Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Fullmetal Alchemist, only my ideas.

Jean Havoc was having, all in all, a very hectic day. Colonel Mustang had found several important papers that needed to be turned over before lunch, and had dumped the less important paper work on his office staff. Havoc had been unfortunate to pick up the paper concerning office supplies. He had spent hours doing an inventory check that should have taken five minutes. First there were twenty missing boxes of staples, and then there was the expense for the 'mousetrap'. The 'mousetrap' worked, but it spent a lot of time curled up in Fury's lap, purring.

Then there was the complaint about all the new furniture Mustang's office used. Ten new office chairs and five new desks alone had been requested in the past month. There were also three more chairs, a filing cabinet, and a window that needed to be added to the list. Havoc could almost hear the indignant shrieks of the higher ups as he added the humble items to the list. It couldn't be helped; Breda was using a waste basket for a chair, and Fury did all his work from the floor now. The floor--they need another broom. The last one had vanished months ago.

With dry eyes, and a swimming head Havoc waved to Farman, and shambled outside for a break. He had, he felt, deeply earned his break, and ten-thirty was his normal time for a cigarette break anyway. Hawkeye was adamant against no smoking in the building, and Havoc was in no mood to try her womanly fury today. Hawkeye was taking the brunt of the paperwork.

Havoc flipped out his cigarette, and reached into his pocket for his lighter. His hand came up empty. Havoc frowned, and rummaged in his pocket again. Still, there was nothing but a hole. Havoc paled, and wriggled his fingers in the hole. Had his lighter fallen out? Havoc looked down, and found his pants were neatly tucked into his boots. He kicked his leg, and felt the lighter tap against his ankle. Havoc grinned in relief, and sat down to extricate his lighter.

It took him a while to get his boot undone, and kick his lighter out of his pants, but he did it. Havoc took the cigarette out of his mouth, and casually flicked his lighter open. He dragged his finger across the wheel, and waited for the flame to leap up. Nothing happened. Havoc tried again, but still nothing happened. He began cursing silently, and shook the lighter. There was no tell-tale slosh. Havoc jumped up, and slammed his foot back into his shoe. Maybe Breda had a lighter he could borrow, or there was another smoker hanging around who wouldn't begrudge him a light.

Havoc wandered around the outside of the building for a moment, and hopelessly clicking his lighter. There was no one else around. Havoc sighed, and yelped a very loud, very colorful curse as his lighter caught and burnt his fingers. Still, Havoc caught up the offending lighter, and clicked it rapidly again. Nothing happened--not even a spark. Havoc cursed vehemently, and half-ran back to the office.

He tried not to burst through the door, mindful of Hawkeye's wrath, and tiptoed past the stormy woman's desk. "Breda," he whispered.

"What!" Breda growled, and then frowned. "Done already?"

"No, my lighter died." Havoc flicked the lighter to demonstrate. "Do you have a lighter?"

"Why would I have a lighter?" Breda asked.

"Because you like fire," Havoc hissed back, mindful that he was missing valuable time.

"I gave it to Fury," Breda answered, and then buried himself in paper again. Havoc rolled his eyes, and hurried to Fury's "desk." The Sergeant was on the floor, sorting through papers, and fiddling with an old radio.

"Fury, do you have Breda's lighter?"

Fury looked up, and nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good, let me borrow it," Havoc grinned as Fury handed over the coveted lighter, and scurried quickly from the room. He returned to his place outside, and lit the cigarette with a sigh. He drew in the first breath with great relish, and exhaled the smoke thoughtfully. He made sure to place Breda's lighter in his hole-less pocket.

"ALPHONSE!" Something large flew past Havoc, and slammed into the wall beside him. The man threw himself sideways, trying to get away from the projectile.

"Brother! That's not fair! I wasn't ready, and besides, there's nothing to be mad about!" the projectile yelled in a high-pitched voice.

"Like fish there isn't! This just gives that two-faced, womanizing, snap-happy, son of a gun a reason to complain about my 'sloppy organization', and make quips about my height! It's all your fault too!" Edward Elric, master of temper and yelling, stormed up, his braid practically bristling. "If you hadn't brought that stupid cat home I wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Brother, it's not fair when you say it like that! You liked the cat too, and you know it!" Alphonse protested. "And look, you almost threw me into Second Lieutenant Havoc!"

"Oh, sorry 'bout that Havoc," Edward grinned, and Havoc blinked in confusion. Hotter than fire one moment, and then apologizing for nearly killing someone--that was Edward.

"I'm alright," Havoc said, and he stood up shakily.

"Hey, that could catch this place on fire." Edward calmly squashed Havoc's cigarette, and kicked his brother with a resounding 'clang'. "C'mon Al."

"Coming," Alphonse stood, and followed his brother meekly.

Havoc stared at his lost cigarette and sighed. At least he had the rest of his pack. Feeling a little weak in the knees, Havoc sat down and leaned against the building. It wasn't everyday he was almost killed by a flying suit of armor. Havoc drew out another cigarette, and stared at it in confusion. It had a filter on each end. Havoc stared at the anomaly for a few more seconds, and dropped it onto the ground.

"Stupid machines," Havoc muttered crossly, and rummaged for his pack. He pulled out another cigarette, and examined it for defaults. He curiously peered inside the packet of cigarettes, wondering if any more were deformed.

"……always, the bushes love it. No one notices either," a female voice tittered. "Makes my job a lot easier." Havoc stuck his cigarette in his moth, and shrugged. Maybe he still had time for a quick smoke.

"You sure?"


The window above Havoc opened, and a slew of icy, soapy water fell on him. His lighter spluttered, his hair fell in his face, and the window snapped closed with oblivious giggling. Havoc stared at his soaked pack of cigarettes, and at the now-drenched lighter in his hand. Havoc took a deep breath, but choked on a soap bubble. That was it.

Havoc shoved his disintegrating pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and stormed quietly back into the building. He slammed the door without worry of Hawkeye, and sat down in his chair was an audible 'squish'. The rest of the staff stared, but no one dared say anything. When Havoc came in, one pants leg untucked, dripping wet, with a equally wet cigarette in his mouth it, was safest to remain quiet and oblivious. Addicts, no matter how amiable, were vicious when deprived.