Chapter 2

Central Headquarters was bustling that afternoon, full of activity as soldiers and officers rushed to complete paperwork, answer telephones, and basically just make sure the HQ was still running despite what had transpired several days ago.

"It's great that General Grumman persuaded 'Corporal' Mustang to get his nice shiny accoutrements back and become a Brigadier General again. Heck, he's actually up for a promotion again – Major General Mustang. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think, Havoc?"

"Aww, I was actually looking forward to boss – oww! Well, I sure as heck still outrank you, Warrant Officer Falman!"

Vato Falman grinned, suddenly steeling himself so he was standing straighter than a ramrod, but still shaking with suppressed mirth. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Havoc, sir! What can I do for you, sir? Perhaps shine your shoes with my spit and handkerchief, sir?"

Lieutenant Jean Havoc, now First Lieutenant, couldn't help but smile as well. "Maybe later. But I have no intention of getting your drool all over my boots. Anyhow, have you finished your report on the attempted destruction of Central and all that crap?"

Falman shrugged. "Sort of…hey, has Mustang been let out of the hospital yet?"

"Dunno. Haven't had any word from Hawkeye – make that Major Hawkeye. But she says he's awake, he can talk longer – yup, he'll get back to bossing us around in no time. And I thought for once I could have fun…"

Another jab from Falman kept Havoc from finishing his sentence.

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"This is it, Dewey. Amestris Hospital. My granddaughter says he should be well enough to receive the news. Pull up over there – that parking space looks nice, and it's near the entrance, too."

General Grumman stepped out of the long black car, flanked by two sergeants and his chauffeur, Private Dewey. A few people outside the hospital started whispering excitedly as Grumman walked up the steps and entered the double doors, watched closely by three pairs of eyes. Some of the passers-by even saluted, but the old general just laughed and saluted back as he walked to the nurses' station.

"Good afternoon, I'm here to see Brigadier General Roy Mustang. Official business, I might add," he said, smiling warmly at the young brunette piling up a few medical books.

"You're…the General, right?" asked the nurse, trying to return the smile nervously, but she was obviously intimidated by the fact that a general and three soldiers were now standing before her. "Room one-four-two, sir. Down that corridor, up the first staircase you see. Then turn left, straight ahead." She pointed it out for them with a shaky finger.

"Thank you very much…Rosette," said Grumman as he read her nametag. He made a little bow before her and made her blush. The sergeant on his left winked at the nurse, but she had already gone back to work stacking books. Dewey, despite being of lower rank, kicked the sergeant's heel discreetly before they made their way up the stairs.

As they reached the second floor, it was already pretty obvious which room Roy was in – two master sergeants, including Kain Fuery, were standing guard on either side of the door that was marked '142'.

A couple or so days ago, Roy Mustang was found lying unconscious on the scorched floor of his bedroom, his hands and arms burned. Nobody but Riza Hawkeye knew that he was trying to destroy the Gate of Alchemy, to make sure anything on the other side stayed there.

Unfortunately, as Edward and Alphonse Elric had also tried the same thing in the other world beyond the Gate, their plans backfired. The two brothers were suddenly sent back into Amestris, their memories wiped clean of anything about the other side and their plot to obliterate the Gate, and Al's memories of being a soul in a suit of armor and real age were restored. Roy would never remember that he tried to destroy the Gate, no matter how many times Riza would remind him, and fainted from the alchemic reactions that brought the Elrics back.

For three days, Roy was unconscious, yet still alive.

Now, as Fuery and his comrade saluted Grumman and admitted him and his party in, the General could see that the Flame Alchemist was looking better – the color was back in his face, and he was laughing with a delighted Riza Hawkeye. She wasn't dressed in the usual military regalia – she was wearing a white button-down blouse, a navy knee-length skirt, and midnight two-inch heeled sandals. At the sight of Grumman, she stood up and saluted. Roy did the same while lying in bed, propped up by several pillows.

"It is a pleasure to see that you're awake and well, Brigadier General," said Grumman as he received a kiss on the cheek from his granddaughter.

"It is also a pleasure to see you again, General Grumman," replied Roy. His slightly crooked smile, not to mention the eye patch that covered his left eye, gave him the look of a surviving war hero – which he technically was. "What brings you here?"

