Daybreak
The soft light streamed through curtains that he'd purposefully left open. The spare room had no alarm clock and he'd never been able to sleep in daylight anyways. Reaching into the bag, he switched from the military clothes he'd slept in to civilian clothes that had been packed in it. Splashing water on his face in the hallway water closet sent a shiver down his spine. The water from the pipes was nearly freezing cold. But, that shiver was welcome. It meant he woke again with working legs.
The sound of movement downstairs led him to the kitchen where he saw the General shuffling around while fully dressed in pressed Amestrian blues. Mustang looked over his shoulder at Havoc's approach and offered a practiced smile.
"G'morning, boss," Havoc allowed, "You sleep ok?"
"Not entirely. You?"
"Like a rock."
"I appreciate your willingness to keep an eye on her."
"Babysitting your sister is prob—"
Mustang cleared his throat, "You cannot refer to her as such. For many reasons."
Nodding, Havoc could see the tense jaw and stiff shoulders, "Understood, sir."
With a heavy sigh, Mustang looked up in Amelie's General direction, "She's dangerous, Lieutenant. At no time, for no reason, should you let her touch you. If she becomes violent, you are to defend yourself by any means necessary. Is that clear?"
"You think she'll be able to do any harm in her condition?"
"I don't know for sure that she can't, which means we all need to be on our guard. Her touch can kill. Don't take chances."
Seeing the fierce protectiveness in Mustang's eyes, Havoc gave another nod. For a silent moment, neither of them spoke. Inhaling deep, the General straightened and pulled his starched blue jacket down to make it sit right on his shoulders, "Help yourself to anything you'd like."
"Thanks."
"I'll see you this evening, then."
"Yes, sir."
Mustang left the kitchen and moved towards the front door. Hesitating when he passed the bannister of the stairwell, Havoc could see him think about going up, saying goodbye perhaps, when it was quickly squashed and he strode confidently out of the door and locked it behind him. Jean stole a look to the clock on the countertop. Mustang didn't have to be at work for another two hours, and Hawkeye hadn't been outside to pick him up, either.
The cold outside was easier to handle than that inside.
Black Hayate rushed appreciatively to the warm bowl of water that had been set out after the brisk morning walk. Watching the pup lap eagerly made Riza smile, and she turned back to her chore of preparing her day's lunch. With Roy meeting with Congress today, she doubted she'd have the time to step out for a bite. She tossed the scraps in the garbage and wrapped everything securely in cotton and twine. Hayate sat patiently. Her warm smile made his tail thwap back and forth against the flooring.
"Don't worry, boy, we're going."
She pulled her bag to the bend of her elbow and latched the leash on Hayate. Her hand had just turned the doorknob and opened the door when the phone in the living room rang. She ignored it. No one ever really called her in the morning unless they were selling something. She let it ring and pulled her keys from her bag.
The third ring was cut short as her new machine picked up the line with a beep. Amused, she waited to hear the message, if any was even left.
"Captain…shit, you must've already left…"
She'd crossed the room so quickly that Hayate canted his head to one side and stared at her when she picked up the headset, "I'm here, sir."
"Oh, good. I just wanted to let you know that I walked in this morning, so no need to pick me up."
"Of course, sir. Is everything all right, sir?"
"Just needed to clear my head. Thank you, Captain. I'll see you at the office."
"I'll see you there, sir."
The line softly cut off and she placed the headset back on the receiver. His townhome was at least a thirty minute walk to Central Command. After the boldness of last night's attack, she was a bit frustrated at his carelessness. Then again, having a fugitive and sister in his safe haven might have been too much to handle. His sanctuary had been invaded, and she knew he needed that rock to function. Sighing, she just hoped he kept his head about him when he met with Congress.
Jean Havoc watched the sleeping woman slowly come to. She blinked a few times, searched the room and focused on the curtains he had gently pulled back to let in the sunlight. While the General's warning rang fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her when her brow furrowed and pained tears strolled from the outer corners of her eyes to the curve of her ears. He'd been cognizant enough to wear his civilian clothes from his stashed bag rather than the spare uniform which laid neatly pressed next to them. He had no desire to end up like the soldiers who'd been killed by her in the past.
He cleared his throat and stood from the chair, placing his book on the armrest to save the spot he'd reached. She looked to him, her eyes slightly unfocused and her gaze continually swimming before aiming at him again.
"Who…?" she whispered.
