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Second Lieutenant Havoc stuck close to Colonel Mustang as they scurried from cover to cover inside the dim warehouse, pulse thundering in his ears. This was their third op together, and he still wasn't over the thrill of being requested by the Hero of Ishval himself.
The bad guys were somewhere in this warren. Two other pairs of soldiers were silently closing in on then from other sides; any minute now, they'd have em surrounded. Havoc took his cues from the colonel, who, as usual, seemed focused but not worried. He peered around a stack of crates, then gestured for Havoc to move. But before Havoc could take a step--
The unmistakable crack of a gunshot. Followed by lots of shouting and movement. So much for stealth.
"Shit!" Mustang hissed. "Hold the exit!" Havoc didn't hesitate, sprinting back the way they'd come. The colonel took off the other way, toward the interior. Shots were ringing out all around now, reverberating deafeningly off cement and steel. Rounding a wall of equipment, he saw the door--
-- closing.
Havoc groaned and shouted a word that would have gotten his mouth washed with soap as a kid. Course, even his if mama had been standing right next to him, she wouldn't have been able to hear him over all the noise.
Slamming the door open, Havoc stood blinking rapidly in the sudden brightness, trying to find--
There. That guy, running away. Havoc ran after him, closing fast. The guy skidded around a corner, Havoc followed, Lucky! This street's deserted, took a shot, missed, tried again, winged him. Perfect. The guy stumbled, clutching his arm, giving Havoc enough time to catch up, dive-tackle him to the ground, and slap restraints around his wrists.
"Come on now," Havoc said, jerking him to his feet and marching him back toward the building. "Be a good boy and I won't have to hurt you any more."
The guy sneered at him but got to his feet; he knew he'd lost. Havoc smirked. Sneer all you want, buddy, it ain't gonna loosen those cuffs.
They hadn't taken more than three steps when an explosion shook the ground and a plume of smoke erupted into the sky.
"What--?" Gasped the guy in cuffs.
Havoc grimaced. "Looks like Mustang pulled the hand brake."
The baddie didn't even have the will to sneer after that. Havoc frog-marched him back to the scene and dumped him on the MPs without incident, then leaned against a car to light a cigarette and assess the situation.
The plaza was a glistening field of glass shards: every one of the warehouse's windows were completely blown out, smoke trickling from the holes. Soldiers and MPs swarmed the area, but judging by their pace, they must be in the mop-up phase. Well, that's what happens when the Flame Alchemist lets loose.
But he doesn't just go off like that unless he has to; Havoc had learned that much two operations ago. Things must have gotten dicey in there. Was everyone okay? He searched the crowd for the other soldiers. There's Champ and Reyes, looking fine if a little shaken; Hawkeye, she's fine too, over there talking to the firefighters, but where was Breda, he was with her--
Oh no.
Breda, while unhurt, was far from fine. He and the colonel stood toe to toe, faces red and fists clenched, looking about two seconds away from throwing a punch. Havoc approached warily.
"What the hell were you thinking? Is this your first fucking day?" Mustang shouted in Breda's face. "I thought you were supposed to have this brilliant strategic mind. Any first year cadet could tell you how completely fucking stupid that was! Were you trying to get us all killed?"
Breda's eyes were hard and unflinching. He stared right back at Mustang and said through gritted teeth, "I had no choice. Sir. It was an imminent threat."
"An imminent-- it was a dog, Lieutenant!"
Havoc's stomach dropped. Breda and Hawkeye must have stumbled on a guard dog. Like, rounded a corner and come face to face with one; it must have startled him. So naturally Breda had instinctively shot it--and alerted the entire warehouse to their presence. From there things had probably escalated, and Mustang had to burn the place down to get his people out alive.
"Do you really not think that was a little excessive?" The colonel's voice cracked with the strain.
Breda responded flatly, staring his superior officer dead in the eyes. "No."
Lieutenant Hawkeye disengaged from the firefighters then, coming to stand at Mustang's side. The colonel did not so much as glance her way. He was near apoplectic. "No?! No?! Is that all you have to say?? I'm gonna bust your ass so far down the ranks you're gonna be scrubbing toilets in New Optain!"
Havoc looked on helplessly. This was supposed to be where Mustang learned how much he needed Breda, and Breda saw what Mustang was really like; this was supposed to be the start of something great. It can't end like this! But before he could get a word out, it was over.
"You're on administrative leave starting now. Dismissed."
"Yes SIR." Breda spun on his heel and stomped off.
Havoc wanted to run after him, but he was not dismissed. Mustang turned and found him staring.
"Bringing Second Lieutenant Breda on this operation was your suggestion, wasn't it?" He was still boiling, and Havoc flinched a step backward at his tone. How Breda had managed to withstand the full force of that ire...
"Yes, sir, and I think--"
"I don't want to hear it. Give me one good reason I shouldn't can your ass right now for bringing him on board."
