FicWad

Where the Hell did this come from? Incidentally, this is my first time writing Lust, so please tell me if I'm going horribly wrong anywhere.

I suppose it could be a sidestory to A Measure Of Time... I'll have to think about that one.



Blind Sight

"It's just up here. Thanks for helping me."

It annoyed her, the way he always seemed to be touching her, holding her as if she would break. It felt foreign; nothing had quite annoyed her so much as being treated like she was weaker, that she was inferior to him.

She felt so utterly tempted to lash out and slice his throat open right where he stood, with that stupid grin on his face and that air of defensiveness that he felt towards her, but that wasn't part of the plan. She had to follow Father's wishes, after all.

Instead, full red lips were drawn into a smirk, and she imagined the same red flowing from the open wounds she would deal. All in due time...

"It's lovely, Jean," she purred, eyes hardening when he grinned and shook his head.

"It's just the standard military living. If we've just been transferred and we don't want to live in dorms, they find us a place to help us get back into the job."

"I do so love the stories of your job that you tell me," she responded, treading around the subject with careful consideration; he was their best link to what they wanted. Utterly gullible, easily identifiable weakness that she could play to all of her strength...

Unfortunately, he was also more perceptive than she had originally given him credit for.

"Well, I've pretty much told you everything I can about that," he said, bracing the box of belongings he was carrying against his hip with his left arm as he reached for his keys with his right, "There isn't much more to tell you that you'd find interesting."

"What about your commanding officer?"

"Why would you want to know about the Boss?" he glanced at her very suddenly, and for a brief moment she was concerned that he may have figured out just what her true intentions were.

"You've mentioned him many times, when you've talked to me..."

"Would've figured that you would've heard of him by now. Or that he would have tried to 'introduce' himself," Havoc snorted, twisting the key irritably in the worn keyhole on his front door.

"I've heard that he's an Alchemist..." she probed, blood-red eyes intently fixed upon the man in front of her.

"Yeah, he is," came the reply as the blond gave the doorhandle one last twist, the door swinging open slowly as he returned the keys to his pocket, "So, what's your point?"

"No need to get defensive, Jean," she murmured, voice low and sultry.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," he replied, leaning against the door to let her inside the apartment, "After you, Solaris."

"Thank you," Lust replied, the same smirk returning to her face as she let Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc place the last box of his belongings onto his kitchen counter. She gingerly dropped the bag of clothes she was carrying onto the floor.

"No, thank you," Jean grinned, "I wouldn't have been able to do this without your help."

"I didn't mind at all," Lust replied, softly, sitting down slowly on the small couch in the small living area adjacent to the kitchen, petting the empty spot next to her, "Come and tell me your interesting stories."

"I don't have any interesting stories left to tell," he muttered, walking over calmly. He reached her and ran his hand across her face, down over her covered shoulder and to breast, the action just enough to make her shudder, but whether by means of pure resentment or by unavoidable reflex she didn't know.

Either way, as she felt large clumsy hands reached for the buttons on the front of her dress and she brushed them away, annoyed both with his insistence and her own betrayal of humanity, she knew that it had nothing to do with attraction. He was pitiful, just as Mustang was, and eventually their blood would stain her Ultimate Lance and she would feel no element of regret.

His hands moved to her breasts again, and she brushed him off. He seemed to be getting annoyed by this constant refusal, so she put on the façade once again and smiled, slowly, and whispered against his ear a seductive /allow me/.

She despised the smell of smoke on his breath, resented the way he smiled stupidly, hated the way he would refuse to talk about the Flame Alchemist even to the briefest of mentions. It angered her to think that all her work was going astray.

Havoc kissed her again, and she felt like gagging on the cheap smoke on his breath. Allowing herself a small prize for her resistance so far, she placed her palm flat against his bare back and then clenched her hand into a fist, nails scratching over pale flesh almost hard enough to make him bleed. He shuddered and breathed shallowly against her hair, breathing only becoming more erratic as she slid down his body and slipped slim fingers down under the waistband of his pants.

