Soulbound

I do not own the copyright to Fullmetal Alchemist.

If this story seems too grim, or Mustang seems too OOC, keep reading anyway. Everything will make sense by the end.

Set a few months after the series ends. Contains spoilers from the Promised Day. I didn't bother updating everyone's ranks, so please just assume that their promotions are pending. I've also assumed that Amestrian medical technology has advanced slightly faster than ours, so their 1910s technology is similar to what we had in the 1940s.

I would love to hear what you think of this story. Please leave a review! :)

This can't be happening. The words repeated over and over in Havoc's mind as he slammed the car into gear, accelerator pedal to the floor. Beside him, Fuery was muttering instructions into the two-way radio with a calm voice, belying the fact that he was white with shock. "We have a soldier down. Bullet wound to the chest. Severe trauma. We're en route now. Urgent request that Dr. Knox meet us in the emergency room." Havoc chanced a quick look in the rearview mirror, into the back seat where Colonel Mustang—frantic, distraught, crazed—was cradling Hawkeye's limp body, putting pressure on the chest wound. Her blood was everywhere, all over his uniform, all over the back seat. He was murmuring to her, keeping up a continuous babble of reassurance that was surely meant more for himself than her unresponsive form. "It's going to be all right, Riza." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "You're going to be all right. Just hang on."

Havoc jammed the gearshift, pushing the car to its top speed as he wove madly around the other cars on the road—relatively few this late at night, at least. It should have been a routine sweep, cleaning up a small cell of Anti-Establishment troublemakers that had taken root in the East City warehouse district. There were too many guns on the street in the aftermath of the Promised Day, but no one had expected this tiny group to be so heavily armed, so far from Central City. If they'd known, the team wouldn't have tried to round them up alone, and wouldn't have split up.

He hadn't been with them when it happened. The news had come from Mustang afterward, in nearly incoherent bits and pieces, just enough to tell them that he and Hawkeye had been ambushed, that she had shoved him aside and taken a bullet meant for him. The terrorists were dead in an instant, incinerated by Mustang's flame alchemy, but the damage to Hawkeye was already done. Her wound was too deep, and affected too many vital organs, for him to burn it closed and stop the bleeding.

"You're going to be OK, Riza. Stay focused. Just keep calm." He was holding onto Hawkeye like a lifeline, futilely trying to press the wound shut, trying to keep the blood from pouring out of her body.

They were close by the hospital—why was it taking so long? Adrenaline drove Havoc onward, as he roared around the other cars and ran every red light. Even though he knew it didn't matter. No amount of speed, no amount of hospital preparation, not even the most skilled doctor would make a difference now. And no amount of comforting reassurances. By the time the rest of the team had found Mustang and Hawkeye, she was already dead.

By the clock, it took only six minutes to reach the hospital, although Havoc would have sworn it had been at least thirty. He squealed the car up to the emergency room door, while Falman and Breda, following closely in a second car, ground to a halt behind them and leapt out to help. Mustang had the back door open before their car was fully stopped; he jumped out and nearly dropped Hawkeye, sagging on his right side. "Work with me, Riza. We can do this," he murmured, ignoring the team's attempts to help as he righted himself. Oh god, thought Havoc, he really doesn't understand that she's dead.

As they lurched inside carrying the body, they were met by Dr. Knox and a team of emergency personnel, who moved Hawkeye to a stretcher, checking her over, communicating with one another in terse medical terms. "Knox," Mustang yelled frantically. "You need to save her, at all costs. Repair the damage, whatever it takes—"

But one by one, the emergency team were shaking their heads. Knox straightened. "I'm sorry, Roy," he said quietly, putting his hand on the Colonel's shoulder, an awkward attempt at condolence. "She's already gone." Knox was a gruff man, not usually given to such displays, but they were friends of sorts from the Ishvalan war.

