fallen soldiers.

Shirley crossed the room, her gaze on Armstrong knowing and sorrowful, before she turned her attention to Hawkeye. "You are very good at getting yourself into trouble, aren't you sweetheart? I'm getting old, you need to stop getting yourself so beaten up."

The nurse turned to Armstrong, "I need more gauze, and if you can track down any of the other nurses or doctors, I need an intravenous line as well. I don't care of what at this point, just ask someone for fluids." As she said this, Shirley guided Hawkeye down against the bed.

Armstrong nodded. She couldn't stand that look of knowing sorrow the nurse gave her, and found herself suddenly wanting to be busy and useful in a way that she couldn't understand.

Hawkeye's gaze followed the older blonde as she looked around the tent and then proceeded to leave. For just a moment, she felt like a terrified cadet about to be shipped off to war again, and desperately did not want to be left alone. The nurse must've caught the momentary look of panic, and Shirley looked up. "Hold that thought, General. I think I need your help right here."

Hawkeye looked up at the nurse, her eyes wide, the panic still not gone. "It's going to be all right, Riza. You're in good hands now, I promise I won't let you you won't bleed to death. General Armstrong, I just need an extra hand, if you'd be so kind as to hold the gauze against her shoulder nice and hard, that would be perfect."

Armstrong nodded, passing on Shirley's request to Heinkle before she joined the nurse at Hawkeye's side.

"I just need you here until the medics arrive, General. Then I'll need you to go get yourself taken care of. Is that a deal?"

Armstrong nodded as she took the gauze from the nurse, hating just a bit how easily she was comforted by the nurse's instructions-and hating just that much more that she'd again cornered herself into seeking medical treatment she didn't need right away. Part of her wondered if Heinkle had talked to the nurse before she'd entered the tent. How else could she just knowwithout asking a single question?

A younger nurse bustled in, all sorts of flustered. She almost walked directly into Shirley before seeing Armstrong. "Ah. General, Shirley asked me to take care of you. If you'll come this way, we can set the bone and get you on your way."

Ellen had evidently taken lessons from Shirley in the last few years, because it took little more than an irritated glance to get Armstrong moving. As they headed out the door, Ellen was almost bowled over by another young soldier. "Hey! Watch where you're going, the last thing we need is someone else hurt!"

The intruder didn't stop. Instead, Rebecca pushed Ellen out of the way. "Riza!"

Armstrong hated herself even more for getting tricked into medical attention. They'd apparently been told that she wouldn't follow through with care unless she was drugged, and she'd woken up in a hospital sans sword with her right arm encased in plaster and her hair tied back in some semblance of a ponytail.

She stumbled out of the bed, growling when something pulled on her left arm. She stopped only long enough to note that the pole her IV bang hung from was on wheels. She pulled it along, glad to have something that could remotely be used as a weapon if it was needed.

She wasn't surprised to see both Heinkle and Miles staring at her from either side of the door when she opened it.

"General," they said in unison as they snapped salutes. She nodded in acknowledgement, but barked out a single word. "Hawkeye?"

A nurse at the nurse's station perked up. Shirley-of course, of course it would have to be Shirley. "Room five," she said quietly. "Play nice." Shirley sounded tired, and she was frowning. "And don't tell her I sent you. She'd be cross with me figuring out she'd like to have company."

Armstrong wanted to roll her eyes at the nurse, but it took too much effort in her semi-drugged state, so instead, she looked up and down the hallway, not quite sure which way to go. Heinkle cleared his throat on her left just as Shirley slightly tilted her head in the same direction.

"It's the third door down, General," Shirley called, not even looking up from the file.

Armstrong nodded, glad she didn't have to ask, or go wandering around to find the room. She passed an empty room on the way, and briefly recalled that Alphonse had been there until they'd made sure all he needed was some proper nourishment and rest. Now, he was in the same wing of her mansion as Scar. Out of the public eye, and much more comfortable than any hospital.

A young soldier was standing by the door of room five, and when Armstrong approached, she recognized Master Sergeant Kain Fuery. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and Hawkeye's little dog was sitting at his feet. The young man saluted, nervous. "Hello, General Armstrong. How are you feeling?"

