A/N: This story is written as a birthday fic for mebh, whose birthday was last week. Due to exam revision, progress on writing has been painfully slow, and I don't know when I'll be finished so I decided today to post up the first part before it got too far away from her birthday. This may or may not turn out to be a stupid decision, as I have absolutely no idea how much longer the second part is going to be- it could be another 6000+ words or it could be barely 1000, which would be a bit stupid, obviously. Oh well, we shall see. I'll try to get the second part posted up as soon as possible. Thanks to SammyQuill for helping me with my research for this fic- I've tried to be as scientifically accurate as possible. Mebbhy, sorry for the lateness and for splitting the fic, but I hope you like it anyway. Happy (late) birthday.
"Remind me, lieutenant. Just why do we have to go through with all this hassle?" Roy asked, descending the stairway to the Great Hall below. Situated at the heart of Central Command, the vast room had held countless hundreds of official functions and events over the centuries: military balls, diplomatic gatherings, government fundraisers. Now, in less than two days time, it would be the site of his thirty-third birthday party. It was all quite difficult to believe.
Riza rolled her eyes; a deliberate gesture, Roy was sure. "You know exactly why, Sir. You're one of the highest ranking generals in the country now, with well known political aspirations. You've started to make a name for yourself with the start of the Ishval restoration project, not to mention the events of the Promised Day, but you're going to have to be more of a public figure if you want to advance any further. This party will be the perfect opportunity to strengthen connections with other high ranking military officials and heads of industry."
"I know, I know." Roy sighed. "I should stop complaining so much. I just wish that expanding my public profile didn't have to intrude so much on my personal life. Can't I just do something connected to my actual job, like take part in some kind of public debate or something? Those sorts of things have become very popular recently, I gather." He shot Riza his most endearing expression, a trademarked look that he had long since learned worked on every single woman except her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Roy considered the wisdom of such persistent teasing, but he couldn't help it. For so many years he and Riza had lived in fear of the shadows lurking over them, of the danger that even one word spoken carelessly could destroy all that they had worked for. Now, although never completely dispelled, such fears had diminished considerably. They were finally free to act as they wished around each other and it was a privilege that Roy had no intention of forgoing.
"Well... if you wanted to argue the matter with the Fuhrer..." Roy glanced back, surprised at her playful tone. Riza stood two steps above him, a bundle of folders under her arm and a smile on her face. The bright, midday sunlight streamed in from the vast windows behind them, striking her hair in a way that made Roy's breath catch in his throat for the slightest moment. I am so lucky. The thought seemed too much like tempting fate but Roy pushed such superstitious worries out of his head. The peace they had worked so hard for was finally in their grasp and he could afford to enjoy it. After all, it was his birthday soon.
"Yes, I suppose it would be rude of me to turn down a free birthday party from the Fuhrer, especially one as extravagant as this. I should be glad Fuhrer Grumman is so eager to help me advance my political career. I mean, it's not as if he has any... ulterior motives for doing so."
Riza laughed. "Now, Sir, I think you're being a bit hard on our country's beloved leader. Most men would be flattered that the Fuhrer wishes them to marry their granddaughter. After all," She moved closer to him, her fingers almost brushing against his arm. This close, Roy could see the mischievous light in her eyes. "I'm sure the poor girl can't be all that ugly."
He was grinning like an idiot, he just knew it. So much for his suave reputation. "No," Roy murmured. "From what I hear, she is really quite beautiful."
Riza opened her mouth to reply but stopped at the sound of someone calling Roy's name. Roy turned to see a young soldier- a private, it looked like from his jacket, or possibly a corporal- striding towards them from across the Great Hall, a brown paper parcel clutched in his hands. "General Mustang! This just arrived for you at the main reception. It's been checked over and we're sure it's safe. It-" The young man reached Roy, now standing at the foot of the stairs, and presented him with the parcel. "It seems to be a gift for you, Sir." The soldier seemed out of breath and Roy felt both touched and faintly amused that the young private would tire himself out over something so minor for him. He took the package, dismissing the man, who seemed grateful to be allowed to leave the slightly intimidating presence of someone so famous and high ranking. Roy turned the parcel around in his hands, inspecting it. It was wrapped messily; the paper secured with thick brown string and was surprisingly heavy. He felt confused for a moment- the parcel was clearly a personal gift, so why had it been delivered to Central Headquarters, not to his home? Then Roy noticed the distinctive, scrawled handwriting on the front of the present and everything became clear. Perhaps this was not so minor, after all.
