Swimming Without a Paddle

Character(s): Jean Havoc! (whoop), Roy's team

Rating: T

Summary: Jean Havoc knew he shouldn't have gone off alone, especially somewhere that sketchy. But he did, and now he's in for the most interesting swim of his life.

Disclaimer: Don't own Jean Havoc. Shame

A/N: I like Jean Havoc. He's one of my favorite characters, and I don't see that many fics out for him, so I got the motivation to write this. This fics in the 'humor' category, although, that choice can be disputed.

As usual, I would like to thank my beta: Epicfailpig. She's saved me once again from the terror of having to edit my stuff alone. Truthfully, without her, I would not write. So, much thanks. :)

Jean Havoc had never once been to the ocean. It had come across his mind a couple of times in the past, when he was younger, and had had the free time to sit in his drawing room and scan through magazines of faraway lands and oceans. But the idea hadn't been more than a childhood dream, and had been promptly extinguished later in his life after he'd joined the military - after he'd seen what war was like. It had only been a fantasy, common for a farm boy that had never seen a body of water larger than the swimming hole in his local town.

He had only tasted seawater a few times in his life. The first time was when his uncle had given him a container of it as a souvenir from a journey he'd been on, another time when he ordered a bottle for one of his ex-girlfriends (because it was rumored to be good for the skin), and recently when he and Breda had accidently dropped the fish tank in the main office. It caused the body to become dehydrated; it was slightly bitter and not suitable to drink. His knowledge on it spanned as far as a textbook would allow. Like the images in the old magazines, going to the ocean was just another fruitless idea he had placed up on his old shelf because he never intended to leave Amestris.

And on that Tuesday, in a large warehouse just outside of central, Havoc never thought he'd have a firsthand experience of the ocean without actually leaving Amestris at all. He floundered a bit as he struggled for breath, treading the chilling water. He never thought he'd inhale, only to find that his mouth was filled with bitter cold saltwater which insisted on clogging his nose. At that time, Jean Havoc knew he was royally screwed, so much so that he must have made some record in history. Great, just great… Nice going, Jean.

He chastised himself as he treaded the water lightly. He was a fairly good swimmer, but the water was freezing, and his limbs seemed to be weighed down by the temperature alone. It certainly was no swim in his neighborhood pond. How did I even get myself into this mess?

It was only an inner musing, but it didn't need a reply - not even from the one who had asked it. Jean knew exactly how he had ended up trapped in the icy saltwater, drenched to the bone: Roy Mustang, or, more correctly, the military.

It had all started off as a mundane assignment. A spare paper had crossed Havoc's desk, and he had handed it to Fuery, who had passed it to Falman, who had kindly delivered to Breda, who had then promptly thrown it at Mustang. It had just been some report of an empty crate being discovered at Central's Train Station. A lot of discussion had occurred, because no one had known where it had come from. It had been left on the platform, and had vanished by the next morning. None of the guards had any idea what to do with it; they had assumed it was some sort of smuggler that had botched up on their transactions. When the Flame Alchemist had caught the report from Breda's throw, he had taken interest in the case. Immediately, he began weaving tales of possible illegal experimentations and human/animal trafficking in Central. Even with no solid evidence, Roy Mustang began giving orders left to right, and though two days passed with no leads, the Colonel finally found the lead he was looking for.

It had been disclosed as a private warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Falman had picked up the tip from some anonymous source. They hadn't barged into the place right away; first, they looked up the background of the location to check for anything suspicious. And suspicious it was . A man named Arnold Griffings owned the building. He had once been instated in the military as a scientist until he was expelled for illegal animal transmutations. The file was like a slap in the face to Havoc and Breda, who had been skeptic of Mustang's ability to draw such a speedy conclusion. They should have known better in doubting Mustang when it came to his strategic ability to deduce.

They had left within the hour they had received the file. Though it shouldn't have been necessary for all of them to go, Roy Mustang had obligated them to out of sheer loyalty. Besides, when the accompanying Mustang, they didn't need many more men. With his flame alchemy, he was like a one man army - if not deadlier.

They had arrived at dawn and surrounded the warehouse. Unlike their information specified, it seemed the building was about the length of three warehouses connected and had multiple floors. With only six men, it looked to be a long process of searching. Mustang, in a usual bout of confidence, determined that it didn't look as though it were heavily trafficked since they had no reports of movement within the area. He had devised a plan to split up his team among each section of the building and have them report back with any findings; any individuals found were to be captured and questioned. Havoc had voiced his concerns at having the group split up in an unknown building, but his superior brushed off his fears with a simple word of confidence. Havoc wasn't thrilled about the lack of concern from Mustang about the suspicious building but they hadn't seen any signs of danger yet so he didn't add comment any further. Mustang then assigned the team different wings of the building to search, and to Havoc's 'delight', he was given the most pleasant job. He would be searching the lower level of the building.

