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Ultraviolet
Chapter Two
Rating: T +
One of the little things the General loved about being the second-in-command of the Amestrian Army (and the country as a whole) was the spacious, ornate and private office that came with the rank. While he still enjoyed spending some time in the company of his team, there were times when he needed to prop his feet on his dark wooden desk, aim pencils at the ceiling with impunity and tell his secretary to beat feet so he could lock the door and commiserate in privacy. In addition, he didn't have to worry about Riza wanting to shoot his nuts off for being a lazy pig.
Right then, he needed all of the privacy his office could provide. However, internal commiseration was the furthest thing from his mind.
He reached into his top left drawer - after removing the alchemical lock - and pulled out two tiny paper bundles. He unfolded the sides, top, and upended both into a glass of water. Take with water only, the instructions said. He could have filled the glass with twenty-year-old whiskey and have been very happy, but with this medication, he knew better. He tossed it back and shuddered from the sour taste. Then the paper scraps went into the ashtray and made them into cinders with a snap of his fingers.
He had cut it close this time, almost been caught flat-footed and on-fire himself. The fact that he needed two doses of the suppressant troubled him. As the medication rushed through his system, he felt his fever subside and the beginnings of a dull ache that had started to worry at him diminish. That meant that he would have to schedule a visit with Knox to up his dose or change to a new formulation. He could not afford to slip even once. Not now, not when he was so close.
He snorted to himself and poured himself another glass of water, thinking about the distinction the public held between an omega's heat and an alpha's rut. A rut showed strength, prowess, and an ability to control and dominate. A rut was applauded and welcomed. An omega's heat, however? The upheaval caused by that would become that something no amount of damage control could lessen. Omegas usually found themselves stuck in rank until they dried up of old age or died in harness.
An omega could never be a leader of Amestris, not according to widely held opinion. A leader could not be distracted by the unstable, debilitating heats that heralded an omega's fertility. Not when the omega in question had the temerity to remain unattached and uncontrolled.
Widely held opinion was utter bullshit as far as he was concerned and very soon he would prove it.
From the day he had decided to join the military, the plan was, and had always been, to stay under the radar until he reached high office. The plan was to prove himself worthy to be the leader of Amestris, by whatever title he chose, despite his secondary gender. To wipe out the corruption and pain of serving under a tyrant that cared absolutely nothing for the people of his country. Even though it had been ingrained in him since his time at Ishbal, it was Ling Yao who put it into words for him. A king exists for his people. Without people, rulers would not exist. It was this simple thing that those monsters had failed to grasp. Power for power's sake; that was what Father had wanted.
He was glad the creature - and his pieces and parts - were gone.
Now it was the turn of the peacemakers. Roy knew that the path of the military was not the way Amestris needed to go to heal itself. The people had had their fill of being told what to do and how to live. It was time for them to have a voice. Everyone had to have a hand in the recovery, in one way or the other, and he would guide the country in that direction. Only when that was accomplished would he allow someone to claim him as a mate and show everyone that the world wouldn't crack open just because Amestris was being cared for by an omega.
Allow. He snorted bitterly to himself. This was the only thing he couldn't talk himself out of. No matter what he decided to tell himself, when the time came, choice would be a fleeting thing. The only thing he could hope would be that when he allowed himself to come into heat, that his suitable mate would be close.
In any case, he would prove them wrong in the same way he did everything else – with his wit and his flair for the dramatic.
His temperature had lowered to just about normal by the time he'd finish grumbling to himself about the disparities of society. Just as he aimed yet another pencil at the ceiling tile above his desk, there was a light tap on his door. Only one person was allowed to disturb him when that door was locked. "Hold on, Colonel." He checked in the little hand mirror he pulled from the locked drawer, just to make sure the flush was gone from his face. He opened the door, allowing his adjutant, his right hand, his sister-in-spirit into his inner sanctum.
"Are you alright?" Riza asked. She stopped just inside the doorway and scented the air. Her small nose wrinkled slightly and he gave him a rueful smile. "Cutting it close, General," she said a touch of concern in her voice.
"I know," Roy said, running his hand through his hair. At least he wasn't shaking anymore. "I don't know where it came from this time."
"Well, it's not something to take lightly. Would you like me to have Molly schedule an appointment with Doctor Knox?"
"Please."
"Of course." She wrote the note in her ever-present notebook, and then smiled. "Now, I have some good news."
Roy offered her a seat on the couch to the right of his desk. "I could use a bit of good news." He jerked his head toward the files on his desk. "If I see one more death certificate connected to the Promised Day, I'm going to write one for myself and jump out of the window."
Not every citizen in Amestris had survived unscathed from that awful day. At first, it seemed that the grand transmutation had been successfully reversed or at least halted in its destructive tracks. Then, about six months in, people began dying. Not just dying, though, but dropping into seizures before falling insensate and passing away. Knox had diagnosed a wasting sickness, but the concentration of deaths in the population was too much of a coincidence to be chance. While the new Investigations Division was buzzing with clues, he was stuck signing of death certificates to deliver to them as evidence.
"Well, this should bring a smile to your face if just for a moment." Riza clasped her hands in her lap and smiled. "The Elric brothers have arrived in Central and they'll be visiting tomorrow."
Roy leaned forward, an honest smile on his face. "Finally. I was wondering if those two were going to wander the land forever."
"I think they needed to get the wanderlust out of their systems before settling down," Riza said. "I think the longer they stayed in place the longer they relived… that day."
"Edward, especially," he sighed. "The poor guy didn't know what to do with himself after he'd accomplished his goal." He'd heard about Edward's time in Risembool. He knew it was the fact that the powerfully focused mind housed within that young man's head had nothing to focus on. Personally, Roy had been glad that Edward wandered off, away from the scene, before that mind splintered for lack of anything else to do.
"Well, it looks like Breda won the betting pool," Riza was saying. "Edward didn't wed and mate with Winry."
Roy smirked. "Breda's not stupid." He knew Breda would win that bet; there was more to Heymans than met the eye. While everyone merely reacted to the Elric brothers, Breda observed and absorbed. Under that gruff, slightly goofy, and lackadaisical nature was a mind like a steel trap. It had been Roy's great pleasure to sign off the promotion and transfer that made the Lieutenant Colonel the head of the Investigations Division.
"I'll make sure that everyone necessary knows to clear them immediately."
"Good. Tell Molly to take the rest of the day off after she schedules my appointment with Knox." He leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. "Don't want to be disturbed until the Elrics arrive."
"Of course, sir." She went to his desk, opened the right-hand drawer, and pulled out a pair of white gloves. "Shall I take these for the moment?"
"Please. Just in case the suppressants don't take all the way, I'd hate to have them around during a fit of pique."
Riza chuckled. "I love your creative terms. Fit of pique indeed."
"What would you call it, Colonel?"
"Hmm. I'd call it a histrionic fit, sir."
As the door closed with a quiet click, Roy grimaced. The other thing he was thankful for was that this huge, luxurious, private office allowed him to indulge in his so-called histrionics in peace.