"Lieutenant, come and have a look at this." Riza hurried to his side, glancing up at his face expectantly. "Fullmetal seems to have sent me a birthday present. All the way from Creta, it seems by the post stamps."
"That's... nice of him," Riza offered cautiously. He could tell by the look on her face that she too was thinking back to the typical 'birthday presents' that Ed had given Roy during the years under his command. Of course, things were different now. Edward was older, almost an adult, and, well, they had been through a lot together. Still, it was with mild trepidation that Roy opened his present, peeling back the layers of brown paper to reveal... a book. He was almost disappointed for a while before he turned the volume over, shifting slightly so Riza could look at it too. The book had a weathered appearance, clearly handled by many people before him, but it was bound in the highest quality leather and the pages were still crisp and unmarked. An image of a salamander was outlined in gold on the front cover, the fine lines slightly raised, as were the letters of the title- which was in Cretan. Roy flicked through the first few pages. It was as he expected: not only was the book beautifully illustrated, not a word of it was written in Amestrian. His mind flickered back to years of hot, summer afternoons as a child, sitting in a gloomy study reciting Cretan verb conjugations under the then Lieutenant Colonel Grumman's watchful eye. Roy had always had a talent for languages and even after so many years, the shapes of the words drawn out in gold retained an easy familiarity. Alchemical Symbolism Throughout The Ages, the title back to the front cover, Roy noticed a piece of paper tucked in between the pages, the note written in Edward's handwriting.
Hey Colonel Bastard- okay, fine, General Bastard, whatever,
Saw this in a market in a town in Creta somewhere and it made me think of you, what with the salamander and all. Don't worry, I didn't spend that much on you, it's about fifty-seventh-hand or something, so I was able to get it pretty cheap. I don't think it cost more than 520 cens, even. Anyway, I'm moving on to the west coast now, so I doubt I'll be in touch for a while. Sorry to break your heart like that, I know how much you're missing me. Have fun on your birthday- Winry told me all about the big, fancy party you're having for all the top brass in Central. Bet you're going to love that. Try not to get too drunk and flirt with all the ugly, middle aged generals' wives. Say hi to the lieutenant and all the guys for me.
- Ed
Roy passed Riza the note after he'd read it, struggling not to laugh while feeling oddly moved at the same time. She took the paper and scanned it briefly before handing it back to him, the corners of her lips twitching almost unnoticeably.
"That was... very sweet of Edward, sir." She said finally. "Although... I don't remember you ever telling Ed that you could read Cretan."
Roy laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't."
Roy pulled at the cuffs of his uniform, making sure they were straight. The formal dress uniform wasn't much different from standard, everyday wear, just a bit more gold braid and shinier buttons, but somehow it always seemed more uncomfortable. Still, it was the night of his long-awaited birthday party and he had to look his best.
Roy strode through the large double doors, Hawkeye walking a short distance behind. The hall was already filled with people yet the steady hum of conversation stopped as soon as he entered. Roy fought down the urge to smirk. Whether he'd wanted this party or not, making a dramatic entrance was one of the things he did best. After a moment's silence, the band launched into an instrumental version of 'happy birthday' which, thankfully, no one tried to sing along to. Roy endured the- slightly embarrassing- moment with good grace, thanking the band and the amassed crowd of guests, doing his best to sound as surprised and grateful as possible. Silently, he added thanks to his foster mother for her years of lessons in how to charm and flatter people. Tonight he would need those skills more than ever.
"Ah, the birthday boy arrives! Good evening, General Mustang and congratulations on reaching your thirty-third year!" Roy turned to see Fuhrer Grumman standing behind him, his spectacles glinting in the light of the chandeliers and a glass of champagne in one hand.
"You say that as if it were a surprise, Sir," Roy laughed. He motioned subtly for Hawkeye to stand closer to him- she didn't have to be on bodyguard duty all the time, especially not when talking to her own grandfather.
"Well, you know you young people, always rushing around, getting yourselves into all kinds of danger. Old men like me find it quite difficult to keep track." Grumman smiled, a gleam in his eyes, before noticing Riza's arrival. "Lieutenant Hawkeye! You're looking as lovely as ever, my dear. I do hope our dashing young general here isn't working you too hard?"