Mustang flung the doctor's hand from his shoulder, the edge of hysteria rising in his eyes. "Knox. Listen to me. I know there are new machines that can keep patients alive. And I know you've got them here. Use them. Keep her alive, and repair her wound—"

Knox shook his head emphatically. "That won't make a difference, Roy. It's too late. Those machines can keep the body's heart and lungs pumping, but they can't bring the dead back to life. I'm sor—" He broke off as Mustang grabbed him by the lapels, his face inches from the doctor's.

"Doctor Knox. Listen to me. You will take this woman into surgery now, and you will keep her alive and fix her, or so help me god, I will burn you. Do you understand?" He gave the doctor a small shove backwards as he released him. "DO IT NOW." His eyes crazed, he reached into his pocket and yanked out his ignition gloves, ignoring the gasps and protests from his subordinates.

Knox's stunned expression slowly curled into a snarl as he realized that the Colonel wasn't bluffing. "Fine, Mustang," he said bitterly. "If you want me to operate on a dead woman that badly, then I guess that's how it's going to be." He turned to his medical team. "Prep the body for surgery," he spat. "We'll need the defibrillator and the iron lung." He turned and strode off without a backward glance at Mustang, who stared somberly as they rolled Hawkeye's body away.

None of the rest of them knew what to do now, but Havoc was the most senior of the surviving subordinates, so he took the lead. "Boss," he prompted gently. "Maybe we should sit down." Mustang turned, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he'd forgotten his men were there. But he nodded wearily and allowed himself to be led to the nearby waiting room.

Now that the Colonel was unburdened by Hawkeye's body, it was obvious that he was also injured. He was holding his right arm in his left as he walked, and the whole right side of his body was sagging and uncoordinated. His uniform was so thoroughly soaked with Hawkeye's blood that it was difficult to tell where else he might be wounded, but there was a pool of blood at the end of his right sleeve, dripping freshly down his hand, which must have been his own. "Hey Boss, you're hurt," Havoc said. "Let's get that arm looked at—"

"I'm fine," Mustang responded curtly as he sank into a chair. "My injuries are minimal." He seemed slightly calmer now. But he continued cradling his right forearm, and his gaze seemed to lose focus, staring at the air in front of him. "Just hang on, Riza," he mumbled. "Knox will fix everything. We're going to get through this."

He's in shock, thought Havoc with alarm. "Colonel Mustang," he said more firmly. "You are injured. You need medical attention now, sir."

Mustang narrowed his eyes at Havoc, his jaw set stubbornly. "As I just informed you, Lieutenant, I'm fine," he said irritably. Then he turned his head and vomited blood all over the floor.

This can't be happening. The thought renewed itself in Havoc's head every moment as he sat in the waiting room; but every moment reality answered back, hard and cold and merciless. Hawkeye was dead. Mustang was badly wounded, possibly dying. And losing his mind. To Havoc, it seemed as if the whole world had tilted on its side, that everything he had taken for granted was suddenly gone.

Mustang had been taken away for an emergency examination. Shortly thereafter, Fuery and Breda had been whisked away to donate blood. Both Mustang and Hawkeye needed blood transfusions for their procedures, the nurse had told them carefully. But neither Havoc nor Falman had compatible blood types, so now they simply waited.

Havoc watched the clock as the interminable minutes ticked by, with nothing to distract him from the awfulness of the situation. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashbacks of Hawkeye: keeping them all in line at the office, trading verbal barbs with the Colonel, watching their backs out in the field. She had been so alive—it seemed impossible that she was gone. No wonder Mustang couldn't bring himself to accept it.

No one knew exactly what those two had meant to each other. The other team members had learned only the sketchiest details of their history, but it seemed they had known each other since they were teenagers. They had lost touch at some point, met again when both were called up to serve in the Ishvalan war, lost touch again when it ended, and then somehow ended up serving in the same unit a year later. Havoc was not a romantic or philosophical man, but even he had to admit that it seemed like their fates were weirdly intertwined, like they were meant to be together. Military regulations forbade romantic relationships between commanding officer and subordinate, of course, and there was never a crack in their professional demeanor, never a hint that any rules had been broken. Whether they had crossed that line in secret, no one knew. But either way, it was obvious that they had meant a great deal to each other, and that Hawkeye's death had devastated Mustang.