She saluted awkwardly with her left hand-it wasn't Fuery's fault that she was here. "I'd be better if these pain killers would wear off already."

If Fuery was completely perplexed by her comment, he didn't show it. Instead, he stepped aside from the door, calling for Hayate to follow him. "I think Lieutenant Hawkeye is still asleep, ma'am. The doctor spent a good long time stitching her up properly."

"Has she had any other company?" Armstrong asked, wanting to know exactly what advantage she had in the conversation that was going to take place.

"No ma'am. I've been here alone standing post."

She stared at him for a moment, recalling that he was part of Mustang's team, but not sure if he knew about the secret connection between Hawkeye and Mustang. "Knock twice if anyone else decides to come visit," she ordered, trying not to sound as cross as the drugs were making her. Once he nodded, she entered the room.

As Fuery stated, Hawkeye was sound asleep. She was similarly attached to an IV pole, but this one had two bags hanging. One was likely a pain medication; the other was clearly blood. From the doorway, it looked like everything had been properly sewn up. Hawkeye's left arm was tightly wrapped in a sling to keep her from moving it when she woke, and her neck was half swathed in sterile gauze.

She sat herself down in one of the chairs next to Hawkeye's bed and busied herself looking out the window. It was always funny how battle could be raging in one half of a town while the other carried on unaffected. People were out celebrating in droves, not even knowing what they were celebrating. She turned away from the sight and fumbled with the hair-tie, effectively releasing her hair from it's binding and hitting Hawkeye squarely in the middle of the forehead with the rubber band when she couldn't quite get a grasp on it.

Hawkeye stirred slightly. She opened her eyes, gazed around the room, blinked, and then shut them again as if keeping them open required too much effort. Her breathing had eased back into soft, quiet respirations when Shirley poked her head in-a very distraught looking Fuery making a very apologetic face behind her.

"Sorry to barge in, General." Shirley was holding a needle and frowning. "Antibiotics go around the clock, regardless of who is in the room." She gingerly shook Hawkeye's right side as she swabbed her shoulder clean. "Just a little stick, sweetheart. You can go right back to sleep when I'm done."

Hawkeye's eyes shot open at the needle, and she turned quickly to see the nurse pulling back. Shirley gently turned the woman's head, so she didn't pull at her stitches. "Don't turn too quickly, Riza. You've got more stitches than I can count in your neck, I don't want you to pull any of them out. I'm going to go back to work, but if you need me, you know what to do." The nurse placed the call button into Hawkeye's hand and then patted it gently. "Same goes for you, General. I know we didn't get off on the best terms, but you are technically my patient now that we're in the hospital."

Armstrong wanted to remind the nurse that she could discharge herself at any time, but settled for a simple, 'thank you,' as if she was the one dismissing the nurse, not the other way around.

It took Armstrong speaking for Hawkeye to register that someone else was in the room; under the instructions of the nurse she couldn't turn enough to see who it was. "General...?"

"Good morning, Hawkeye," Armstrong greeted. Armstrong was sure it was relatively early in the morning from the look of the dark streets the citizens of Central were celebrating in outside the window.

Hawkeye blinked, and her right hand gripped at the blankets. Her voice was hoarse, "I...can still explain..."

Armstrong raised a brow to signal Hawkeye to continue, but after a moment she realized the sniper couldn't turn to look at her. "I'm listening," she prompted, adding, "And this better be good, or else I'm going to have to find Mustang."

Hawkeye shuddered, and she clutched at the blankets like a lifeline. "I know...you think it's his." The woman swallowed hard, closing her eyes. "It isn't." Her voice shrank, almost a whisper. "It's not Roy's. It was...my father's first."

Armstrong's eyes widened. "When?" she asked, knowing Hawkeye's father had obviously not been a part of her life when she'd signed up for the military.

"I was fourteen." Hawkeye swallowed, closing her eyes. "Not old enough to know what I was agreeing to."