"Not at all, Sir." Hawkeye replied. Her tone was subdued, as usual for speaking to high-ranking officers other than him, but Roy could detect the amusement in her voice. "I can assure you that General Mustang is a very fair and agreeable commanding officer."
Several people looked round at the sound of the Grumman's cackling laughter but quickly returned to their conversations. Officers in Central had long since become accustomed to their new Fuhrer's mild eccentricities. "I don't doubt he is, Lieutenant! Now, my boy," Grumman took Roy's elbow and led him towards a long table at the end of the hall. "Let's see if we can find a drink for you and the lovely lieutenant..."
Twenty minutes later and Roy had decided that maybe the party hadn't been such a bad idea, after all. He stood close to the drinks table with Breda and Hawkeye, watching his foster mother engaging a rather stout, elderly Brigadier General in what was apparently a fascinating conversation. The poor man seemed to be spending a lot of the time nodding in an increasingly nervous manner, a state not too uncommon for people meeting the Madame for the first time. Still, Roy had no doubt that by the time Chris had wandered away in a cloud of jewels and expensive perfume the hapless General would be left with nothing but a sense of admiration for the charming, witty woman he had just spoken too, along with the distinct feeling that perhaps he really should consider supporting that young Mustang lad's career advancement- after all, the man couldn't possibly be all that bad, having been raised by such a delightful lady. Many of Roy's more recent supporters tended to speak about his upbringing with hushed voices and shifting eyes, but Roy had never considered his background a disadvantage. When it had come to the party, neither Roy nor Grumman- a regular at Christmas' establishment since longer than Roy could remember- had any doubt that the Madame would be on the guest list, along with whichever members of Roy's 'family' who wished to attend. Chris was having great fun being introduced by Grumman as 'one of Central City's most esteemed entrepreneurs' while Roy was able to relax much more than he would otherwise, safe in the knowledge that his foster mother was taking care of much of the networking for him.
Breda suddenly broke off their conversation to point out Havoc's entrance to the Great Hall, accompanied by Maria Ross, who looked stunning in a low-cut dress of green silk. Roy's former lieutenant had long since regained full use of his legs thanks to Marco's Philosopher's Stone, although he still had to walk with a cane on some occasions. This lingering hint of disability had prevented Havoc from re-enlisting in the military but he had not spent his retirement idly. Havoc had used his friendship with Maria Ross to secure trade agreements with Xing and the construction of the trans-Ishvalan railway had ensured that business was prospering. Now, from the look of the way Ross was clinging to his arm, it seemed that bond of friendship had transformed into something else. Took long enough, Roy couldn't help but think. Those two had been flirting shamelessly with each other since the Promised Day, if not long before.
Havoc noticed Breda waving from across the hall and he and Maria hurried over the floor to join their small group. Roy greeted Havoc warmly, holding his hand out to shake before changing his mind and hugging the man instead. After his rehabilitation, Havoc had moved back out to the east to be with his family- and, apparently, Maria Ross- while Roy and the rest of the team alternated between months spent working with tribes in Ishval and political machinations back in Central. Their respective busy schedules meant that none of the remaining team members had seen Havoc for over a year and they had all missed him terribly.
"Hey, Havoc!" Breda laughed after all the greetings had been exchanged. "Just how long were you planning to keep this a secret, huh?" He gestured to Havoc and Maria, still arm in arm, and Havoc grinned awkwardly. "You weren't still worried that the Boss was gonna try and steal her away from you, were you?"
Ross laughed. "He couldn't, even if he tried." She murmured. Roy couldn't help but smile at the way Maria's eyes lit up whenever she glanced at the man standing at her side. Yes, it seemed that after years of bad choices and even worse luck, Havoc had finally found a girl worthy of him.
"Yeah, well... you know how it is!" Havoc replied, looking flustered from all the sudden attention. "I was definitely planning on telling you all, but we've only been together for a few months now, and well... you guys are always on the move somewhere, it's hell trying to get hold of you, and..."
"It's okay, Jean," Hawkeye replied, her tone halfway between conciliatory and struggling to bite back laughter. "You know Breda was just teasing. We all know that you've been busy."
"So, where's Falman and Fuery?" Havoc asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. "I couldn't see them when we walked in."