Mustang had been correct about the illegal animal trafficking. There were rooms upon rooms filled with small, closed cages containing live, dead, and dying animals. Havoc had never been much of an animal person, but even his heart was moved by the sight of so many different creatures - cats, dogs, birds, even a bear - being housed in such poor conditions. His agenda wasn't to free the animals, though, so he trudged on, searching for any signs of people.

The lower level was a dark labyrinth. The hallways were tight, with low ceilings, and had little circulation. The more he pressed on, the more he felt like he wouldn't be able to find his way back, since every corridor looked exactly as the last. He allowed his lighter to guide his way, swinging open doors to find any signs of life besides suffering mammals.

About twenty minutes into his search, he had come to the conclusion that no one was lurking in the damp basement level, if only because of the silence. The only sounds he had come across were the sounds of rattling cages and the bottom of his boots hitting concrete. And that as when he made his big mistake; he had gotten too relaxed, too acquainted with the darkness of the basement.

He moved into a large, spacious room. Unlike the other cramped rooms, this room had been particularly unusual because it had been locked, thus forcing Havoc to bust open its door with some well-placed kicks to its rusty hinges. It had been much colder than the other rooms, and Havoc had shivered at the temperature change.

Despite the fullness and overcrowding of the other areas he had searched, the room had been vacant. Or, at least, as much of what he could see of it was vacant. His lighter hadn't filled the small room, leaving corners darkened and keeping secrets hidden. After a moment of hesitation, he had entered the room to explore the darkness, leaving the door ajar. His search hadn't taken too long though- the room was pretty deserted. No tables or cages littered the space like in the others. In his investigation, which was more like a stumble in the dark, he had only found tables lined with clipboards and data, so obscure and filled with scattered numbers that they were no more foretelling than chicken scratch . No, the room had been quite barren to anything of substance until he ventured to the far wall of the room.

It had been hard to identify what it was at first. In the dark, his fingers had first met with it, thinking it was the far wall, but the sensation against his palm was not the rough concrete he had expected - it was the smooth, cold surface of glass. Havoc had begun waving his lighter around to examine whatever he had found, and had immediately eliminated the idea of it being a large window; he was underground, and no window would possibly be useable at the elevation. He had curiously tapped his knuckles against it; it hadn't felt hollow or flimsy, and seemed to vibrate little at his touch.

Havoc had been stumped. His only options were to circle around it and try to piece together what it was, or leave the room and report it to Mustang. The second option seemed more beneficial, and an easier; however, Havoc had been unusually curious about the strange glass wall that he had discovered in the dark. He didn't want to return to the boss without finding anything, so he allowed his curiosity to win out and began to probe and circle the wall. Only later (and probably for the rest of his life) would he regret letting his interest in the unknown trump his logic.

He had followed the glass with a loose hand, while his other still held his lighter - he had already holstered his gun. The glass remained smooth until he ran into what he thought was the other wall, but after some mild fumbling in the dark he discovered that it was some kind of wooden staircase. Unsure in his step, he had held his lighter up, jumped onto the bottom step, and had begun walking his way up tentatively. The stairs hadn't been very large, only spanning about two men in width, and they seemed to be makeshift, if only because they shook and trembled with each step he took. About a wobbly nine steps up, he had stopped, as he had realized he had reached the top. But instead of a platform or something Jean could stand on, the stairs had led up into a black pit. He continued to shine his lighter and had caught sight of greenish water sloshing around about a foot under his feet. Jean Havoc had finally figured out what he was looking at when he saw the thick glass rim that seemed to contain the water. It was a large aquarium. It was so similar the fish tank in the office that he hadn't understood why he hadn't figured it out sooner.

It was no surprise that there was a tank in the warehouse; he had seen every kind of mammal already in the compound, and exotic fish fit in quite well with the deranged circus that was set there. His lighter flashed over the water again, causing the light to project onto the side of tank like a group of dancing lightning bugs. Havoc had been entranced by the water. The sight reminded him of home and of a time when he enjoyed the simple pleasures of a swim out after dark like he'd used to do as a child. Old misconceptions of past wonders about oceans and far off seas caused him to lose sight of his situation-his mission.

His next course of action would have had him cursing himself for days and regretting ever going to the basement of the old warehouse. At the time, it had been such an innocent, simple act. What had he done? He had leaned over, attempting to brush his hands lightly across the surface of the saltwater, just to get a feel.