"My name's Jean. I'm one of Roy's…friends," he omitted the 's' word for fear she would panic.
"Where...am I?" she asked gently.
"You're at Roy's townhome. In Central. Do you need anything? Water?"
She nodded languidly. He moved to the nightstand and poured out a cup of water from the decanter he'd filled earlier. She tried to sit up and failed, flopping heavily back to the pillow. Ignoring Mustang's warning, he sat on the bed and lifted her head, bringing the water to her lips. She drank tiny sips. He put the glass aside and let her back down to the pillow. Even that small kindness made her brow smooth out and those ink-dark eyes smile ever so slightly at him.
"Do you want something to eat?"
"I'll be ok. Where's Roy?"
"He had some things to take care of. He'll be back this evening."
She nodded with eyes half-closed and exhaled smoothly. For a woman who'd been reported to have killed a dozen men, she seemed timid. Still, Mustang wouldn't have warned him for no reason. Watching her drift back to sleep, he moved away and back to the recliner to pick up where he'd left off in the book he'd found.
The marble halls of the Congress building were cold even though Mustang was sure the heat was on full blast; even for the sweat that rolled down his back, he still felt frigid on the inside. His footsteps, and the footsteps of Hawkeye, resonated through the empty halls. For as busy as Congress was purported to be, the hallways seemed to be a ghost town. At the end of the hall, a single stone desk and a young man stood watch over an ornate set of oak doors.
Mustang straightened and didn't let the apprehension he felt on the inside transfer to his calm exterior. His mask of nonchalant detachment was something he had worked on for a long time and it hadn't failed him in recent memory.
The young man had auburn hair and glasses and was hunched over a book with a single quill stand on the desktop itself. No uniform, no rank, a civilian chosen to help this congress lead. Mustang stood for a moment and when the man ignored him, cleared his throat to gain his attention.
The man looked over the brim of his glasses and surveyed Mustang, "May I help you?"
"General Mustang; here to see Congress."
He gave a thin smile, "Acting General Mustang, if I'm not mistaken. And your appointment is for 10:15. It's only 10:06."
Mustang didn't return the practiced smile, "Better a few minutes early than a single minute late."
The man closed his book and returned the quill to its well, "Of course. I'll let them know. Please, wait here."
He stood from his desk and opened the left oak door, closing it behind him. Hawkeye came up next to him and lowered her voice, "Not very inviting."
"I didn't think it would be," he admitted.
The oak doors both opened and the man stood just inside, "Please, come in."
Mustang nodded and walked with Hawkeye just behind him. As he passed the threshold, the man stepped behind him and cleared his throat. Mustang turned to see him purposefully blocking Hawkeye's way.
"I'm afraid Congress has not permitted any spectators. You may wait out here," he said and Mustang could hear a slight bit of joy in his voice.
Hawkeye's cocoa eyes met his and he nodded. She stood down and turned to sit on the stone benches that lined the hallway. Turning his attention to the path ahead, Mustang heard the doors close behind him. The area darkened and, unlike the bright hallways which radiated with natural light, these passages felt tight and inky. Wood-paneled walls made it feel like a coffin he was walking into. The young man led him along without a word. The corridor had several small offices. None were open.
The grand atrium that rose before him was modest, but dim and imposing. Scanning the room, he saw Grumman and Mrs. Bradley sitting in box seats off to the right. A long desk with seven seats was in front of him, and the young man who'd ushered him in took the empty middle seat. Alone, in the middle of the room, was a single slab of stone that looked to be a bench.
"Please, have a seat," the young man gestured to it.
Roy remained standing, "I'm fine. Thank you."
He shed his black overcoat and placed it on the bench but remained stiff and poised. All seven of the congress members were ignoring him, writing on paper hidden from view by a lip on the desk. He remained quiet. He had heard that these men and women, while all hand-picked by Mrs. Bradley and Fuehrer Grumman to help run the country, were not the most friendly folk in said country.
"Acting General Mustang, you have been called here today because your promotion, given by then-General Grumman, was placed under review by this Congress. Some feel you are too young, and your service record too spotty, to be leading anything more than a soup line at a shelter."
The young man paused in his goading opening statement, and Mustang remained silent. He had been under scrutiny before, and had seen the tactic of trying to make him defensive. At his prolonged silence, the man exhaled and continued, "You've acted recklessly; getting your subordinates injured in the line of duty and causing an immense amount of collateral damage in your search for a personal vendetta."