She had been dead for less than an hour, and it was as if the Colonel was falling apart before their eyes, physically and mentally. It was all the more shocking because the man normally seemed invincible—he always had a plan that was seven steps ahead of everyone else, never lost his nerve, never gave up no matter how hopeless things seemed. Havoc himself was alive because of it. He and Mustang had both nearly died during their mission in Laboratory 3, after the homunculus Lust had stabbed them and left them bleeding to death. Mustang had refused to give up, and had found the strength to save them both by using his flame alchemy to seal their wounds.

But there were some things that even flame alchemy couldn't fix, and now that stubborn refusal to give up was driving him mad. Before, on those rare occasions when Mustang went too far, when he acted too recklessly or let his demons get the better of him, Hawkeye was always there to pull him back. But now she was gone, and there was nothing to stop him from going over the edge.

As Havoc sat helplessly in the cold waiting room, one thought scared him more than anything: what if the Colonel was literally unable to live without her?

After another hour had ground past, a second doctor came out to see them. A matronly woman with graying hair, she introduced herself as Dr. Swanson. She got straight to the point: "I've examined Colonel Mustang," she said. "And I'm afraid the news isn't good. He's suffered severe trauma to his abdomen—he's lost a number of organs." Both men gasped. "At the moment, he's hooked up to a dialysis machine to replace the function of his kidneys," she continued. "That's the one thing we can do for him. But the long-term prognosis isn't good."

"My god," muttered Falman, stunned.

"How many times was he shot?" Havoc asked numbly.

The doctor paused, frowning. "None," she answered finally. "There are no external wounds in his abdomen. The organs are just gone. I have no idea what happened to him, and he won't tell me anything." The two men's eyes met, a shared expression of shocked recognition. "But something tells me you know," she continued. "I see he's a State Alchemist. Does this have something to do with alchemy?"

"We need to see him—now! Alone," pleaded Havoc. "Please, Doc." Swanson hesitated, then sighed unhappily and nodded. She led them down the hall to an exam room, which they entered alone.

Mustang was sitting in a chair, IV tubes attached to veins in both arms. "Has there been any news on Hawkeye?" he asked abruptly. He was still favoring his right side, Havoc saw, and his right forearm was bandaged. He was fidgeting restlessly, rubbing his left palm absently over the bandage.

"Not that we've heard," Falman replied stiffly.

"Is there something you want to tell us, Colonel?" Havoc demanded. "You used human transmutation, didn't you? You tried to bring Hawkeye back to life!" There was no other explanation for his condition. Human transmutation was the forbidden technique the Elric brothers had used to try to resurrect their dead mother. It had taken a devastating physical toll, costing Edward an arm and a leg, and Alphonse his whole body, leaving his soul inhabiting an empty suit of metal armor. And it hadn't even worked. According to Edward, it was a devil's bargain: it would never work. And Mustang knew it.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed, though he seemed unsurprised at the accusation. "Havoc, do you really think I would be that foolish?"

"Yes, I do!" He was beyond fear of angering his commanding officer. "When it comes to the people you love, I think you're exactly that foolish!"

Mustang opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. "Well, you might be right about that," he conceded with a grim half-smile. "But Lieutenant Hawkeye isn't dead."

"This has got to stop, sir!" Havoc shouted at him, heedless of the consequences now. "She's dead, and you need to accept it!"