"Over there." Breda pointed to where Falman stood, deep in conversation with Major Miles, Fuery standing by his side. "Falman ended up becoming pretty good friends with the major during his time stationed up at Briggs and when we were all working together on the Ishval restoration project. I think Fuery's still a little bit scared of him, but the kid seems to be holding his own."
Havoc smiled. "That's nice. I guess that time up north really gave Falman a confidence boost or something." Then he paled, the blood draining from his face drastically. "Wait... if Major Miles is here, doesn't that mean that..."
"No, don't worry." Hawkeye cut him off hastily. "General Armstrong couldn't make it tonight, which is why she sent Major Miles instead. Major Armstrong is here, of course, but you needn't worry about his sister."
"Of course, we all know the real reason why General Armstrong isn't here tonight," Roy broke in. Hawkeye turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow. "She was worried that the combination of free-flowing champagne and the sudden proximity of my irresistible good looks would lead her to do something she would later consider to be... imprudent."
Breda snorted derisively. "Sure, that's the reason. Not... what was it now? 'I wouldn't waste my evening bowing and scraping to that upstart brat Mustang like some Central sycophant if you paid me." Nothing like that was mentioned, was it?"
"Well... the space between what a woman says and what she really means is often very large." Roy countered. "I mean, just ask Hawkeye."
Hawkeye turned wide, amber eyes towards him, her face as deadpan as any gambler's and as innocent as any new born child's. "I'm afraid I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Sir."
The dining table looked splendid. The pristine white linen of the table cloth was bedecked in the finest china, the silver cutlery sparkling in the warm light of the candles. Roy had attended any number of formal military dinners in East City, but the luxury afforded in Central was clearly far above anything the officers in East could ever hope to provide. No wonder Grumman had, despite his former lack of ambition, always seemed slightly bitter about his assignment there, Roy mused.
As the guest of honour Roy was seated in the middle of the long table, surrounded by the Fuhrer and various other high-ranking military officials. He could see Riza and the rest of his team from the corner of his eye and, as the prospect of spending the remainder of the four course meal listening to propositions and threats thinly disguised as small talk looked to become an inescapable reality, he found himself deeply regretting not having insisted on control over the seating plan. Unfortunately, for a high ranking general to sit in the company of a group of lieutenants and retired soldiers, even at an event ostensibly held for his personal benefit, would be a shocking breach of protocol that the fine military traditions of Central simply would not allow.
Thankfully, the arrival of the fish course a few minutes before had necessitated a slight null in the conversations around him and Roy was able to get back to the much more rewarding task of trying to catch Riza's eye from across the table. She seemed to be engaged in what Roy could only wistfully imagine to be a highly entertaining discussion with Breda, so, defeated, he returned to his meal. He took a sip of his wine, trying, not for the first time since the start of the dinner, to work out what was wrong with it. Someone, probably Grumman or Riza, had apparently told the kitchen staff about his fondness for Southern Aergoan wines- a luxury now, thanks to recent years' hostilities- and the waiters appeared to have made it a point of pride to ensure that his glass was constantly filled with his favourite vintage. Yet there was something not quite right about the taste of the wine, a faint, slightly bitter quality that grew more pronounced with every sip that he took. He hadn't noticed it at first, when the waiter had opened the bottle and he was reluctant to complain, considering all the effort and consideration that had been expended on his behalf. Aside from hurting the feelings of the staff, it wouldn't do for him to be seen as petty or demanding in front of his potential political rivals.
"...think of all the recent social reforms in Creta, Mustang? Reckon the situation there's stable, or is it all going to end up with petty regional squabbling, like usual?"
Roy turned his head to see the portly Lieutenant General on his right regarding him intently. General Reynolds was a close friend of Grumman's and, despite his blustering demeanour was known to be a competent commander and a man of integrity, someone Roy was interesting in cultivating as a supporter. Yet he had just missed who knew how much of what the man had been saying to him- definitely not a good start.
"I'm sorry, what were you saying? I'm afraid I didn't catch the first part of your question, my mind seems to be drifting somewhat tonight." Roy replied, trying to sound as polite as possible. The start of what promised to be a pounding headache had just started behind his temples and his mouth seemed unpleasantly dry for some reason. He took another sip of wine, considering switching to water.
"Ha! You alchemists, always got your heads in the clouds! Well, not to worry, Mustang. You're probably just going prematurely senile from spending so much time around all us old fogeys!"