"You're cold as ice, Solaris..."

She found him repulsive, inferior. But it was essential to Father, and any information she could gather from him could be of use. It was a fair exchange in the end, after all. He scratched her back, and she revelled in thinking of the day where she would stab his in return.



Kill them.

Such beautiful words.

They had discovered too much. It was a shame to have to kill Mustang; as a potential sacrifice, he could have proved useful. As for his subordinate, she looked forward to it more than was natural for her.

Lust stepped carefully over the rubble left in the abandoned medical room, Waiting impatiently for her victims to arrive.

It had been frustrating, having to put up with the blond man's idiocy, stubbornness and irritating attitude whenever she had asked about their potential sacrifice. This was her payment, to be able to feel the warmth of their blood running down her arm, staining her pale skin crimson.

A fair exchange, indeed.

They were close. She could almost smell those repulsive cigarettes that he always smoked. She smiled again. The time was ripe. The door at the other end of the room opened, and soft light illuminated the ground in front of her but didn't quite reach her. She could hear their voices; she could taste their uncertainty. Her fingers brushed over the bright red mark just above her breasts, and she walked forward.

This was truly a moment she would remember.



She wondered as to why the Flame had such utter resentment in his eyes. It was natural that he would despise her, but nothing she could comprehend quite explained the special glint of hate in his dark eyes.

Her finger lunged forward again, and he grunted but refused to cry out in pain. Mustang gritted his teeth, breathing fast but strong. Lust's anger suddenly soared, and she twisted her fingers, eyes wild with delight at the sound of sinew and flesh tearing under her fingers and the one short cry Mustang couldn't stop.

"Do you see him bleed?" she whispered, and Mustang's eyes became almost as wild as her own, "I couldn't stand him... incompetent, useless. Wouldn't tell me anything about you... did he really think that he was the one I was interested in?"

"Bitch," Mustang snarled, and Lust shook her head mockingly, fingers digging further into open flesh. Fresh blood washed over her fingers, and she smiled as colour began to drain from Mustang's face from the pain.

"He's dying... does it make you feel sick to watch? To watch and do nothing?" Lust hissed, "Don't worry, you'll be joining him soon enough..."

"I'll kill you," Mustang spat back, "I will see you kneel."

"I'm afraid not. Even if there was the slightest chance of that, there would be nothing you could do to save your subordinate."

Long fingers retracted, and Mustang slumped to the ground.

"Watch him turn cold in front of your eyes, and die along with him."

There we no more curses directed towards her, only broken cries of desperation from the Flame Alchemist. Stepping over the body of his subordinate, Lust avoided the puddle of blood steadily seeping from the man's chest and back.

Now all she had to do was take care of the Fullmetal Alchemist's younger brother, and Mustang's other subordinate. All but victorious, Lust left the desperate cries of the Flame behind her and left to complete her task.



She wasn't supposed to feel such pain; how could he be alive after that? How could he be forcing her to her knees with such force, such heat?

Lusts didn't want to understand how, and she didn't want to run. She would kill him, she would kill him, she would...

The determination in his eyes made her halt for the briefest of moments, but it was long enough. She could feel her life ending, her very being disintegrating under such heat...

Perhaps that was why...

The day his eyes would be filled with torment... it was there; she reached for it...

The last thing that Lust could remember seeing was the anger and triumph in the eyes of the Flame Alchemist, and it repulsed her.



Mustang awoke to a hospital bed, a raw, bitter heat making his side burn and his hand bandaged so tightly he could barely move it. Despite how thick and heavy the bandages on his hand felt, he could already see that his own dark red blood had seeped through the layers and stained the top.

Havoc was in the bed beside him, and Mustang held his own breath until he was positive that he could hear his subordinate breathing.

Groaning and feeling dirty all over, he tried to call for a nurse but all that emerged from his throat was a dry croak. Swallowing rapidly, he tried to sit up and was stunned by the sharp pain that burned through his side like fire. Moving slowly, he managed to endure the pain in slower intervals as he eased himself into a siting position, and then swung around carefully and put his feet on the ground, shuffling to the small sink in the corner of the room in order to wash his face.

