She awkwardly stepped off the train, movements hindered by the heavy padding of the thick winter-repelling long-coat. Her gloved hands hurriedly rose to smash down on the hat being tempted away by the bitter north winds. They immediately beat upon those who entered the land, as a type of forewarning, apparently. With one hand still on her head and the other pulling the large collar tighter, she shivered and ducked her face beneath the barrier of the warm, if slightly uncomfortable, wool the garment provided. She understood it now. She understood everything about his choices and him, and how there was more than one kind of coldness so bitter at work here and the knowledge stirred the painful past again. Several ironies, she was reminded, recalling who he'd been placed under.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" a strong, worn, and sharp voice and salute snapped at her, grabbing her attention. She nodded to him after straightening but quickly huddled back into her coat. She was aware how painfully out of place she was, the only one unaccustomed to the cold of the North and unable to reach the military bearing the officers around her displayed. "This way, please, ma'am."
She grabbed a suitcase from the train's side and idly glanced at the men lifting the small trunk she'd brought. The stay was only short, two weeks maximum, and all she would need to wear was in the suitcase in hand. There wasn't much choice at the front lines besides uniform, after all, but it'd be a cold day in hell before she left her guns at home. And as her lingering gaze assured they weren't handling the weapons more roughly than necessary, she reflected on how that adage was very much the truth here.
The older man of lesser rank, an annoying fact she read in his features, led her through the station to a personal military transport. He opened the door and took the suitcase from her, offering a hand to help her up, not at all surprised or perturbed at the denial of it as she stepped in. The door was shut behind her and she burrowed into the seatback, snuggling as far into her coat as possible as the man left her peripheral vision. There was a series of dulled thuds and the car bounced as her luggage was packed into the trunk, the last being its closing. The man got in on the other side with a heavy pull on the door, shaking the car. After a short word to the driver, a last shake saw them off down the snow filled tire ruts as they made their long way to the camp.
Camp was not what she was expecting. It, too, was just as white as everything near Drachma was. The tents were capped with generous amounts of snow; their brown canvas surrounded by piles pushed up against its sides with only the doorways and roads shoveled clear. Instead of the calm morose atmosphere she remembered from the days of Ishbal, the camp was one of extreme activity, not quite frenzied but definitely upbeat. The soldiers were not wallowing in disgust and pity and moral sterility as they did long ago. And the brief thoughts brought hope that maybe he wasn't the way she'd presumed if the camp was different. Yet some nagging feeling based upon all their years of acquaintance were pushing towards something else.
Her trunk hit the snow covered dirt with a muffled thud and she glared succinctly to make sure her suit – gun, really - case didn't suffer the same. The same man knocked on the car and it took off deeper into camp. He stepped over with the heavier case over his shoulder and sat it and the smaller one at her feet. "There's a general quarters tent where you may stay right over this way." She picked up her things, swinging the small trunk over shoulder, and followed. It was only a short walk from where they'd been dropped; she estimated it about a block's length.
She ducked under the flap he held up for her as he commented, "I'm sorry to say we don't have the luxury of segregated tents here, Lieutenant." There was a guarded look here, as if he feared some backlash.
"No, that's fine," she said firmly. "I understand the demands of war at the front lines." There was also the unspoken truth of the lack of female soldiers in the military to even warrant it. She gave a cursory glance at the very cramped interior, the escort's nervous breath having been slowly released the only backdrop of noise.
"If you're ready, I'll give you the tour of essentials."
"No, that's not necessary," she half sighed as she set her things down in what she hoped was an out of the way corner. "I just need to make contact with someone, a soldier here."
The man gave a crisp nod in way of salute in the tiny space. "Very well, then, Lieutenant. If you would follow me, I'll take you to the field marshal."
The man ranked field marshal was not one fitting the description Hawkeye had assigned to him. She had been expecting some old crusty and embittered war veteran who was almost completely deaf from the constant shelling and whose eyesight followed not far behind. This man was certainly old with his stark white hair combed down below his tightly fitted cap, but crusty and the others she couldn't yet ascertain. Her lieutenant escort approached the officer with her in tow.
"Field Marshal Pikkoni, sir!" he saluted sharply. The man addressed did not turn nor gave any indication of hearing them. "Our guest First Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkeye has need to locate an enlisted member, sir!"
The old did peer over his shoulder at the last part. He gave her a once-over as she offered up a respectable salute. "Elizabeth?" he said simply.