He hadn't even lingered; it was just a refreshing reminisce. However, he didn't have time to disconnect himself from his thoughts, because a moment later he had heard the distinct noise of someone running up the shaky stairs. He had drawn his gun to defend himself, but his actions were too slow. Rough hands shoved him, hard, and with his precarious footing over the ledge of the tank, he went tumbling in before he could even release a shout of surprise.

The water had been cold, a shock to his senses, and left him floundering underwater for a moment . His mind had only disconnected for that one moment, though, because a second later, he broke the surface, sputtering and cursing as he recognized the distinct sound of fleeting footsteps and the slamming of a door. He had gotten himself into a very fine mess.

I'll need to get out of this soon. Havoc thought to himself as he treaded the water lightly. It was dark now, because he had no doubt dropped his lighter into the water when he had fallen in. It probably sat somewhere at the bottom of the tank, although, he wasn't sure since he hadn't paid it much attention to his grip when he tumbled in.

What he begrudged more than the missing lighter was his gun, which was also now sitting at the bottom of the tank. His mind had already cursed himself for losing it. Not only would he be in trouble with Mustang because he had let one of their culprit's evade him, but he had lost his only weapon in the process. He didn't doubt for a second the Colonel would do something evil to get revenge; whether he'd be doing some unscheduled overtime or some unaccredited mission was yet to be determined.

I'll have to explain it to him. Maybe he'll have mercy once he sees how wet I've gotten? Even as Havoc thought it, he rolled his eyes. Nope, there wasn't going to by any sympathy from Mustang on this one. After years of being insulted about being too damp for a spark, the Colonel didn't have a great sense of humor at personal gibes his alchemy's weakness.

He spat out some more seawater as he began to climb his way out of his embarrassing situation. His fingers pawed tentatively when they found the glass of the tank and he began reaching higher and higher. Though his fingers groped an edge, he couldn't feel the rim. His insides sunk to the bottom of the tank as he realized what that meant.

He knew the fall he'd taken hadn't been that far, and he suspected that his wet fingers were just out of reach of the rim at the top, but no matter how much he tried to launch himself upwards a little more, his grasp only found more slippery glass. Once he'd given about three minutes worth of slightly panicked efforts, he stopped. His shoes had done nothing at helping him gain leverage, and had turned out to be just as effective as his hands sliding easily off the glass. One of his shoes, after a few seconds of treading water, had slipped off and fell away from him. He reluctantly kicked the other one off to keep himself afloat a little better, trying not to think about how much overtime it would take to replace such a nice pair of boots.

He treaded water for a couple of moments, trying to conjure an idea of how to escape the cold water. Even after a couple of countless minutes, he was beginning to shiver, and his skin was going numb; there was no telling how long he'd be able to stand the conditions. He didn't know exactly how cold the water was, or how long a person could remain in it, but he didn't want to stay in and take chances. Havoc searched for an escape route, but none could be found. Despite his pride, he did the only thing he could think of. . He called for help.

"Hello!? I need a little help in here! Lower Level! Help! Heeellllppp!" He called for assistance for countless more minutes, not sure if his shouts were actually being heard. His pride and embarrassment at the situation were trying to quiet him, but he was abnormally uncaring. He'd be willing to be fished out and get his heavy reprobation if he could just get out. His calls of distress went on for a little while longer, until his voice got tired and he realized that no one was around that would want to help. Most likely, the guy who had pushed him in was still around, but wasn't about to become a Good Samaritan and help him out anytime soon. The others were probably off searching the other parts of the building and apprehending their own culprits. It didn't look like anyone was coming in the near future; he'd have to save his voice if he heard closer help.

His new plan was the worst, but currently the only option he had: he'd have to wait for someone to come rescue him. Havoc's calculating mind began to wonder just how long that would be, though, and he didn't like the answers he came up with.

Well, there's a chance that there was only that one guy… so they might just return to where we were supposed to meet again and notice I haven't come back. He thought positively as he sank a little lower into the water. He had slowed down on his paddling, and the saltwater burned at his nose. He tried to ignore the burning and continued on in his thoughts. But if they did run into trouble, it will take them longer to get back, especially if they've rounded up other suspects. None of them have been in the lower level but me, and it's dark down here. They'll be just as cautious going past the room as I was. He scoffed at himself at his words. Wait, it's because I wasn't cautious that I ended up here. Never mind.

Havoc didn't need to do the math anymore to realize the situation he was in; he was royally screwed, and he didn't even have his boots anymore to kick himself with for being an idiot.