Roy laughed weakly, desperately trying to think of some witty reply. He really was beginning to feel awful. The fish, which, only moments before had tasted delicious, was now making him feel faintly sick and his headache was definitely getting worse. He took a large gulp of water, struggling to swallow around the sudden tightness of his throat.
"You... you do yourself a disservice, General Reynolds." Roy gasped out. "The Fuhrer has always told me that you are the only person who could ever beat him at shogi." His breath was coming in short pants now and a frantic pressure gripped his chest. He put a finger against his wrist: his pulse was racing.
Distantly, the old general laughed, the sound seeming to have travelled through water before reaching Roy's ears. "Quite true, Mustang, Quite true! Although, of course, I am still unable to best that wily old fox at a good old fashioned game of chess..." Suddenly a hand gripped Roy's shoulder, its slight weight unbearable. The wine in his glass trembled as his hand fell to the table to steady himself. General Reynolds' concerned eyes gazed at him intently.
"I say, Mustang, are you alright? You look awful, if you don't mind me saying so."
Roy blinked; the general's face looked as if it were reaching him through water too. The glow of the candles was almost blindingly bright and the sharp pain beating against his skull was now nearly too much to bear. "Yes... I think you're right... I don't feel all that well. Something in the food must have disagreed with me. I... I think I'll go freshen up a bit, I'll be back in a moment."
"Sounds like a good idea, my boy. Don't worry; I'll let everyone know not to be alarmed." The general replied. Roy was already struggling to his feet as the man spoke, gripping the back of his chair as the room swirled precariously before his eyes. Taking slow, careful steps away from the table, he moved towards the door leading to the bathrooms. He felt like he had in those mercifully few, terrifying days of blindness. He still had his vision in all its painful acuity, yet the sense of paralysing vertigo and disorientation was the same as that time. Roy forced himself to walk steadily. He could not afford to let on how affected he was by this strange and sudden illness. The bouts of dizziness and nausea would soon pass, he was sure of it, and it would not do to have people worrying unnecessarily. He could hear voices from the table raised in alarm and the placating tones of old General Reynolds explaining the situation. The general was a good man, Roy thought hazily. He'd have to remember to thank him later.
He reached the door and, safe in the narrow corridor leading to the men's bathroom, allowed himself to slump bonelessly against the wall. Roy felt his way along the smooth, white tiles, waves of sickness rushing over him with every step. His stomach was churning and the floor was spinning, amplified by even his slightest movement. Thankfully, the corridor was not long. Roy staggered through the bathroom door, only just making it to the row of sinks before he threw up. He gripped the cool porcelain of the sink's rim as his back heaved painfully, stomach acid burning his dry throat. Hands trembling slightly, he twisted the taps on, fighting back the urge to be sick again. He splashed his face and gasped as the cold water met his flushed skin. The room was incredibly hot, he realised. Far hotter than it should be for an evening in early autumn. He tugged at the collar of his uniform jacket but his fingers were shaking too hard to undo the buttons.
Roy started at the gentle knock on the door leading from the corridor. He couldn't afford to be seen like this. He tried to rush into one of the stalls as the door began to open, a desperate attempt to hide himself from the intruder, but dizziness overcame him after only a few steps and he fell, hitting his knees hard against the polished stone tiles.
"Shit! Boss, what's wrong? Roy? Are you okay?" The intruder rushed across the room and crouched down next to Roy, a strong hand reaching out to steady him. Roy glanced up to see Havoc's face staring at him through the blur of white tiles, his blue eyes filled with concern and a hint of fear. "Gods... you look terrible. And..." Havoc moved closer suddenly, gazing into Roy's eyes intently. "Your pupils are huge. What's wrong with you? Hawkeye sent me to check up on you, to make sure you were alright. But... you're not, are you?"
"Evidently... not..." Roy choked out. Speaking was getting almost unbearable, his throat was so dry. He leant heavily on Havoc's arm as the taller man helped him to his feet, his heart pounding with the slight exertion. "Hawkeye sent you? Why... why didn't she come?"
"Well boss," Havoc chuckled nervously, steadying Roy as they walked towards the sinks. "This is a men's bathroom."
"Oh yeah... I forgot that." Roy replied. He gasped as his stomach twisted sharply with nausea, the sickness so acute as to be physically painful. He turned away from Havoc. "I'm sorry, I..."