A woman, blonde hair and green eyes, offered a small smile, and quickly jumped in, "This Congress is not here to pass judgement on events which happened before. While there may be doubt as to your ability, you have garnered support and trust from both Mrs. Bradley and Fuehrer Grumman. They say you acted preemptively to save the First Lady's life when the coup was attempted."
"I did, Congresswoman."
"Do you believe your actions were justified, Mustang?" another man asked. His hair was white and his voice pegged him as a smoker, "Why not bring your suspicions to the attention of Fuehrer Bradley?"
"I do. As far as confiding in Fuehrer Bradley, I had no such luxury. He unexpectedly left for the joint training exercise before I could inform him of my discovery."
"In your debriefing after the events last year, you said that those responsible for the coup had tried to harness alchemy on a grand, weaponized scale without the knowledge or discipline of a true alchemist. You've also recently said that the weaponizing of state alchemists should be scaled back. Interesting idea coming from the Hero of Ishbal; you and many other state alchemists were nothing more than weapons then. Yet your affinity for the state alchemist program has bolstered it's numbers since. Care to explain?" the young man asked.
"The creed has always been: 'Be Thou For The People'. If we are to be true to this creed, it only makes sense that we show the people what we can do beyond warfare. Medical alchemy, teaching, rebuilding. These are actions which benefit everyone, not just the military."
"Should Congress see fit to uphold this promotion, you will be directly in control of the State Alchemist program due to that rank. How do you plan on running such an operation? You're only one man," the youngest man said with a bit of dripping condemnation.
"There are other alchemists, more qualified than myself, to oversee engineering and medical alchemy. With my experience, I intend to train any and all alchemists who wish to join the military and fight to protect this country."
"Protect it from what?"
"Anyone who would threaten its freedoms, or the freedoms of its citizens. All of its citizens."
Several of the congress members gave him little smiles, and another woman at the very end of the desk leaned forward a bit. He continued to stand rigid. A few of them went back to writing notes out of sight. The man with auburn hair who had escorted him in inhaled and exhaled heavily. He could no doubt see that the majority of those present didn't harbor the same malcontent as he did.
"You indeed speak as a man of the people. And perhaps this country could use more of that. I've heard enough. I move to make your promotion permanent."
"I second," the elder man with white hair nodded.
The young man exhaled sharply, "It has been moved and seconded that we vote on the permanent promotion of Colonel Roy Mustang to Brigadier General Roy Mustang. We will divide. All in favor, please stand."
Roy held his breath for a moment. The eldest lady at the end of the desk stood and folded her hands behind her back. Roy offered a slight nod and she returned it. The blonde woman stood as well. So did the elder man with the white hair. Another, who had been silent, a man with spectacles and a red beard, stood. Four. A majority. Another young woman stood up. Her hair was also blonde, but short.
Roy quietly let loose the breath he'd held in. With four in favor, it had been approved. With five, he could allow himself to smile ever so slightly.
The young man in the middle lowered his gaze for a moment and nodded, "Very well. With a majority vote, you are hereby permanently promoted to the rank of Brigadier General, with all the rights and privileges therein."
Roy almost had a chance to speak. Before he could, he heard a throat clear off to the right. He and the congress looked over to see Grumman stand and smile.
"Sir, you wish to address the Congress?" the young man asked.
"I wish to appoint General Mustang to the task of finding these terrorists who call themselves the Republic. I want them found, and brought to justice. Do you think you're up for it, General?" Grumman smiled.
Roy nodded, "I am, sir."
"Good. I don't believe I need a majority approval to make that appointment?" he looked to the congress members who sat before him.
The young man offered a slight smile, "No, sir."
"Good. I will approve whatever personnel transfers you need, Mustang. Get me these terrorists in jail cells. And, unless there are any other matters…?"
The young man shook his head and kept his gaze averted from Mustang's.
"Splendid. Then get on with it," Grumman smiled.
Mustang saluted the older man, and quickly turned his back on the congress. Walking away, he couldn't help but smile. Moving past the closed doors that seemed insignificant compared to the ornate oak ones at his front, he stepped back out into the brightness that waited for him. Hawkeye stood and waited for him to be closer. Her eyes asked the question she didn't dare let pass her lips.
He gave a cocked smile, "You may continue addressing me as 'General'. And your grandfather has put me in charge of snuffing out the Republic."
Only her eyes gave away her happiness, "He is a wise man. And congratulations."