And although he didn't have a fear of the dark, since he was accustomed to it from his field work and late night missions, at the moment, it was just bothersome to the already hard situation. No, the idea of having to be dependent on his team and wait… that terrified him. Not because he didn't have faith in his team; they were the strangest group of talent Mustang himself had commissioned, talented enough to find anything if they all worked for it. No, it was because Havoc had placed himself in a very delicate fix, one that would take even his comrades some time to pull him out of.

He didn't often feel real fear. He could account for a couple close to death encounters a good handful of times in his life. However, he was acquainted with it enough to recognize it bubbling at the bottom of his uneasy stomach. He was fair swimmer, but there was no telling how long he would have to keep afloat, and the cold seemed to drag him down further and further. He was beginning to feel himself fighting it less and less. The idea of dying because of something so ridiculous was the only thing that kept him calm, sane. He refused to believe that he would go in such a manner. The Colonel wouldn't allow it; he suspected the only way he was allowed to kick the bucket was if it was by Roy Mustang's hands alone. The private joke about Mustang's attachment to his subordinates was slightly comforting in the dark now, and his fingers brushed up against the glass in front of him just so he could have something to feel besides the intangible water that surrounded him. He managed to contain his fear and panic by putting his efforts into conserving energy. However, all sense of calm and collection flew right from him when he felt something brush up against his pants legs.

"W-What t-the hell was t-that!?" He choked and stuttered in surprise, trying not to suck in anymore sea water as he did so. The sudden contact caused him to panic and he pressed himself as much as possible against the glass, letting his eyes scan the darkness he couldn't see through. Then, like a ton of bricks, a realization hit Havoc; to say the least, it did nothing for his nerves.

Damn. Oh, damn no. How could I forget?! Something is in the tank. What the hell is in this tank!? Havoc mentally yelled at himself as he fingered the wall franticly, willing it to let him out. To his expected chagrin, it did not budge.

His thoughts fluttered from one direction to the next as ideas of what could be in the tank began to filter through his brain. His initial images were of the small fish in his office, with their large fins and black and white stripes; they moved very fast and were interesting to watch as they swam back and forth in their small tank. He thought of those comfortingly for a moment, but what had touched his leg had definitely been much larger than one of those palm-sized fish. His mind continued to search until it recalled the pesky thought of those old magazines from his youth. What he uncovered wasn't pleasant, especially when he remembered a certain type of large, sharp-toothed fish that had a certain liking for human flesh.

Once the word 'shark' managed to compute in his brain, he thrashed around in sudden panic. Waiting and wondering if he was going to drown or die of hypothermia was one thing, but a shark, an actual man-eating shark, was another.

Any initial feeling of humiliation and embarrassment at him being rescued fled his mind as his desire for help became desperate. The last thing he'd ever thought would be that he'd get eaten by a shark. A bullet, a car crash, an angry ex-girlfriend… he'd thought up every other idea in the book about how he'd go - even overtime paperwork had been on the list. But a shark? No, never. However, as he felt another firm brush against his leg, he realized how possible that death was becoming. No doubt these sharks were hungry, and they'd be hungry for him. He was going to be shark food and he was barely out of his twenties.

He didn't want to die, not now, not because of something so utterly stupid. All his years in the military would have gone to waste. He would never increase in rank with Mustang's help. He'd never beat Breda in a drinking contest down at the old pub by his apartment. He'd never have a family, a kid. Hell, he'd never even had a steady girlfriend. He had thought at least at one point before he died he'd get to keep a steady girlfriend that didn't dump him or cheat on him. Just one. But apparently, the world had other plans that were a lot fishier than he would have liked. Murdered in his sleep by a hot date would have been a lot more preferable.

As he thought of how painful being consumed by a shark would be, the smooth, slimy skin rubbed up against his left leg. He was broken immediately out of his thoughts and into a sort of frenzy. Renewed panic gave him back some strength as he pushed up again, trying feebly to get out, but like the last time, it was ineffective. His thrashing seemed to upset the beast, though, because it nudged at him, seemingly trying to pull him down. Havoc fought back tooth and nail, telling himself it was probably better if the shark bit off his foot or something instead of drowning him. At least, that's what he thought. Every time the fin circled around him, he'd desperately attempt to kick it away from him. Never before in his life had he wanted a gun as badly as he did now. Whenever he lashed out at the creature, it would return, venturing closer and pulling harder. He hadn't lost a limb yet, but he only knew that was because of his counterstrikes and maneuvering in the water.

Maybe, maybe, I can do this… I can hold off long enough… He trailed off in thought as the beast came back, its splash emanating from the surface. Saltwater stung his face, causing him to lose his bearings as he tried to rub it out of his eyes. In a moment of distraction the monster seemed to take advantage of, the creature came back and dragged him down, tugging and pulling at the uniform that had initially been weighing him down anyway.