The Colonel's response was cut off as Knox burst into the room, Swanson following more calmly behind. "OK, Mustang, I did what you wanted." His voice was dripping with anger. "The Lieutenant's body is breathing, and I've repaired the damage from the bullet wound. For whatever that's worth. She's in the next room." Mustang exhaled deeply, visible relief settling over his features. Knox glared at him. "And now I'm done. If you can't bring yourself to let that poor woman rest in peace, then find yourself another doctor. You can burn me all you like." He turned and stomped out of the room.

Mustang watched him go, something like regret flickering in his eyes for a brief moment. Then, calmly and deliberately, he stood up and began unhooking himself from the dialysis machine. "Hey!" Swanson protested, rushing to his side. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Dr. Swanson, you just finished explaining to me that it will take 36 hours for the toxins in my blood to build up to harmful levels. Being unhooked for a few minutes isn't going to kill me." He gave her a charming smile, his hand poised to yank out another needle. "Now I'm going to go see to Lieutenant Hawkeye, one way or another. So you can either help me detach from this machine, or I'll continue doing it myself, and probably make a mess."

Swanson bit her lip, then moved to help him. "You have five minutes, Colonel. But then I want you back in this chair."

"Understood." Free from the machine, he turned to Havoc and Falman. "Lieutenants, you will both remain here. That's an order. I won't be long." He turned and strode out the door. Frowning, the doctor exited a moment later.

Havoc and Falman looked at each other helplessly. Out in the hallway, they could hear Swanson and Knox conferring about whether to sedate Mustang. "What do we do?" asked Falman. "I guess we leave him to it," sighed Havoc sadly. "What choice do we have? The damage to his body is already done. And maybe when he sees her like that, he'll finally be able to accept that she's dead."

"Maybe," echoed Falman doubtfully. His brow was knit in a frown. "But there's one thing I don't understand. He performed human transmutation—so he must know it failed, right? But he keeps insisting that she's not dead."

"He's out of his mind," said Havoc, shaking his head. "He must have convinced himself that it worked."

Falman was still frowning. "But in order to bring Hawkeye back to life, it would have had to repair the bullet wound that killed her. So if he thinks it worked, why was he so hellbent on having Knox operate? Unless…" He looked at Havoc, alarm growing in his eyes. "Havoc…what if he's planning to try again? Human transmutation, but with a breathing body? Maybe he thinks it will work that way—"

"Oh god—Falman, there'll be nothing left of him!" The men turned and bolted out of the room in a panic, briefly startling the doctors at their medication cart, and ran into the next room after Mustang.

He had slumped wearily into a chair next to the bed where Hawkeye's body lay. A tube had been snaked down her throat, connecting her to a huge machine standing on the other side of the bed. A mechanical bellows forced air into her lungs, as her chest rose and fell in time to its artificial rhythm. Her eyes were closed, her face coldly alien and expressionless—just a body, with Hawkeye herself long gone. This is so wrong, thought Havoc. She should be at peace. And Mustang needed to let her go before he threw his own life away after hers.

"Colonel," Havoc said firmly, "listen to me! We are NOT going to let you perform human transmutation again. Even if we have to physically restrain you!"

"That goes for me too, sir," added Falman.

Mustang sighed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Give me a little credit, please, gentlemen. I'm not quite that big of an idiot." He was much calmer now, sounding much more like the Colonel they knew. "I'm well aware that human transmutation can't be used to raise someone from the dead." But a small movement drew Havoc's eye to his hands, where he was just finishing, with difficulty, sliding an ignition glove onto his left hand. Havoc's breath caught; would he go so far as to burn them to get his way?

Finished adjusting the glove, Mustang briefly clasped his hands together, then began unwrapping the bandage on his forearm. "Once a person dies, and their soul crosses to the far side of the Gate, it can no longer be reached from this world, even by the most powerful alchemy," he continued smoothly. "If you want to save someone's life—" he said as he pulled the bandage away, "—you need to keep the soul here."