'A woman,' she read succinctly. Her eyes narrowed.
The man 'hmpfed' and resumed his stiff-backed forward facing posture, hands still clasped behind him. "Who?" The man was clearly short on patience.
Her escort looked to her. "Corporal Mustang," she clarified, not at all attempting to hide her irritation.
There was a heavier than normal exhale to be heard from the rigid back before them, nowhere near a sigh. She could see his body balloon as he drew breath for what she presumed to be a comment. She was shocked and even winced at the bellow he let forth.
"MUSTANG!"
It was long and deep and left her ears ringing. Surely it carried so far as to reach the enemy for the ease with which it echoed throughout the camp. If not that, trigger an avalanche to sweep down upon this already snow-covered base. The whole camp had practically ceased function to gawk with apprehension towards them. She felt as if all their eyes were on her alone, boring into her tightening chest. Nothing was happening. And those who hadn't already stopped completed their slowing down to join the others already in that state. When nothing happened for several seconds and it felt as if her ribcage would give way, a young soldier bolted from behind in-transit supply crate and took off in a full run away from them into the thick of tents.
She turned to her escort, parting her quickly chapping lips to question it. Their eyes had just met as his lips likewise moved in the beginnings of an anticipated answer before he tore them away in attention at the half face visible over a broad shoulder of the field marshal.
"You will wait here." There was no argument to be brooked at his tone or posture and she could only scowl as he retreated into the warmth of the cold front he continually affronted them with via his back.
He flipped the book over in his hand one more time before setting it back down, discarded. This wasn't what he was looking for. His brow drew together in something that was almost annoyance, and probably would be, if he could bring himself to care that much. But, rather, it was just another delay in his progress. The retaining wall of his left hand pulled tighter against the stack of books as his right dug deeper into the box, seeking out the darkly green-bounded book with the alchemical notes he sought inside. Light and cold blasted across him and he squinted his eye to the figure darkening the upturned flap of his tent.
"Mustang, sir!" the very young and out of breath boy said. "Field Marshal Pikkoni called for you."
His previously raised eyebrow fell in contemplation along with his line of sight, his focus no longer the uniformed page but the snow sweeping inside. He sighed, searching hand withdrawing to rest its elbow on a crouching leg. He debated. As if there was any other choice. He looked forlornly at his box, gloved hand holding many back, before he released them and they tumbled back into a heap of past and rhetoric once again. He just wasn't meant to research today.
He looked up to Johnny, still in his doorway and still letting in all that damned cold. He was a good kid. He pushed himself up at the knees, exhaling and straightening. He let the boy lead him, watched only the black high gloss polished boots caked in snow as they headed towards his summons. The boots and brisk legs stopped, and snapped together at attention. He shook himself from his ever-present stupor and looked up.
His hand faltered – he did – in his salute, eye catching her behind the large body of his superior. He forced his parted mouth closed once more and completed his salute with a tight-lipped grim line and snap of his wrist, serious gaze meeting Pikkoni's strangely multi-tinted one. With a quiet look and breath detected only by the humid puff in chilled air, the field marshal turned and walked away.
"Return to your duties, Private Cleptshaw."
"Yes, sir!" Johnny hollered the snap of his salute just as loud as he acknowledged and ran to his previously deposited crate.
"You can find your way back, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, thank you, warrant officer," she spoke aside to him, vision on the specter before her, yet still she registered her escort's crisp nod. Neither spoke until he left. She began, "You've certainly-"
"Why are you here?" he interrupted, his bitter pain cutting.
"To visit." She gave a sad, frail smile, barely more than the quirking of the corners. "Let's take a walk, hm?"
He trailed her the entire time, looking down as his black-toed boots and locked legs kicked up snow as they walked. His hands were buried as deeply as they could be in the heavy coat pockets and his shoulders hunched to keep the collar and heat close to him. He was the petulant child, sulking in a darkly brooding manner. He was half listening to her light talk but not half-heartedly. He was truly enjoying her company more than he'd ever admit to himself or another. Between his non-verbal answers of hums and soft grunts, he simply soaked her familiar atmosphere up.
It felt good to not have to be in control. It felt good to not have to be strong.