Roy stumbled the remaining way towards the sink, leaning against it heavily as his body forced him into another round of agonised retching. His stomach was soon empty yet he continued to heave, nausea-born tears falling angrily from beneath his tightly clenched eyelids. Far outside the shrunken world of his own suffering Havoc's warm hands gently gripped his trembling shoulders, a thumb stroking the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to offer comfort. When the spasms finally ceased, Havoc wordlessly offered him a damp towel and Roy wiped his face gratefully. His head was pounding, the sudden bout of sickness causing his headache to return in full force. He clutched at his head, using all his willpower to keep from crying out from the pain. He had to appear stronger than that in front of Havoc. Havoc... Havoc was saying something. What was it? He needed to concentrate.
"Sir, I think this might be something really serious; we have to get you to a hospital." Roy turned to stare at his former lieutenant, blinking slowly. His mind was rapidly filling with shadows and shifting fog and he struggled to comprehend the other man's words. "I'm going to go get Hawkeye, okay? I'll bring her back here and call an ambulance for you."
Havoc guided Roy, still trembling, to lean against the wall then turned to walk away. Roy grabbed his arm as he moved, alarm racing through him. Where was Havoc going? "Don't... don't leave me, Havoc." He whispered hoarsely. He didn't want to be alone.
Havoc hesitated, turning back to look at Roy. His startling blue eyes were wide and when he spoke, his voice was slow, placating. "It's alright, boss... I'm just going to get Hawkeye and then I'll be back straight away. Just... just stay there, don't move. I'll be as quick as I can, I promise." As gently as possible, Havoc released Roy's grip on his arm, before striding briskly towards the door. Havoc's shoulders stiffened as Roy called out to him, panic clear in his voice, but still he didn't look back.
Riza tapped her nails against the tablecloth, her eyes fixed on the far end of the hall, on the door that both Roy and Havoc had left by. She hadn't touched her food since Roy had left the table, over ten minutes ago now. The other guests had happily accepted Reynolds' explanation that General Mustang was just feeling a little unwell and would be back shortly and had quickly returned to their conversations. But as the minutes since Havoc had gone to check on Roy slipped by, Hawkeye began to feel increasingly worried. An anxious silence had descended on their entire group- no one was eating now and Riza could see from the faces around her that the same thought was on all their minds. What's taking them so long?
Breda nudged her arm and she looked up to see Havoc enter through the door at the back of the hall. He was not running, as such, but there was an urgency to his steps that sent a sickening twist of worry through her chest. That worry only intensified as he reached their group and came to stand by her side, his face drawn tight with fear. "What's the situation?" Riza asked, her voice calm. They couldn't let anyone suspect something was wrong.
Havoc swallowed, hesitation clear in his stance. With a quick glance at the guests, all obliviously engaged in their conversations, he leant down, speaking quietly into Riza's ear. "It's not good. I think he's seriously ill. He was vomiting and could hardly walk without falling over. I'd say he was drunk, but he's barely had anything tonight, as you know. He's clearly in pain and I think he's a bit delirious, too. Oh, and his pupils are dilated- I can't say for sure, of course, but it seems to me like he might have been drugged with something." Riza listened to Havoc listing the symptoms of Roy's suffering with the same controlled detachment as she would to any field report, forcing back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to retain her composure or she would not be able to help Roy.
"Okay." Riza took a deep breath. "Havoc, you and I will go look after the general until we can get him to hospital." She turned to Breda, who had been following the conversation intently. "Breda, get Fuery or someone to call an ambulance. Sort out a story for the guests- tell them the general's been taken ill unexpectedly, but don't mention that we suspect drugging, not even to the Fuhrer. Make sure Madame Christmas is informed of exactly what's going on, and the rest of the team too. But no one else." Breda nodded sharply and Riza could tell he'd understood her implicit warning. If Roy really had been poisoned as Havoc suspected then anyone could be responsible. They would have to tread carefully.
Riza and Havoc left the table, trusting Breda and the other team members to make some innocuous excuse for their absence while they hurried to find their commander. Riza strode ahead, fear clawing at the edges of her careful self-control. She burst through the door to the men's bathroom, before stopping in shock at the sight that greeted her.