She was quiet for a few moments, not waiting for Armstrong to prompt her. "I couldn't keep carrying that with me, not after what his alchemy had been used for. I asked the Colonel to burn it at the end of the Isvhalan War. I needed to...I needed it to not define me, not the way it had through the Academy, through the war."

Armstrong nodded to herself, she could understand Hawkeye wanting to be her own person. She'd lived that in her past, could remember the Generals in charge at the academy telling her she didn't need the military, her family could give her everything she wanted. She nearly laughed at her sentimentality, being around Alex was making her soft. It was suddenly obvious to her why Hawkeye had been such a nervous Cadet, and why she'd always wound up with her back in a corner during sparing matches. She wasn't sure if she was more surprised that she'd even gotten by the initial physical, or by the fact that she'd been able to keep it hidden between now and then.

"You're the first person." Hawkeye was whispering, tense. "Shirley followed us to Central, and she's done every yearly physical I've had. She keeps tabs on the files in the hospital to us as a favor."

Mustang's guilt and even banter finally made sense-the man seemed willing to defend those empty files to the death, and only now was it clear that that was because of the fear that there was something in them. On top of that, there probably wasn't a single person Hawkeye felt she could confide in, aside from him. Armstrong had to stop her there, "Just so it's clear, I didn't find anything in the files."

"I know." Hawkeye shook her head slightly, laughing a bit. "I'm not sure what possessed me to ask you for proof, but when you didn't offer any, I knew."

"And I won't say this again, but I was proud of my cadet when you did," Armstrong confessed, and then immediately regretted it. Obviously it was the combination of Alex, Hawkeye's confession, and the pain killers that were making her so soft

Hawkeye was quiet for a few moments, bringing her hand to her face, covering her eyes. "Please don't tell anyone, General." Her voice was shaking just slightly. "I've already been used as leverage against him twice...if more people knew..."

"We all have our secrets Hawkeye. You don't know how good I am at keeping secrets," she told her, agreeing to her plea in a roundabout way.

Hawkeye nodded weakly, eyes covered. "Thank you."

The two women sank into silence, the information dredged up in the conversation running through their thoughts. Hawkeye found herself reliving every time she'd ever wanted to tell someone about the tattoo on her back and wondered if Armstrong was the only person who had ever come so close to figuring it out without help. Armstrong could feel herself picking apart every conversation she'd ever overhead between the Colonel and his Lieutenant, wondering if she'd ever missed the clue that would have let her solve this mystery years ago.

Shirley appeared in the doorway a bit later, frowning. She was holding a stack of sheets and blankets, a spare pillow tucked on top.

"That poor Sergeant Major of yours has been knocking on this door for the last five minutes. If I had known you were both asleep, I wouldn't have even made him knock."

Armstrong looked up and stretched uncomfortably; the hard wooden back of the chair a very unpleasant place to sleep. She glanced over at Hawkeye and saw that the woman was still sleeping, and had only opened one eye to acknowledge the nurse in the doorway.

"Time for you to get to bed, General," Shirley instructed, "They've cleared up most of the rubble and we don't have a free room anymore. One of your lackeys is bringing your things in a moment, and you'll be here for the night." The nurse walked over to the spare bed, quickly making it up for her. "I know you want to go home, but don't forget who you are contending with, General. You'll feel worlds better tomorrow morning after a proper night's rest, but I don't quite trust you to do it at home."

Armstrong looked over at Hawkeye and conceded. The woman probably wouldn't be waking up to talk again anytime soon, let alone asking the questions Armstrong knew she wanted to ask. "She's out for the night?" This was asked with a modicum of concern. Armstrong knew Hawkeye was a lightweight when it came to medication, but not so much that she'd be out all night.

Shirley smiled, picking up on the almost inaudible note of concern, "Don't worry your pretty little head about her for now. I'm surprised that she was awake at all, Riza's out when you give her just about anything and we've pumped her full of stuff tonight."

Armstrong nodded, at least that meant the sniper would actually get the rest her body needed. But, if she knew one thing, it was that it always took the body a while to adjust. Hawkeye's internal alarm would be going off well before the sun rose.

Knowing that, Armstrong decided to keep herself in a light sleep, ears ready for the first sound of Hawkeye stirring.