This time, it pulled him down enough to cause him to lose sight of the wall. It circled round predatorily. His head bobbed above the water enough to scream out some desperate calls for help, but it dragged him down once more. Though he attempted to push himself back up, his limbs refused to cooperate from the cold and previous exhausted with effort. He had no doubt been in the tank for over forty minutes; his body was disobeying his command.

He couldn't right himself, and he shut his eyes tight as he struggled to retain the air that would not last. The creature kept knocking him around until he finally let go his precious oxygen and was surrounded by only cold seawater. He inhaled once by mistake, more of a reaction than anything, to find that he couldn't breathe anything in but the saltwater. His lungs expanded and burned with the feeling; he couldn't even concentrate on the monster anymore because of this. His mind began to fade soon after; he didn't even struggle anymore, the pain in his chest too great to try. Sudden desire to get release from the icy grips of pain caused him to lose his chance on any final thoughts.

He sank deeper and deeper down as seawater he'd never thought he'd taste slowly killed him. His mind drifted faster than he would have anticipated, but it blacked out just in time to catch a glimpse of flashing light and the illusion of rippling water.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"King! That trumps Queen. Hand it over."

"Wha~? Another King!? Man, that's like the third one! You've got all the good cards in the deck!"

"That's probably because you let him shuffle the deck, so he probably rigged it that way."

"Hey, I did not! I'd never cheat Fuery out of a chance of winning…"

"Oh, really? Then what is that card you have under your chair?"

The voices were loud - close. Each one had a distinct sound, and they were all recognizably male. Their banter was frivolous, fickle, so much so that an outsider couldn't worm their way into it without being invited . It was animated squabbling; anyone unaccustomed to it would have been repulsed by the length of such dialogue. But at the words, Havoc's drifting mind became more alert.

His world was hazy - a place between sleeping and consciousness that couldn't quite be counted as either. For a while, Havoc tried to pull himself out of the strange void he had landed himself in, but he couldn't draw upon any efforts to help, so he waited. He lingered, thoughtlessly, in the comforting place, undisturbed by any others who had tried to interrupt it. Over some uncountable amount of time, the haziness began to lift; even so, his surroundings were still unsure, and he had no idea how he had gotten there. No previous memories were replaying, but he could tell that his state of mind, or lack thereof, was not right.

Manageable thoughts began to filter through his mind, questioning everything he was feeling. Where was he? What were the voices? Why couldn't he react? They were simple, innocent inquiries. Yet they seemed to be the hardest to grasp. His uneasiness at the plethora of questions he couldn't answer gifted him with some kind of strength, and he pulled at the fog clouding his mind. He fought aggressively against the haze he had landed himself in, and after a couple bouts of struggling, everything seemed to fall into place.

Any relief at regaining sense, though, was swept anyway by the pain that finally registered to his mind. It was a dulled pain, more akin to an old wound. However, the sudden switch from feeling nothing to feeling nothing but pain was... unexpectedly excruciating. His chest, which he had not even acknowledged before, was heavy, as though he had some kind of weight sitting on top of it, restricting his breathing. He now had control over his breathing, or at least, he was conscious of the fact that he had power over it. Although, using any phrase of dominance over his crushed lungs was not quite correct, since he could not currently fill his lungs like he would have liked, and the taste of metal he had developed didn't seem to want to leave.

Ah, hell, this is uncomfortable. Havoc managed to think, thankful he could piece together a coherent thought, even if it was a complaint. He didn't allow his newly-found pain to drag him back to the world of unconsciousness, though, no matter how inviting it felt. His eager mind was too interested in answers to allow any more slacking.

Without much thought, he lifted his eyelids open and blinked at the sudden burst of light. He didn't close them, though, but instead analyzed his surroundings the second his eyes focused. The room was a small white box, made of four walls and barren of decorations of any sort. His eyes caught sight of an open window, and the light sound of buzzing automobiles and twittering birds easily captured the room with sound. The distinct smell of antiseptics was all he could breathe in, which was an easy, tell-tale sign of being in a hospital. Although, the bareness of the place solidifies the picture, for over the years, Havoc had never seen a building quite as bland and boring as Central's hospital.

He raised a lethargic arm and found his suspicions were answered as a hospital wrist band around his arm. His groaned at the sight of it, trying to conjure up ideas about why he was currently laid out on a hospital bed with unknown injuries. There was no one around to answer his current questions, though four unoccupied chairs surrounded his bed, as though there had been visitors. He even spied a pack of playing cards lying in a pile of disarray on the side table near his bed.