Roy was hunched over on the floor, one hand gripping his hair while tiny moans of pain escaped from his lips. His skin was flushed and he was breathing far too quickly. Riza rushed towards him, lifting his chin so she could look at his face. Havoc was right, Roy's pupils were massively dilated- Riza could barely see his irises at all. Roy looked up at her in confusion, as if he had only just noticed her presence.
"Riza?" What are you doing here? What's going on?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, and tight with pain. Riza took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "It's okay, Sir. I'm going to stay with you until the ambulance comes, alright? You'll be fine." She felt lost. Even in their darkest hours, when danger threatened them from all sides and it seemed there could be no hope of victory, she had always been able to rely on Roy to lead them. Even during that terrible time in the tunnels below Central, when he had almost destroyed himself in his search for revenge, he had still remained in control of his own mind. Seeing Roy like this, so helpless and confused... it was painful.
Roy stared at her as she spoke, dark eyes clouded with pain yet burning with an almost feverish intensity despite the fog clouding his mind. "Where... where did Hughes go?"
Riza's breath caught but she forced her voice to remain steady as she answered. She couldn't let Roy know how afraid she was. "Hughes? What are you talking about, Sir?" He had to be hallucinating, she realised. Whatever substance he had been drugged with was causing damage far greater than just simple confusion.
Roy frowned at her, his hand clutching her own. "Hughes... he was here, a while ago with me. Where is he now?" his eyes slid away from her face, dazedly searching the room around them. Roy's head fell back heavily against the wall, his unblinking eyes still moving, as if he could find Hughes hidden on the ceiling.
"No, Roy," Riza spoke soothingly, abandoning all pretence of formality. "Hughes wasn't here, that was Havoc. You... you're hallucinating, Roy." She glanced over at Havoc, who was standing by the door, gesturing for him to come closer. Havoc walked slowly, as one would approach a startled deer. In the echoing chamber of the bathroom, he must have heard every word that they had said and Riza could tell that he was fighting back the same fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
"It's me, Boss, Havoc. See? I was with you earlier, do you remember?" He crouched down next to Riza but Roy shrank away from him, shaking his head vigorously. "No, no it wasn't you, it was Hughes. We were out drinking together to celebrate my birthday, but then... I don't remember... we came here for some reason, and I was sick. I'd probably drunk too much. Where is he now?"
"I don't get it," Havoc muttered to Riza, as quietly as possible. "He knew who I was before; he spoke my name just before I left. Is he hallucinating or something?"
"He must be," Riza replied. "I don't think we're going to get anywhere by reasoning with him, it would probably just distress him further. We just have to try and keep him safe until the ambulance arrives. At least the hallucinations seem relatively mild so far. And the more symptoms we have, the easier it will be to identify whatever it is he's been given."
Havoc nodded, biting his lip. Riza returned to watching Roy, desperately wishing she could believe her own dispassionate logic as she watched him curl in on himself in agony, a shaking hand held over his mouth as he struggled to hold back his pain. A soft cry, almost a sob, fell from his lips and she could bear it no longer; she had to do something to help him, however futile. Riza shifted, moving to sit back against the wall, next to Roy. She gathered him into her arms, holding him tightly and letting him rest his head on her shoulder. He curled up to her gratefully, pain and confusion tearing down the barricades that so often lay between them. From the corner of her eye, Riza could see Havoc standing awkwardly to the side and trying his best not to look their way. His attempt to allow them some privacy touched her and she couldn't help but be amused at how obviously flustered he was at the small display of affection. Clearly the attitudes that she and Roy had cultivated for so long were contagious.
Her amusement fled quickly when Roy moaned again, hands pressed to his stomach. She stroked his hair, cursing her own helplessness. Where was the ambulance? Rationally, she reminded herself that, however long it may seem to her, it had only been a few minutes since they had left the dining hall. The ambulance could not have arrived yet. Still, it would be a good idea to be prepared for when it did.
"Havoc, go find Fuery or one of the other members of the team and ask them how long the ambulance's going to be. Let them know that we're here and come and get us as soon as the ambulance arrives, okay? I don't think it's a good idea to move the general any sooner than we have to- he's in too much pain and I doubt he'd want many people to see him like this."
Havoc nodded, walking away briskly. Roy didn't seem to notice his absence, so focused was he on the pain racking his body. Riza glanced down at him. Roy's eyes were open but frighteningly distant, constantly darting around the room, staring at things that only he could see. Swallowing back her anxiety, she held him closer, counting down the seconds and praying for help to arrive.
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