Armstrong was sure she'd overslept. And the stupid pocket watch that had materialized on her bedside table was broken. It had taken her a minute to realize it, but now she recognized it from when Buccaneer had gone down into the tunnel to bring back her missing men. A clean uniform was folded beneath the pocket watch, and she wondered how exactly someone had gotten both in and out without waking her.

She glanced to her left, and saw that Hawkeye was still out like a light. The room was still dark, and she slid out of bed and to her feet quietly, grabbing the uniform and gently placing the pocket watch on her bed before walking quietly to the small attached bathroom.

It took her a good few moments to realize that whoever had left the clothes-likely Heinkle-had had the foresight to get a shirt and a jacket that were just a size too big so that it would fit over the cast. She thanked whatever higher power may be for having her choose competent subordinates. In the bathroom, she found herself growing increasingly cross with that IV bag that was attached to her arm and the extra difficulty it added to getting properly dressed. After contemplating which ways she could get her arm with the line in it through, she finally got the shirt on, and just slid the jacket over her one arm before returning to her bed.

Before getting back in bed, she took the pocket watch and attached the clasp to the waist of her pants and slid the timepiece into her pocket.

She grinned once the ordeal was over, glad that she hadn't had to ask for help.

It was nearly ten minutes later when Shirley strolled in, frowning when she saw that Armstrong was awake. "Just making the early morning rounds before I'm off for a couple of hours," she explained quietly, trying not to wake the other occupant of the room. "Oh. Before I go, I can take your IV line out if you'd like. You don't really need it."

Of all of the cruel twists of fate-after all of that effort getting the damned IV tubing through the sleeve. Armstrong nodded, figuring it would save her the effort. Shirley made quick work of getting the sleeve out of the way enough to remove the line, and then bid Armstrong good day. "I'll be back in a few hours. If you lot haven't behaved...I'm too tired to think up a proper punishment, but I'm sure I can if the need arises."

Armstrong decided, now that Shirley was going to leave her be, that it would be appropriate to go and thank Heinkle for bringing her a change of clothes. After making sure Shirley was far enough away from the door that she would not be caught, she cracked the door open. "Thank you for the change of clothes, Heinkle."

Instead of Heinkle, Sergeant Major Fuery poked his head into the room. "Excuse me, General? Oh-yes, he brought a change of clothes this morning. He said you'd want to change as soon as you were awake." Fuery smiled. He was holding a cup of what was presumably coffee, and the caffeine appeared to be getting to him because his eyes darted around the hall before he spoke again. "Also-and the Colonel will be furious with me for telling you this, so don't tell him you heard from me-but a spare room opened up down the hall."

Both officers turned when they heard the quiet mumbling from the bed behind Armstrong. Fuery took a step back from the door, as if he expected the order that was about to come. "Two knocks if someone comes, right?"

Armstrong nodded. She had to hand it to him, Fuery paid good attention. She nodded to dismiss him and cleared her throat to alert Hawkeye to the fact that she wasn't alone.

At the first familiar face who had access to information, Hawkeye sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide. She hissed in pain, but the anxiety in her gaze was obvious. "The...the boys. The Elrics. Are they all right?"

Record time. What had it taken, thirty seconds, for Hawkeye to realize she had questions she needed the answers to? "They're both alive. Apparently, Fullmetal gave up his alchemy to get his brother back. Alphonse was here, but it was a media circus. He's been relocated to the Armstrong estate until he's at least properly nourished," she explained.

Hawkeye kept herself propped up, turning as best as she could to face Armstrong, which was mostly an awkward sideways glance. "Do you think you will stay?" Her right arm wobbled under her weight, and Hawkeye sank back against the pillow. "In the military, after all of this," she gestured around the room, though the grander movement was in reference to the people milling about the street, "has settled?"

"The military is my life, and yours, too," Armstrong reminded her.

"Has someone come up with a good explanation for Briggs' involvement?" Hawkeye was frowning. "There is a going to need to be a lot of story-spinning to clear everyone's name."