Wonderful. Guess I'd better get up and try to figure out what's going on, then. The idea of hopping out of bed seemed unwise, since he had no idea what type of injury he had. He shifted himself into an upright position, allowing himself to prop himself up relatively comfortably. The loss of breath when he finished the simple action left him slightly agitated. He decided not to press it much, though, not really understanding what was going on.

As he began flexing his fingers in an attempt to figure out what hurt or not, the door of the cramped room swung open. A small, black-haired man walked in first. He adjusted his glasses as he addressed a bulkier redhead that was following him over the threshold.

"I told you, I'll pay you back when I get my paycheck at the end of the week!" Fuery seemed annoyed from whatever heckling he had been receiving. They both entered, the door left wide open in their wake; however, neither seemed to notice Havoc's attentive presence.

Breda huffed. "Hey, you made the bet. We played fair and square. You need to pay up. Falman already did." The red head chuckled as he patted a pocket on his blue uniform. The younger man groaned.

"Awww, commeee onnn! Falman always has some money on him. He never goes anywhere!" Breda shook his head, his hand still open, waiting for the money he expected to materialize there. Fuery looked resigned as he pulled into his own pocket to search for his wallet.

"Aw, give him a break Breda. You probably cheated anyway." Havoc's voice was rougher than he would have liked it to be, but after a couple of words his tone came out more at ease. Breda's blue eyes swiftly looked over Havoc in the bed and then back at Fuery, who was just gaping with his mouth open like a beached fish.

"I did not-!" Breda growled back defensively, before his voice stopped. Havoc could see the switch flip in his mind as his eyebrows lifted in surprise. A look of shock and relief flooded his once angry features.

"Havoc!" He rushed forward to the bedside, and Breda leaned over the bedrail. Fuery followed behind, but his jaw still hung open in surprise.

Havoc flinched at Breda's loud, baritone voice that he hoped he wouldn't continue to carry out a conversation with. "Sheesh, quiet. You trying to burst my ear drums?" His eyes flickered to Fuery, and then back to Breda. Excitement seemed to ooze off of them as though it were an actual substance. "What's going on, anyway?"

He was really out of the loop; however, a simple question seemed the safest approach. He didn't expect the frantic response as the two rattled off with exclamation. Their words were nonsensical to Havoc, whose brain was only catching every other word. And all he managed to collect were the words 'tank', 'Mustang', and 'dark'. His fellow comrades didn't exactly paint a picture for him. Sighing deeply, he alleviated some of the pressure from his chest and held up his hand as a signal to stop. "Stop, stop! What about Mustang?" He forced out as Fuery suddenly jumped back from the bed as though some invisible force had shoved him away.

"The Colonel! He just left! I have to get him!" Fuery left in a rush, slamming the door as he tripped over his own boots. Havoc's gaze lingered on the closed door for a moment before he turned back to Breda, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Do I want to even know what's going on?" He brought his hand up and pulled his fingers through his blond hair. It wasn't its usual soft texture, but was now clumped and tangled from what he hoped had just been sweat.

Breda's eyebrows scrunched together in thought as he analyzed his comrade. "What do you remember?"

That was a good question - an intriguing one. However, it only brought up more questions than answers. Havoc began sorting through his mind, trying to recollect his recent actions. His memory was slightly jumbled, and his head ached at the effort, but he could recall things. It had been an average Tuesday at work, and they had gotten a tip?

No, no, not a tip… Havoc scratched a finger across his cheek lightly in thought. It was a notice from the guards at the train station.

The notice had inspired an idea of illegal animal traffickers by Mustang (who had been working off a hunch), and they had managed to find a lead to an old warehouse on the edge of Central. He had gone…? Yes, he had been ordered to help secure the location.

Havoc specifically recalled a dark basement filled with crammed cages and half-dead animals. His search had led him into a larger room with a strange tank. It had been filled with saltwater, and….

Havoc's light skin tone turned ashy as a spark of memory appeared. For a moment, he allowed panicked memories to filter through his head. He recalled every emotion he had felt in that tank; the pain, the worry, the irritation - all of it. And just as quickly as the phantom emotions washed over him, he jumped to life in alarm. He began grabbing at his legs, his shoulders, and counted fingers as he made sure that he was all there. That shark had to have taken a bite out of him somewhere.

His fingers began searching, but he found no holes or missing appendages, and after a few more moments, Breda was suddenly holding down his limbs, preventing any more searching. "Calm down, Jean! You're only hurting yourself more."

Havoc's first reaction was to snap back at him. What did Breda know? He hadn't been submerged in a shark tank. If he had, he'd be just as worked up and curious about what damage he'd sustained. The marksman was ready to voice all this, but he stopped at the openly worried gaze he was receiving from Breda. He and Breda were close comrades, and they worked together well, but they didn't worry; or at least, they didn't show it. The sight of Breda's open emotions made Havoc stuff every irritated word he had back down his throat.