"Let's celebrate after we find who attacked us last night."
Hawkeye lowered her voice confidentially, "The coroner's office called Fuery. They said the autopsies are complete. Shall we start there?"
"Sounds like a plan."
"Fuery said the coroner was…distressed…by the carnage."
Mustang straightened his shoulders and started walking down the hall, his Captain stepping in line next to him, "Perhaps I should check in on my patient before we go."
"Of course, sir."
Jean Havoc continued to read. Amelie's whimpers and broken thoughts weren't annoying, but troubling. He'd rather not hear all of them as she murmured about a man who had to be avoided, about losing control, about death and fear. She'd come to long enough once or twice asking for water, but had otherwise been in a restless, fevered sleep or delusional twilight. He looked up from his book to see her head roll from side to side as she continued to ramble.
Earlier, she'd looked to him with those pained, deep eyes, and begged for him to fetch Maes or Roy. The insight that she'd known the late Brigadier General made his heart break for her all over again; she had no one to comfort her besides him at the moment. Her own mind recognizing her solitude, she cried and mourned for Maes anew. The question she asked, 'Did he ever get my letters?', he had no answer to and it hurt him almost as it did her. Unbidden, he'd taken her hand and sat with her until she'd drifted back into some semblance of solid sleep.
The front door unlocked and closed quickly. Havoc put the book aside and made sure the safety was off on his firearm. Moving silently from the chair to the wall that would be hidden from view as the bedroom door opened, he waited.
"Havoc?" Mustang called out.
Putting his sidearm away, he opened the bedroom door to see Mustang standing there.
With a half-smile, he stepped aside, "So, how do I address you?"
"General will continue to suffice. How is she?" he turned his attention to Amelie.
Havoc sighed and rubbed the base of his neck, "She's been in and out all morning. Rambling on."
"Rambling about what?"
The business-like concern reminded Havoc of the strain the relationship between brother and sister had sustained; he didn't want to mention Maes. That was a burden the General didn't need, "She kept saying not to let 'him' touch us. That the blood runs too deep to be cleaned out. Kinda spooky, actually."
"Keep track of everything she says. Write it down if you have to. She wasn't there last night out of coincidence. She knows something about these terrorists."
"Yes, sir."
"Has she threatened you?"
"No. No, she's just been delirious."
"If you feel threatened, remember, defend yourself. She is a murderer. I won't have you killed on my watch."
Nodding silently, Havoc watched as his superior swallowed glass in those words. They both raised their eyes towards her when she whimpered again.
"Roy…"
Mustang inhaled deep and squared his shoulders, "I need to be going. I've been put in charge of getting these terrorists in jail. I'll be back this evening."
"Yes, sir."
He turned to leave and took two steps towards the door.
"Brother…"
Havoc watched his gait halt ever so slightly. He fought with the instinct to look over his shoulder at his sister and pointedly left the room. Again, Havoc felt a slight pang of sympathy. Turning his gaze to the white haired woman, he sat on his chair across the room and readied a pen and a piece of paper.
The room felt colder than it had a moment ago and he shivered before pulling a throw over his lap. Eyes watching the sleeping woman as she tossed and turned, he still couldn't believe she was the murderer the papers all said she was. Evidently, Mustang did.
He was tense. Tense and distracted. Two things that would only hinder his goals. With a fugitive in his home, he risked more than just a charge for aiding and abetting. It would ruin his career and likely bring down everything he had worked for over the past thirteen years. He walked back to the black car and slid into the passenger seat calmly.
Hawkeye had seen her superior tense before. The subject matter was new, however.
"You never mentioned you had a sister," she said softly.
His eyes were watching the scenery as she started the short drive to the coroner's office. If he chose to answer or if he didn't, she would accept that. The snow on the roads had turned dingy and sloshed under the car tires. Still, the untainted winter beauty stretched across yards and parks thickly enough that children were tossing snowballs at one another.
"My mother died when I was three. My father sent me to live with his sister, Madame Christmas. When I was seven, we got word that he was dying and when we went to visit, that's when I found out I had a sister. He was driving his new wife to the hospital when she was in labor. He lost control of the car and they wrecked. She died, but they were able to save the little girl. He died from his wounds a few days later and Amelie came to live with us."