The words knocked the wind out of him. He'd never seen the colonel like this. Not even close. Was this what he was like in Ishval?
Havoc stammered, "I, uh, I caught one, sir. Ran him down. The MPs have him."
Mustang pressed his lips together, then nodded grudgingly. "Congratulations," he said flatly. "That's the only one we took alive."
The goal had been to capture all of them.
Hawkeye stepped a little closer, said in that unnervingly calm way of hers, "The MPs are leaving. Fire reports things under control."
Mustang scowled at her, too angry to fully process her words. "Nothing else we can do here then," he said bitterly. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant. Go home."
Havoc saluted glumly and walked away. What else could he do? Maybe tomorrow, after he's had time to cool off, he'd listen to reason. It can't end like this.
Shit, why did it have to be a dog?
Havoc took a moment to steel himself before knocking on Breda's door. This was gonna suck.
No answer. He knocked harder.
After enough knocking to redden his knuckles, he heard the muffled sound of footsteps approach the door.
"Fuck off, Jean." He sounded haggard. But if he really wanted Havoc to go away, he wouldn't have said anything at all.
"Make me!" So he beat his fist against the door again and again, continuously, surely annoying the hell out of all the neighbors.
Finally the door jerked open. Breda roared, "I said, FUCK OFF!" and swung a fist at him.
Now this was not Havoc's first rodeo; he'd been expecting it and dodged handily. From there he ducked around Breda and into his apartment, catching his arm, twisting it behind him and slamming him into the door. It shut under them both with a teeth-rattling jolt.
"Fucker," Breda growled into the door, thoroughly pinned. "What do you WANT?"
"I want you to calm the fuck down, first of all!"
"Ok, I'm calm. Now leave."
"No. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid tonight."
Breda laughed bitterly. "Why stop now?"
The words, the hopelessness, utterly broke his heart, but Havoc did not let up. "No, listen to me. Get over yourself. Everyone fucks up sometimes."
Breda was silent a moment. Then he said quietly, "Not like that, they don't. Not career-ending fuckups."
"Shut up, Mustang wouldn't do that. He'll cool down and realize you made a mistake and that'll be that."
"No. He's right. I got no business bein in the field. No business callin myself a soldier."
Havoc sighed, a heavy exasperated sigh, a pointed parody of Breda. He let him go, took two steps backward. Breda turned and scowled at him, but Havoc could see the sadness in his eyes.
"Heymans. You should tell them. About your uncle."
The sadness vanished, instantly overwritten by anger. "Absolutely not."
"Why the hell not? It explains--"
"An explanation's not an excuse, Jean." Breda shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Only adds pity to contempt."
Havoc rolled his eyes. "So you've got a weakness! Boo fucking hoo, you're just as flawed as the rest of us."
"It's not the same, and you know it." Breda turned abruptly, moved to stare out the window. But he couldn't hide the quaver in his voice. "I blew the whole goddamn operation." He dropped his forehead to the window pane. "It's so. Fucking. Stupid."
Havoc went up to him then, put a hand on his shoulder. Breda didn't immediately shake it off, so he left it there, knowing this was the most comfort Breda would accept.
"Everyone fucks up," he said eventually, retrieving his hand to light a cigarette. "It just happens to you so rarely, you never learned how to deal with it. Now listen. Everyone knows you're a damn good soldier, includin you. Now what would be really fucking stupid, would be to throw all that away because you're embarrassed."
"Shut up," Breda growled, not turning. "And don't smoke in here."
Havoc took a drag and exhaled toward the ceiling. "If you don't tell Mustang, I will."
"Asshole." But there was no teeth in it.
He didn't tell Mustang, though. Not directly.
The next day, Breda was, as directed, not at HQ. And when Havoc got to his desk, he found a stack of "explain the fuckup" reports waiting to be filled out, and Mustang at the other end of the room still looking pissy, so he kept his head down and waited.
Eventually, Mustang stepped out and left Hawkeye behind. This was his chance.
"Hey Hawkeye, can I borrow you a sec?"
She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Sure, what do you need?"
"It's about yesterday. Can we maybe talk somewhere private?"
Hawkeye regarded him for a moment before nodding and walking him to a side room.
"Well?"
"Well sir, it's about Breda." Havoc found himself unconsciously emphasizing his drawl. Well, that's fine. Country meant friendly. Country meant sympathetic.
She nodded, unsurprised. He continued, "What's gonna happen to him?"
"It remains to be seen. Maybe just a formal reprimand. Maybe something more severe."
"And in any case," Havoc said sadly, "Mustang's done with him."
The lieutenant just looked at him. That was an affirmative. Havoc frowned. "You gotta-- the colonel's making a mistake. He's gotta give him another chance."
Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. "You two are close, right?"