"I'm sorry," He replied, subdued, as the previous thudding of his heart began to fade and he realized he was mostly intact. "I just recalled my little swim and thought…. never mind." He ran a quick hand over his face, trying to calm any misplaced nerves. "What exactly happened? The last thing I remember, I was in some pretty deep trouble."

Breda's eyes drifted downwards at his words, but a mocking smile appeared on his face, creating a contradiction – one so mysterious that even Havoc wasn't sure he could decipher. "You were, idiot." His mouth curved back into a solid frown. "We basically found you half-drowned in a fish tank."

Havoc groaned at the memory, and began throwing more insults at himself for his carelessness. He mind wouldn't allow him linger in self-loathing too long, however; his curiosity was strong. "Wait, I don't understand. How did you guys find me?"

Breda leaned back from the bed, but his eyes remained glued to Havoc. As usual, his response was forward. "Well, we rounded up a few men and then came back to the meeting spot on the first floor. We all found it odd you were the only one not to come back, so Mustang, Falman, and I went into the basement." He paused for a second, but only one; his voice didn't falter. "We heard you yell out, so it didn't take us too long to find you."

Havoc mentally cheered, his call for distress had been heard! Yet, a part of him was mortified as well. He fought against his pride (or what was left of it) and didn't look away from Breda. "So, who fished me out?"

Breda's mouth curved into a small smirk before it disappeared. Havoc didn't miss the expression, though, and gaped visibly at the foresight of the response. "Mustang?!"

Breda nodded. "Mustang. He got all wet jumping in after you. I've never seen his run quite that fast, especially not towards water." Havoc nodded, trying to imagine Roy Mustang jumping head first into that dark tank full of chilled water. The Colonel hated water. He was almost like a cat in some regards, except that he got more agitated than any feline when wet.

Havoc sighed at the image, realizing his self-musings were becoming far too imaginative. "Great. Have I been fired, then?" He joked aloud, inwardly cringing at the idea of losing his ranking in Mustang's squad.

Breda gave him a funny look in response, as though Havoc had asked a bizarre question. After a moment, the larger man searched Havoc's features and seemed to pick on the hollowness of his joke. "I don't think you're fired. You almost drowned from that. We had to revive you, and you've been knocked out for almost two days now."

At that moment, Havoc wanted to go back into the sleep he had dragged himself out of. Because apparently, not only had he been saved by his entire crew, but they had given him CPR as well. He didn't even want to think about his rescue, or images he did not want would remain in his head forever.

Havoc groaned, trying to think up some excuse for his 'accidental' swim to Mustang, but his mind remained empty; he wasn't getting any answers today. As he ghosted a hand over his sweaty forehead in contemplation, the door from the hallway swung open again . Fuery came stumbling back in, accompanied by the previously mentioned Roy Mustang and Hawkeye, who was a footstep behind.

Havoc's fingers trailed down in front of his eyes for a moment, blocking the sight of Mustang entering the room. A sudden sense of dread filled him when he heard the door slam rather ineloquently, and he jumped a little at the sound. That could not be a good sign. He often didn't step out of line or question many of Mustang's orders, so he had only received some verbal corrections from the Colonel a handful of times. However, they hadn't been pleasant reprimands, and he knew he was due for one in any second. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off.

Havoc sighed as he reluctantly eyed the three new visitors and gave them a half-hearted smile. "Good to see you, Colonel." He gave a salute, but the raven-haired man waved him off with a quick swat of his hand.

"At ease, Havoc. No need for formalities at the moment." The younger officer blinked twice at the statement, and he glanced at Fuery, who pulled up a chair to the right of his sick bed. Mustang and Hawkeye leaned over the left side, causing him to feel slightly crowded, and he shifted a little to hide the awkward sensation.

With all of them crowding around, Havoc could finally see all of them close up. He looked at all of them, expecting to see contempt, irritation, even some signs of disappointment. They did have to fish him out of a tank, after all…. But what he found instead was surprising. First off, they looked tired; it wasn't the knock you off your feet kind of weariness, no, but more like they had stayed up far too long looking over something stressful. They all carried matching dark circles under their eyelids. Mustang himself looked particularly worn down - his raven hair was ruffled and messy, and his blue uniform matched in appearance. His eyes didn't seem lethargic, though, as they scanned Havoc over, as though checking Havoc's faculties for himself.

