A/N- This was originally written for LJ's fma_fic_contest Prompt 163- Coffee. I was thinking about how the men would react if anything happened to Hawkeye. Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine in any universe or dimension.


Fuery looked like he was going to cry. Havoc stared at the lit cigarette in his hand and suddenly realized that he still had a nearly entire one hanging from his lips. He wondered if the others felt as deadly cold as he did. And why was he sweating, if he was freezing?

Breda was as pale as a hospital sheet, which was very unlike his usual ruddy complexion. Falman thought that he might vomit. He had never even seen a dog make the redhead shake like that. As if sensing Falman's very thoughts, Breda leaned over and petted Black Hayate who whimpered at the strangeness of the gesture and the tension in the tent.

They all were avoiding looking at the Colonel.

"Shit. Shit. SHIT! How the hell could I have let it happen? The lieutenant… I should have…" Breda moaned.

A voice whispered, "Not your fault. It was a bad plan. I should never have okayed it." Everyone turned to face Colonel Mustang, whose face was as scarily stony as any of them had ever seen. Of course he would blame himself.

No one wanted to consider what would happen if they did not rescue Hawkeye.

"Now we need a perfect plan. Fuery, get on the radio and scan for chatter. Falman, stay with him. I have a feeling that you might pick up on a Drachman frequency. Breda, I need you to restate everything that happened. Havoc, …"

"I'll make the coffee."


A/N- Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Thanks also the the Guest who reviewed "Best Brother" recently. Reviews? Yes, please. Take care.