Havoc groaned softly in his sleep when the tap squeaked to life and Roy washed his face several times to rid himself of the taste of grease and the smell of smoke, but he did not awaken. He was lying flat on the bed, as opposed to Roy himself who had been propped up on pillows, and the Colonel found himself fearing the extent of the damage.

It's my fault that he's like this.

Shuffling back over to the side of his bed, Mustang looked over his shoulder at Havoc. Fighting with his conscience and feeling guilt stabbing at his heart, he moved over to Havoc's bedside and leaned over his subordinate, soft breath brushing across dry, cracked lips caked with dry blood.

I would taste metallic blood on my tongue, but it would not be my own.

His cauterised wound burned again, and he hissed and stood up as straight as he could once again, cursing his own selfishness, guilt and sudden, desperate loneliness.

How could I even think...?

Feeling as disgusted with himself as ever, Mustang slid back into his bed and fell into a fitful sleep haunted by his own desire and selfish ulterior motives.

He could not rightfully kiss the lips of the man he had let fall.



Havoc looked tired and hopeless when Mustang awoke next.

"Hey, Boss."

"Havoc, are you alright?"

"Not really," Havoc chuckled, "You fried me up pretty well, Chief."

Roy allowed himself a momentary, blissful rush of relief.

"That's good."

Havoc hesitated, looking more tired than ever and responded, "There is one more thing..."

A sharp stab of panic.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter," the blond replied, pulling the fakest smile Mustang could safely say he'd ever seen, "They'll be coming up to get me soon."

"For what purpose?"

"Doesn't matter..."

Before Mustang could think of a suitable reply (and it must have stretched into minutes of silence, he was sure, but it never really registered in his mind) there was a knock on the door, and a nurse simply walked in and began wheeling Havoc's bed out of the room. Mustang was too stunned to say anything, but the look on Havoc's face as he left the room told the Flame Alchemist that something was gravely wrong.



How could Havoc even think that he would want to leave him behind?

He would see him walk again. He would carry him and walk with him at his own pace forever if he needed to.

Waiting irritably for Hawkeye to return, Mustang pressed his hand against his wound and breathed deeply as the sudden rush of adrenaline momentarily numbed the pain.

"Sir, your uniform is in the hospital room with Lieutenant Havoc."

Mustang jumped, realizing he hadn't noticed Hawkeye returning and standing beside him.

"Did you get it, Lieutenant?"

"That is not my job, Sir."

"Lieutenant..."

"It is not my place to go in there, Sir."

Torn between feeling angry and feeling eternally grateful, Mustang slowly got to his feet and walked back to the hospital room.

Havoc was still looking stricken, and he didn't acknowledge his superior as he entered the room; Roy wasn't sure whether it was because he was purposely ignoring him or whether he didn't even know he was there. It must have been the latter, because when Mustang shut the door of the small cupboard in corner of the room, Havoc's muffled gasp almost startled him just as much as he had apparently startled the blond.

"You're back."

"Just to get my uniform."

"Colonel..."

"Don't worry about it."

"Sir..."

"I said not to worry."

"Roy."

That made him stop. He was almost out of the door, but the Colonel turned around and was met with determined blue eyes.

"It wasn't your fault."

Roy nodded slowly, and then asked, "Did you love her?"

A moment's hesitation, and then, "There are people far more important to me than she ever was, Boss."

Almost overwhelmed with his own selfish wanting again, it took all of Mustang's self-restraint to ignore the same emotion in his subordinate's eyes.

Coming to when Havoc nervously licked his dry lips, Mustang allowed himself a genuine smile and was happy to see it reflected on Havoc's face.

"I'll meet you at the top, Lieutenant."

"See you there, Boss."

And with that, they had made an indelible promise to one another to one day be together again.



END

Concrit for Lust would be please, especially in the first part. I probably won't write her again for ages, if at all, but I'd like to correct any huge, gaping mistakes you find in her characterization.

Other than that... any comments?