How she knew that was a mystery for another day. "Yessir. Friends since the academy. He's a damn fine soldier, sir. Saved my life twice already."
"And jeopardized it at least once." She countered neutrally, as if this were an academic discussion.
"That's the thing. He won't ever say, but..." Havoc hesitated, mentally begging Breda's forgiveness before plunging ahead. "He's scared of dogs. You know, phobic."
Hawkeye didn't react, so he continued. "When he was a kid-- his shitty uncle, used to keep a whole pack of dogs, neglected em to hell."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Maybe she was a dog person? Encouraging in any case. "And one day Breda was over there, and he felt bad for the dogs, all caged up like that, so he went out to pet 'em, and--well sir, you can imagine. They knocked him down, tore him up real bad--put him in the hospital. He's still got scars. And his uncle... his uncle just laughed about it."
Hawkeye's gaze turned distant, but only for a second. Then she was back, using that same placid tone. "A reason's not an excuse, lieutenant. A soldier can't afford to panic in the field."
He snorted. "Breda said the same damn thing. Thinks he deserves it, thinks he's hopeless. He'll let Mustang send him packing before he asks for mercy. But--it would be a goddamn crime to lose him, pardon my language sir. And-- I guarantee he won't sleep until he figures three different ways to keep this from happening again."
Havoc hesitated, then added, "If I'd been with him, he probably woulda been okay. Still freaked out, but wouldn't have shot. He-- knows I know, and that I don't hold it against him. He, you know, trusts me to watch his back."
Something flickered across her face, something Havoc couldn't read, something gone before it was even there. But he knew he'd said the right thing.
"Do you trust him the same?" She asked quietly.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't, sir."
Hawkeye stood, signalling the end of the conversation. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention."
Later that afternoon, Hawkeye pulled Mustang into the side office for a suspiciously long amount of time. Havoc didn't even pretend to work, keeping his eyes on that door-- and when Hawkeye eventually exited the office, she came alone, shutting the door behind her with her usual unreadable air. Havoc looked to her with questioning eyes, opened his mouth to ask--
But Hawkeye put a finger to her lips, so he shut up. She gestured for him to drop his cigarette and join her. Once he had, he could hear Mustang's voice, muffled by the thick wooden door. She cupped her ear. Did she really mean he should be eavesdropping on his CO? Havoc slowly, slowly leaned his ear against the door, keeping eye contact with her just in case he'd misunderstood. But she just gave him a slight smile and walked away.
"Lieutenant Havoc filled me in on your history with dogs."
Oh, he's on the phone with Breda. Havoc's stomach did a triple backflip. A pause while Breda no doubt questioned Havoc's parentage.
"It became his place soon as you didn't. Lieutenant--why didn't you say something before I put you on a field op?"
Havoc winced, picturing Breda on the other end: eyes shut tight, cheeks red, white-knuckling the receiver. A pause, and then Mustang replied in a surprisingly gentle voice:
"Come on now. You're too good an intelligence lieutenant to believe that."
Havoc raised his eyebrows. The colonel continued:
"You have to trust your team, Lieutenant. They can't watch your back if they don't know what to watch for." Havoc smirked; that what HE'd said. "That's why I'm going to require you pair with Havoc on all field ops going forward. At least until you learn to trust me."
Havoc's eyebrows jumped into his hairline. A much longer pause followed. Breda was probably just as floored as he.
The colonel's voice had a chuckle in it now. "Yes, as of 0800 tomorrow. I expect you on time with your boots polished, Lieutenant."
Havoc knew the end of a phone call when he heard it, so he scrambled back to his desk and fumbled for his lighter. He took the risk of murmuring to Hawkeye,
"I dunno how you did that, but, thank you."
She just nodded.
The next morning, Havoc ran into Breda coming up the steps to HQ. He was carrying the usual paper bag, walking with the same casual confidence, but his uniform was more regulation than Havoc had ever seen.
"Mornin'," Havoc said, like it was any other day.
"Hey." He did not hold Havoc's gaze for long, but held out the bag. "Donut?"
Ah, the apology donut, his very favorite flavor. Havoc took one with the casualest of smiles. "Thanks."
They walked the halls in silence a bit. Eventually Breda grumbled, "You bruised the shit out of me, you know."
Havoc laughed. "You deserved it."
"...true."
"So, where ya assigned today?" Breda certainly didn't need to know he'd overheard that phone call.
"Mustang, actually." Breda's lips twisted in a wry smile. "He's gonna make me file all the post-fuckup reports."
"Hey, that's great!" Havoc enthused. Even though he'd already known this, it filled him with relief. Breda was willing to swallow his pride; Mustang was willing to forgive. There was hope for them yet.
"Yeah, real fuckin spectacular." Breda rolled his eyes. "Just a real fuckin dream of a day."
"Well if you didn't come back, I was gonna have to do it. So I think it's pretty great."
Breda socked him in the arm.