He turned his palm up, displaying the underside of his forearm. Now they could see the source of the wound: an alchemical circle carved into his flesh. One that looked oddly familiar…

Falman recognized it first. "Sir," he gasped. "That's a soul-binding circle—like the one on Alphonse Elric's armor!"

"Correct," Mustang nodded. "The same symbol that Edward Elric used to bind his little brother's soul to a suit of armor, to save him from dying when his body was snatched away." His lips twitched in a faint smile. "In an emergency, you use whatever you have on hand," he added.

"Do you understand now?" he continued. "Lieutenant Hawkeye isn't dead. She's right here, with me. She's been here the whole time, ever since I realized her body wasn't going to make it."

"Wait a minute!" protested Havoc. Could it really be true—? "You're telling us that you used alchemy to bind Hawkeye's soul to your own body?" He heard gasps behind him and turned, saw that Knox and Swanson had walked in as he was speaking, Swanson discreetly carrying a syringe. Well, it was too late to keep it a secret now.

Mustang's gaze registered the doctors' presence, but he nodded and continued speaking. "The Lieutenant's soul is occupying most of the right side of my body," he explained patiently. "Not a very comfortable situation for either one of us, unfortunately, but much better than the alternative. She can't talk—the rules for binding a soul are different for flesh than for metal, it seems. But she can see and hear."

"You're delusional, Mustang," Knox muttered. "You've got to be."

Mustang smiled. "Knox, you may not want to believe it, but you've seen enough to know that this is well within the realm of what alchemy can do." Knox scowled, but didn't argue the point.

Swanson's eyes had travelled back and forth between the two men as they spoke, as she fingered the syringe gingerly. But Knox's lack of further argument seemed to have persuaded her to keep an open mind, and now she set it aside on a table. "Assuming for the moment that this is actually true, and there are two souls in your body right now," she said carefully, "can the two of you communicate?"

"Yes," Mustang replied. "Not in words. But we can sense each other—feelings, intentions, things like that." He paused for a moment, then smiled again. "And right now, I can tell you that the Lieutenant is very anxious to return to her own body."

"So you can reverse it?" exclaimed Falman. "You can put her back?" Mustang nodded.

"That's why you were so dead set on having me do the surgery," Knox concluded in amazement. "So she'll have a functioning body to go back to."

"Yes," answered the Colonel. "But Knox, I need to know: is her body really repaired? Can I trust your handiwork?"

"There's nothing wrong with my handiwork," snapped Knox. "If the Lieutenant dies again, it will be because of your crazy alchemy, not my surgery." Behind the gruffness, Havoc could see the glint of hope in Knox's eyes, a willingness to believe that his patient wasn't truly dead. The same hope they all had.

"All right then." Mustang looked down at the symbol on his forearm, running his gloved palm over it gently. "Lieutenant," he addressed it. "I'm going to give you one order, which I expect you to obey. Don't die. Do you understand?" The fingers of his hands interlaced together and squeezed for a brief moment.

Then he drew back his left hand and snapped his fingers, and a small burst of orange flame obliterated the circle. He cried out in pain as the flame seared his skin, and his body stiffened and glowed with blue light on the right side below his neck. After a few long moments, the glow faded, and he collapsed exhaustedly in his chair.

A heartbeat later, Hawkeye's body gasped back to life, as her eyes flew open and she began frantically clawing at the tube in her throat.

The doctors hurried over and detached her, coughing and choking, from the machine. She collapsed back down on the bed—she was weakened, and must have been in a tremendous amount of pain from the gunshot and surgery. But impossibly, she was alive. Mustang was standing at her bedside now, and swept her up into a long, tight embrace. Neither of them spoke, both their brows furrowed with emotion.

For Havoc, the world was tilting once again, but now it was righting itself, returning to normal. Hawkeye wasn't dead. The Colonel wasn't losing his mind. And physically he seemed fine now too, with no more weakness on his right side. Seven steps ahead, thought Havoc in awe, and you never give up. You did it again, Colonel. He was embarrassed to find himself blinking back tears, until he looked over and saw that Falman's cheeks were unabashedly wet. Swanson's, too. Even Knox's eyes were glistening.