"Are you feeling alright?" Havoc would have jumped out of his hospital bed from shock if the metal bars wouldn't have restricted his fall. Out of all the questions Roy could have asked him, that one was not one he thought would come up. Wasn't the Colonel angry at him? He had failed because of his own negligence. Wasn't he about to get chewed out for it?

Havoc searched Mustang's expression for any signs of irritation; however, he could see none. Just exhaustion and slight… relief? It showed easily enough in Hawkeye's warm brown irises, but he could not quite discern it from the great Roy Mustang.

"I'm…." He started and paused, unsure of how to respond truthfully. "Just feeling a little tired." It was as close to admitting how horrible he felt as he would get. Mustang seemed to pick up on this, however.

"No doubt. You were stuck in that tank for a while." Fuery commented, adjusting his glasses slightly. Unlike the other three, who attempted to hide their exhaustions, the communication technician wore his like a crutch.

"Yeah, well, I think I'd feel a lot better with a smoke." He prompted back, searching the group of bedside visitors for any sign that they would have mercy and provide him with some nicotine. It would be a nice distraction from all the thoughts and the visitors. He appreciated the show of companionship, really, but he wasn't used to having so much of their attention focused on him, especially when he felt horrible.

The four stared at him as though he had asked them to find him a date, and they looked annoyed. "I'll take those looks as a no?" He replied smoothly, prompting for a response.

"The doctor says you can't have any for a few more days." Hawkeye informed him, placing a hand on the metal guardrail of the bed. His eyes followed her hand movement, but attention moved to Roy as he spoke up.

"They're not good for you right now, anyways." Havoc was too tired to fight their conclusions, but he nodded and laid back into his firm pillow. He sighed, getting too tired to dance around his curiosity anymore. Without his smokes, it wasn't worth avoiding.

"Am I gonna get some questions now?" He gave them a toothy grin, though on the inside he cringed slightly. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit the events that had happened in that damn tank. But he was an officer, and he was required to give statements - there was no shying away from that.

To Havoc's surprise, Mustang only shook him head. "No, we caught the man who pushed you in and got a confession out of him. You'll have to give a written statement, of course, but not right now." He paused for a moment, looking over Havoc's weary form, and his nose crinkled as a thought came to him. "Unless you want to talk about something…." He looked back at Hawkeye, as though by look alone he could implore her to begin a therapy session.

Havoc laughed at the sight. "Ha! You're a horrible nursemaid, you know that, Colonel?" Mustang glowered out him, but a small smirk crossed his lips. "But, no, I think I'll pass on reliving the experience with everyone, if you don't mind." The four nodded simultaneously, and the tense atmosphere finally began to give way.

"Good choice, Havoc. Great to see you're feeling better. Hawkeye will keep all your extra paperwork for you on your desk 'till you get back." Havoc scowled at him fiercely. Paperwork was what had gotten them into this mess.

Mustang turned to Fuery as he finished his statement. "I think Falman would like to know Havoc's awake. Why don't you give him a call so he can come down?" Fuery nodded and skittered off, passing by Breda, who was still planted in his chair. Mustang turned back to look at Havoc. "Just wanted to check in. Get plenty of rest, Havoc. You'll be hauling some overtime once you get back."

He chuckled to himself as he walked toward the door, signaling Hawkeye to follow. "And I'll be expecting you to pay me back for my boots." He pointed towards his feet, where Havoc could make out a dingy, scuffed pair of older shoes. "The other ones have yet to dry."

Havoc scoffed and scowled as Mustang walked out the door. Hawkeye quietly closed the door behind them, giving them a short wave and a warm smile on her way out. Havoc scowled as he yelled to the closed door, knowing his words would not be heard. "Hey! That's all the respect I get after surviving a swim with a freakin' shark!?"

To his right, Breda sucked in a sudden puff of air, and then, unexplainably, began to laugh hysterically. Havoc did not know what caused his friend to go into such a random burst of laughter, and he lightly hit Breda on the back of the head in response.

"Hey, what's so funny all of a sudden?" Breda looked up at him, his face red.

"Y-You thought y-you were in a shark tank?" Breda's laughing calmed down slightly at Havoc's angry glare, but he chuckled at his newfound joke.

"Yeah, and what's so hilarious about that?" Havoc challenged back. Breda seemed prompt to respond, though, because he did so quickly.

"Jean, you weren't in a shark tank…." He paused for a second. "You were in a dolphin tank." Havoc blinked at his words for a moment as the word dolphin shifted through his mind. It didn't take longer than a second to realize the reality of the situation he'd been through. A dolphin was much different than a shark - much, much different.

Havoc put his head in his hands, groaned, and vowed silently that he would never going to a beach for as long as he lived.

A/N: Thanx for the read. Feel free to review~?