She was red and wrinkled, pudgy and altogether not at all what he'd imagined a baby would look like. While other newborns were crying in the room, she was silent. Her little fists were balled up tight next to her face. That white hair which came out in tufts from under the beanie cap was matted against her angry-tomato skin. Looking around, Roy realized he was the only person who was alone watching a child. Others had come to peer through the viewing window; they had siblings, parents, grandparents...but he was alone to greet this new child.
A nurse walked over to her rolling crib and tightened the blanket which was wrapped around her. Smiling at Roy, she pointed to the locked door a few feet away. Dumbly, he walked there and waited. She opened it for him and softly introduced herself. Roy couldn't pay attention. He was too focused on that red little ball of family.
"Do you want to hold her?" she asked.
Roy nodded without saying anything. The nurse led him closer to the scant crib. She picked the baby up and held her loosely while Roy tried to mimic the cradle. That little red human being cooed and opened her wet eyes. Roy couldn't say she was looking at him, but she didn't seem to be looking anywhere else. She let out another tiny sigh and whimper, closing her eyes against the brightness of the hospital lights.
"See? She already knows her brother," the nurse smiled.
"Can I name her?" Roy asked.
The nurse looked pained, like she'd been hit with something, but smiled a moment later, "I think she would like that. You're her family now."
Roy studied her, looked her up and down. He couldn't see if she had extra toes or other weird things since she was wrapped up in the blanket. That would've made him really unsure about naming her. Again, she cooed and opened her eyes ever so slightly to look at him. He smiled back at her - he liked that she liked him. Maybe once she stopped being so little, they could have fun together.
"I'm going to name her Amelie."
The nurse smiled, "I think that's a perfect name. She's your little sister - your little Amelie. She'll need you to watch out for her, okay?"
Roy nodded, "Oh, I will. I'll make sure to keep her super safe."
Riza remained quiet. Her commanding officer had gone silent and his gaze was on things that were playing in his mind. She'd seen that nostalgic look before. She knew better than to interrupt it. She just drove onwards, unsure of what unpleasant duties would face them. Riza hadn't taken the time to see much of Amelie's work the night before, but Roy's nervous rubbing of his thumb and middle finger didn't go unnoticed. It wasn't strong enough to make sparks, but the fabric still made a familiar sound.
"She's been rambling about being touched," Roy said quietly, without a lead in.
"What does that mean to you?"
He sighed, "The last time I saw her, she almost killed me, and Maes, just by touching us. It felt like being burned alive on the inside. We couldn't breathe. Maes was convulsing when he went down. And now, she's rambling about not letting someone touch us. Ironic."
"The man last night…he didn't have any weapons in his hands when he reached for you," she recalled.
Mustang straightened slightly but remained quiet.
"Perhaps she's found someone more dangerous than herself," Riza continued.
"Perhaps."
"If she's here, could it be because of the terrorists?"
"It's likely. Whether she's going to be a boon or a burden, time will tell."
He became quiet again and she didn't broach the topic. He would talk more of it when and if he wanted to. For now, she focused on the task at hand. She pulled the car into a designated spot at the bland building. Mustang was out first and she followed a step behind. Walking through the double doors of the morgue, he nodded to the doctors who were pulling gloves from their hands.
"General Mustang, it's been a while since we've seen you here."
"A shame it couldn't be a while longer. You sent word that the autopsies were complete?"
"Do you wish to see the bodies while we go over the report?"
Mustang shook his head, making Riza silently grateful, "I've already seen enough of them."
The younger doctor nodded and picked up a notepad filled with scribbles, "Yes, I can imagine. From the looks of it, you're still getting used to transmuting something other than flame, correct?"
Mustang nodded, allowing the false notion to continue. He didn't mind that everyone thought him more adept than he was. Just made his goal easier to obtain in the end.
"Well, whatever you did, I wouldn't recommend doing it again. There were nine men, two women. It seems all of them underwent a sudden boiling of their blood at the same time their skin froze. The skin contracted, the blood expanded, the organs melted, their eyeballs were forced from the sockets, and we were left with very little soft tissue to work with. It seems their bone marrow hardened; their bones were shattered in the process from the internal pressure."
Riza couldn't help but clench her fist at her side, the visual worse knowing it had come from Mustang's sister. A thick swallow kept the bile in her throat from rising.
With a detached nod, Mustang sighed, "Can you tell me where they came from? Anything about them before I went a little overboard?"
"We looked for dental records. Nothing. No way of knowing their names, but they were from all different areas, all from outside Amestris. Xingese, Drachmans, Ishbalans. What little soft tissue we did get helped us identify their country of origin. From the lack of dental records, we can safely say they didn't come into Amestris legally. One of them was probably only thirteen or fourteen."