"General Mustang will probably be out of the hospital tomorrow," said Riza. Only Grumman saw how excited she was to say it, but her grandfather decided to keep his mouth shut about it. There were more important things to discuss than Riza's feelings for her superior.

He smiled. "That's very good. I expect that you won't get back to work right away, Mustang? Don't want to get carted back in here, do you?"

Riza and Roy laughed. Even Dewey and the sergeants stifled chuckles as they flanked Grumman.

"If it weren't for Hawkeye, sir, I would be bored to death," said Roy, grinning at her. The major wondered if she was blushing, as she felt her cheeks burn. "So, what news do you bring us, General?"

"Well…I've talked to the Parliament – I mean, a member of the Parliament – and they've been talking about looking for a president since the attacks on Central."

"You would be perfect for the job, Grandfather," said Riza, nodding. "Did they choose you?"

Grumman shook his head. "No…I declined his suggestion. However, I did recommend someone else for the position. Someone younger, fitter, and stronger, and capable of running Amestris fairly yet firmly. To make the long story short, Mustang, I have given your name and credentials to Mr. Devon Quier of the Parliament. They will be keeping in touch with you when the Parliament approves you as a candidate for Fuhrer.

"Of course, I am confident that they'll choose you. I can't think of another, not even from the Parliament itself, who would be more qualified to run the country."

Neither Roy nor Riza spoke. They just stared at their superior as though he had sprouted an extra head.

"You…you…" the two of them stuttered.

"Yes, me," said Grumman lightly. "And with that, I bid you good-bye, and I hope to see you two in Central again soon. As for that promotion, Mustang, well…starting tomorrow, you will add another star to your badge, Major General. I have to get back to work now. Take care of him, Riza. I know you always have.

"And you always will," he added softly, winking at her. After a kiss and a hug from his granddaughter, and a salute to Roy, Grumman and his bodyguards were gone, leaving Roy and Riza alone in the room once again.

At first, the two of them were silent. Roy looked down on his blankets, thinking of that fateful day when he went to his house to do something…something he couldn't put his finger on (and never will), and then, he woke up in the hospital to learn that he had been asleep for three days, and his arms and hands were heavily bandaged.

And during those three days, Major Riza Hawkeye almost never left his room. She kept in touch with the rest of Central Headquarters via phone, sometimes by messenger, but mostly watched the unconscious Roy.

After telling her what he was about to do, he didn't say much anymore…not until they got to his house. And it was there that Roy said a few choice words in case he would not make it out alive…just a few words that forever changed the course of their lives…

"I love you."

Both Riza and Roy remembered it vividly; the general saying those three words to her, clasping her hands, looking deep into her reddish-brown eyes, looking as though he was marching off to his execution. Then he had leaned in and kissed her, and before she knew it, they were in each other's arms, never wanting to let go. Even though he had forgotten what was that he had wanted to do that was so dangerous that it had pushed him to confess his true feelings for Riza straightaway, he would never forget that kiss, and those words he said to her.

Now, in the hospital room, he was looking at Riza again, sitting primly in the armchair. He had survived the ordeal, but his life, or her life, would never be the same again, not after that.

"H – Hawkeye…"

"No, call me Riza," she said softly. "I mean, when we're alone together. It seems so…awkward now…when we call each other by our last names or by our ranks…"

"I know," was the reply. "But I don't care. I still love you. I really do…Riza."

"You're going to be Fuhrer. I know it. My grandfather also knows it. After all these years…in fact, you might actually be the youngest Fuhrer in history…Roy."

She stood up and sat down instead on his bed. "Congratulations," she whispered, opening her arms and wrapping them around him.

"I'm not even Fuhrer yet," said Roy with a laugh. "Who knows…the Parliament might actually find someone…more qualified, a better pick…" He shrugged, but did not return the hug.

"They can't," Riza assured him. "You will become Fuhrer. Believe me."

"Well…if I don't become Fuhrer, and I hope I don't jinx anything…can I be the Fuhrer of your heart, Riza?"

She broke away from him, raising an eyebrow. "You need to work on your lines, Roy. I love you, but I hate your lines."

The Flame Alchemist snorted and started laughing again, but embraced Riza as she snuggled close to him again.