When they finally broke the embrace, Mustang helped Hawkeye lay back down, then stood with his arms crossed in mock disapproval. "Lieutenant Hawkeye. This is the second time you've almost died in front of me. This is becoming an unacceptable habit, and I expect it to stop immediately."

"I'll do my best, sir," Hawkeye replied. Her voice came out as a hoarse croak; in addition to her other injuries, that tube must have done a number on her throat. But she was smiling.

"I'll accept no less," the Colonel said with a smirk. Then he added softly, "I'm not ready to live without you just yet."

All three teammates were at the bedside now, as Havoc and Falman welcomed Hawkeye back with hugs of their own, and struggled to express how relieved and happy they were to see her again, although no words seemed adequate. Mustang watched the proceedings with a smile, then turned to the doctors. "Dr. Swanson, now that the soul-binding ritual is broken, I believe all my organs are back where they should be," he said.

"Good. But I intend to verify that for myself," Swanson replied. She was taking all this in with remarkable calmness, Havoc noted.

The Colonel sobered as he turned to Knox next. "And Knox, I owe you my sincerest apology for threatening you. I wouldn't actually have hurt you. But time was running out, and I was desperate."

"You're a pain in my ass, Mustang," Knox grumbled, scowling. "But apology accepted."

Mustang smiled gratefully. "Now I have to ask a favor of both of you," he continued. "Soul-binding is a form of human transmutation, and as such, it's forbidden. If word of what I've done gets out, I'll not only be dismissed from the military, but I'll probably go to prison. So I have to ask you both not to speak of this to anyone."

"Don't worry. I intend to forget everything I've seen here today—as usual," Knox muttered. Swanson hesitated for just a moment, then nodded.

"I will, however, speak to the Führer President about this incident privately," the Colonel added. "I suspect that as long as it isn't made public, he'll be willing to overlook my crime in this particular circumstance." His eyes met Hawkeye's as they shared a look of understanding.

The doctors moved back in and began giving Hawkeye a proper examination, temporarily displacing the men from the bedside. "Nicely done, sir," said Falman, giving the Colonel a salute. Havoc followed suit.

"Boss," Havoc said somberly. "It's my turn to apologize. I should have trusted you." Mustang grinned, and gave him an affectionate clap on the shoulder. "Not at all, Havoc," he replied. "Once in awhile, I do need to have someone yell sense into me. I'm glad to know there's someone else who's brave enough to do that, on those rare occasions when Lieutenant Hawkeye isn't available." Havoc nodded, finding himself too choked up to reply.

After a few minutes, Swanson packed Mustang off to another room for X-rays and a blood test. He returned shortly after with a clean bill of health, his burned arm rebandaged. The doctors finally finished poking and prodding both patients, and left to confer about what to write in their charts to avoid incriminating Mustang.

The Colonel sat back down next to Hawkeye's bed, and his hand found hers, intertwining their fingers together. "Can I leave it to you two to bring our remaining team members up to speed?" he asked the men pleasantly, which Havoc and Falman interpreted as a request for the two of them to be left alone. "Yes, sir!" they responded in unison, saluting as they left.

Havoc glanced back once more before closing the door behind him. Mustang and Hawkeye were gazing at each other, smiling in wordless communication. Was that a result of tonight's experience, he wondered, or had they always been like that? Either way, it seemed that fate wasn't done with them yet. But one thing Havoc was sure of: whatever they had been to each other before tonight, at this moment, he had never laid eyes on two people who looked more in love.

A/N: Now to find out what happened at the beginning of the story, please check the awesome prequel "Soulbind" written by Kelenloth! (Author: 1303107, Story: 9357562) It adds new dimensions to this story, and it's a terrific Royai story in its own right too. Go read it right now! :)