"I haven't heard about the solution yet, but it must be coming. If it wasn't already in the works, I'm sure Sergeant Major Fuery wouldn't be the only one at the door," Armstrong replied calmly.

"Don't underestimate the Sergeant Major," Hawkeye replied, "He's been the only guard for the Colonel before when I was unable to stand watch."

Armstrong sighed. "I wasn't questioning his abilities. If we were going to be held for treason, there would be a flock of Military Police with him," she explained. She waited for a moment before getting on with her question. "I'll assume it's safe to say you'll be following your lame alchemist wherever he goes next?"

"He's retired." The statement seemed to have caught Hawkeye off guard despite the fact that the words came from her own mouth. "The gate took his sight. No military can have a soldier who can't see. The nation needs a leader who can see its bright future in the distance, even if it's only in the most literal way, they would never accept a leader who can't see."

Armstrong patted the foot of Hawkeye's bed. "You're getting ahead of yourself. That superior of yours is still going to give me a run for my money, especially since he's planning on restoring Ishval to it's former glory with his renewed sight," Armstrong grumbled.

She had never seen such a look of surprise on a soldier's face, not in all of the years she had worked. Hawkeye appeared to be struck completely speechless, and by the way the woman occasionally attempted to form a word and then said nothing, Armstrong felt it safe to assume that this was in no way the information she had been expecting.

"Although, if you've decided working with him is not quite what you want, seeing as he tends to get you into all kinds of trouble-"

"I'm not going North, General." Hawkeye bit back a quiet laugh, "to be honest, I hate the cold."

"You get used to it after a while," Armstrong laughed, glad to see Hawkeye back to some semblance of her normal self.

"Not quite," Hawkeye replied, pushing her hair from her face. "I'm from the Eastern part of the country. It gets too cold here for my taste."

Both women turned to the commotion outside the door. "S-sir! General Armstrong asked me to knock-" Fuery sounded incredibly anxious.

"Move, Fuery."

"But sir-"

"Fuery." Mustang had a penchant for making a scene. "Move. Take the dog with you, I'm sure he needs to do his business. Come back in a few minutes."

"You're sure you'll be all right alone?" Fuery sounded less than convinced, "You've only just gotten back on your feet, and Shirley suggested someone wait outside."

"I promise you that we will be able to take care of ourselves for fifteen minutes. Relax, you deserve a break, too," Mustang softened up on the kid. When the door opened, Fuery wasn't quite fast enough to catch Hayate, who scurried into the room and leapt up on to the bed. Hayate gingerly stepped on the covers, stepping on Hawkeye's stomach and placing his paws on her chest, gently licking her face.

Mustang sighed and stepped aside for Fuery to collect the dog.

"O...ow, Hayate, no," Hawkeye murmured, "that...that hurts."

Fuery scrambled around the bed, already trying to decide how get Hayate off of his master without making what looked like an inappropriate pass at his superior officer. His cheeks had flushed just slightly. "Uhm, excuse me," he murmured trying not to look anyone in the eye as he did the most inappropriate thing in his life. He slid his hands under Hayate's front paws and scooped the dog up as fast as he could, "Uh...I-I'm sorry, ma'am, I just-"

To Fuery's great relief, Hawkeye was just gently patting her dog's head, the expression of relief evident on her face. "It's all right. Thank you, Sergeant Major."

Armstrong couldn't help but laugh as the kid left the room. "A trifle young, isn't he?" she asked, a note of uncharacteristic fondness creeping in to her voice, although she was sure Mustang must have taken a liking to him for one reason or another.

"I'm in no position to call somebody too young to join up," Hawkeye said calmly.

"Fuery could build a multi-channel transmitter from a box of random junk you have in your house. I have days I can't even figure out how to get the damned radio on," Mustang added. "He's a good kid. A lot less jittery than he was when he first enlisted, too."

Armstrong had to refrain from adding in a 'you would' to Mustang's speech about not knowing hot to turn a radio on. "Less jittery? I'm glad I didn't have to help train him during his academy years," she said, throwing Hawkeye a look.

"Never in my life was I as anxious as the Sergeant Major, General Armstrong," Hawkeye replied, almost defensively.