Somehow or another, they ended up back at his tent. Their directionless conversations had turned to quarters and had obviously at some point turned to bringing her things here. He sat the larger one down in the newly made space in the quite confined tent alongside the walls. That's how he and the other three occupants ran things. It was a common routine up here, the equipment and heavy trunks helping to insulate against cold and wind. They were very effective barriers. That left the middle of the tent for the arranging of four oft-times overlapping sleeping bags
One more could easily – and most welcomingly – be squeezed in. The reasons for her acceptance ranged from extra warmth to a soft and female body. He smirked at the thought of any tent mate trying something. Man, would they get theirs. He'd quietly introduced her to the only soldier there who was sleeping in his bag – pointed him out, really – and only gave a momentary and sluggish wave before his raised head plopped back into the personal cocoon of warmth.
"He worked night duty last night," he whispered gently, still fussing with the retaining wall. It was understood he wasn't trying to be impolite or disrespectful.
She nodded as she sifted through one of the trunks, pulling out two additional spare clips and pocketing them away after inspection. "How does your gun handle up here? The cold much hindrance?"
Practical Hawkeye; he wanted to laugh but cracked a miserable half-smile for her instead. His features were grim as always lately, voice matching, and tone serious as he replied. His eye met hers directly and he felt as if he was issuing a dare as the words tumbled from his lips.
"At night. You have to be careful or it will lock up on you." She paused and looked down briefly in thought before she blinked and nodded at the information. He smirked wryly at her 'alright' and taunted, "Just don't drop it in the snow." He received a glare for his effort.
The smirk faded and he looked away, possessing not enough courage to meet it as he had in the past. His left hand played with a trunk latch, it receiving the brunt of his suddenly uncomfortable attention. The silence once again pervading the compact tent space became so, as well, yet he couldn't even dare to think of breaking it. She saved him again.
"Shall we go get something to eat? It was a long ride up here," she put in gently, tone conversational and void of any ill-willed feelings. He could only nod, hand still fidgeting. She motioned with her own, indicating for him to go first. "Will you lead then, since you know the way?"
He swallowed and moved ahead of her after a jerky start. The position was well-known and not forgotten but unwelcome. This wasn't right. Things weren't like this anymore. He ducked outside the tent first, pausing as she followed to tightly clasp it, sparing his tent mate the freeze, and continued on. She did her best to follow in his tracks and step in the large foot prints he left behind in the snow.
Up here, there was an abundance of liquor stashed away in tents. Most of the personnel kept their own stashes for keeping warm in the bitter nights. The superiors did not frown upon this; it was a necessity in these conditions. And so Riza was horrified when a bottle of deep amber liquid was pulled from the fire-lit kettle on the single travel burner and poured into three glasses, fearing some high-cost retribution for the protocol violation. The three tent mates – two having returned from duty with the other having started his – clinked theirs together in toast, the oath mumbled. He took a long sip and turned to her. Having read her look upon doing so, he explained the practice. She was relieved at that and released the worry in a small sigh only to focus a wide-eyed stare as he offered his glass to her.
"Oh, come on, Hawkeye," his formality slipped in the present camaraderie. "Take a drink…or three. It'll help keep you warm."
She was hesitant. "I promise it's allowed up here." He was holding her gaze and she believed him.
It was warm and it was dark and it was wonderful. She could sleep forever like this, all huddled up in a mass of bodies, no matter the cramped conditions. There was something to be said for camaraderie and booze in cold places. Although, cramped conditions brought cramped muscles and she moved to stretch her numbing leg. That, in turn, progressed to the back needing to be compensated and she bent to grant the wish. Her head shifted backwards and clonked solidly into someone's jaw. Said jaw elicited a pained groan and now they were both acutely aware of arms withdrawing from around her waist as they parted as much as the overstuffed heavy duty sleeping bag would allow.
Wary brown met a sleepy, half-lidded, unfathomable, and liquor muddled almost-black and all sense of wary gave way to full blown shock. The other party, however, only gave sleepy blinks and she would later question – and almost bet – that he hadn't even processed what he'd seen. This thought was punctuated by the following motion of his head falling back with little control. Even anticipating it – for she'd watched him sleep so many nights – the tucking of her head under his chin and the re-encircling about her body with the subsequent being drawn closer still cause her to tense. This was intimate, more than they ever had been in either words or actions, and she was unsure about what to do or if anything should be done at all. But her instinct to fight waned as she listened to his deep breaths, felt them move the hair at the back of her head, and her cheek soon found its way against his chest.