Mustang looked between the two of them, and laughed nervously. "I think I might have to agree with General Armstrong on this one, Hawkeye."

"I think I've lost too much blood...are you two agreeingwith each other?" Hawkeye feigned weakness, touching her forehead. "I must be losing my mind."

Armstrong rolled her eyes. "Despite rumors, I can be quite agreeable. And yes, we are agreeing. Do you not remember the morning after I returned to the academy?"

The humor in Hawkeye's eyes vanished in an instant. "That isn't funny, General. I wasn't ready, and I think by the time you came back into town I hadn't slept for a week."

Armstrong's eyes were getting heavy again. She always hated recovering from injuries: at times when she felt she should be awake and alert she found herself drowsy and unfocused. She couldn't call what she had gotten a proper night's sleep, not when all but a few hours of it had been drug induced.

Hawkeye yawned a bit. She had already sank back against the pillows, though her eyes trailed to the window and back. She searched for a clock unsuccessfully. "What time is it?"

"Only 0530, Hawkeye," Mustang replied, sighing. "And while I'll admit that it's good to see that you're both awake and well, I think it's time we all got some rest." Mustang was genuinely glad to make the decision, being the most coherent one in the room.

"I'm sure you have things you'd like to discuss, and my subordinates have some explaining to do," Armstrong declared.

Hawkeye laughed quietly, "They tricked you, didn't they?"

"Of course they did. It's a broken arm, Hawkeye, not a puncture wound. I'm getting myself discharged. I only stayed the night to get some information. I'm sure one call from his dear sister will have Alex here in minutes," she scoffed.

"Alex made me promise to you keep you here for the day, General," Mustang replied flatly. "He told me you'd say that, and he told me to not fall for it and tell you to stay here."

Armstrong just glared at Mustang. She didn't have her sword, which after what Mustang told her she figured was probably Alex's doing, she didn't have any water to soak him with, and she didn't have her shoes. Heinkle might have graced her by getting her a new uniform, but he clearly knew she would not stay put without some well-laid-out strategy. She felt slightly set up by him and made a note to not only send him to the weight room but to also give him quite the reprimand.

"I'm not staying in here with you all day," she snapped.

Mustang grinned, "I'm not admitted, I was discharged an hour ago. I'm going to stand guard and relieve Fuery for a bit. The poor kid's been here something like twenty hours already."

"Sir, you really ought to rest as well." Hawkeye couldn't believe that she was called the pigheaded one when Mustang was her commanding officer.

Armstrong nodded. "I don't need my brother to get discharged. I do have Miles here with me." Heinkle was there as well, but she wouldn't trust him to play any part in her discharge-not after how he'd tricked her.

Mustang chuckled, more to himself than to anyone else. "Did you forget that Shirley was your nurse as well? She'd tie you to a post before letting you leave against her terms."

His statement reminded her of the letter from Grumman, and her face fell. "You. You did this, didn't you?" she growled at him.

Hawkeye was almost whispering when she spoke. Her gaze was knowing, as if she imagined herself in the Captain's shoes. "Captain Buccaneer would be disappointed if you chose to discharge yourself too soon. Especially if something happened to you because of that."

Armstrong put her hand into her pocket, her eyes blurring for a moment. She couldn't quite tell, but it seemed that Mustang and Hawkeye were suspiciously looking elsewhere, and she found herself grateful for their perceptiveness. She blinked twice to clear her eyes and set her jaw, pulling her hand out of her pocket. "Fine, but don't think I'm leaving my protection up to your lame alchemist," she huffed.

"I'm going to have a chat with Heinkle and Miles. They can keep better watch than this idiot." She caught Hawkeye's frustrated glare, and rolled her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere but down the hall, even your crazy nurse Shirley can't punish me for that." Armstrong marched past Mustang. "Try not to go rolling in any celebratory bonfires," she stated dryly as she yanked open the door.

Just before the door closed behind her, Hawkeye quipped, "I've had enough celebratory bonfires for one lifetime, General."

Fuery opened the door and poked his head in. "That must've been a good joke, Lieutenant. At least, the General seemed to find it rather entertaining."