"Anything else you can surmise?"
The doctor only shook his head and looked back to his notes, "There's not much else beyond that."
"I appreciate the information."
Mustang turned briskly and Riza tried to keep up. His faster-than-normal pace made her double step to stay in stride without breaking into a light jog. Without a word, he stepped into a men's restroom. She stayed outside and faced away. While her own stomach had been tied in knots from the beginning of the descriptions, she doubted even Mustang could hold down any food after hearing the last bit. His soft spot for children had always been obvious to her.
Taking the blame for the deaths was one thing. Knowing it was his sister was quite another. Worse still, she'd done it to protect him, and Riza knew that he would blame himself for their deaths even if they had attacked him. He could have done less damage, left them alive, and still gotten them all out of the situation. Yet, his sister had intervened.
He emerged a moment later from the restroom and she noticed the sweat at his hairline. His stone face was unshakeable.
"Let's get back to Command. I need to make some transfer requests."
"Of course, sir."
Shafts of light and flurries of snow drifted down from the ragged slits in the ground above. Trucks were busy being loaded with explosives. The masked masses were treading lightly for the volatile cargo they handled. Many of them recognized her as she walked by, even with her cover on. Perhaps it was the single curl of red hair that hung down from under the head wrap she wore. Maybe it was her height, or maybe the way she carried herself. No matter how they knew, she was glad they did. They made room for her. Some even nodded in acknowledgement. But she made no such motions. Walking across the cavern floor to the stairwell, she climbed up to the platform overlooking the huge underground atrium. Roderick was already there, waiting.
"News?" he asked.
"It's been confirmed that Flame's promotion was upheld. Brigadier General now. He was put in charge of hunting us down."
Without being able to see his face, she could tell he was smiling, "Good. Makes finding him again easier, especially if he's looking for us. Any word on the girl?"
"None. We have no idea who she is. She didn't match the profile of any State Alchemist. I suspect Flame took her in," she ventured.
"Which may make our task easier. Or harder. Keep an eye on him. We must be ready to press an advantage if there is one."
She nodded and began to walk away. At the top of the stairs, he called to her.
"And, Naomi, tell Ren and his group to prepare. When we are able to capture the Flame, they'll be the best equipped to deal with his troubling affliction."
"Of course," she smiled before continuing to descend down the stairs.
She marveled at the numbers before her. The past year, Roderick had bolstered their cause and brought more than a thousand new recruits to their door. Many had lost hope before he'd come into the picture. While she had never doubted the cause, seeing what he could do only made her fight all the harder for it.
Walking into her private, modest room, she pulled the head wrap away from her face and slowly shed the tattered layers of clothes. With a bit of fresh water left in the washbowl, she splashed her face and wiped away the day. Her reflection echoed to her. Wavy red hair fell in ringlets, pulled back into a barely-manageable braid. Bright green eyes were tired. Still, she had work to do. Stepping away from the cracked vision of herself, she reached into the armoire and pulled out her civilian clothes.
Dressed to blend into the streets of Central, she left her safe haven and made her way to the tunnels which connected to the more populated areas of the bustling city. The labyrinth of echoing stone and dank mustiness was as easy to navigate to her as the streets in the sunlight above. She climbed a vertical ladder and came up into a small back room of a restaurant in Central's financial district. The owner was sympathetic. The tiny room was only big enough for one to fit in at a time, but gave her and her own an easy access directly to the city.
She casually walked out through patrons and waiters to the snow-streets. It was a little after midday and the snow had started to melt a bit in the brightness. She didn't bother covering her face or her features. She had lived in this city her whole life. Witnessed the corruption and the devastation brought down from above.
Her feet led her on while her mind continued to wander. Children were still in school for the day, but a few of the youngest were fighting with snowballs gathered in courtyards. Their shrieks and indignant squeals made her smile. She remembered when she and her brother were just as carefree. Twins as they were, they'd been inseparable and she could remember a few times when that connection had been more a curse than a blessing - especially when she'd started dating. A random memory that he always claimed to be older by twelve minutes meant he had to approve of her boyfriends…and the one time he hadn't, she'd given him a bloody nose.
Things had changed drastically over the past two years. For a fleeting moment, she wished fervently they hadn't.
Roy Mustang's flat appeared at the top of her mindless view and she veered to the side street and the abandoned apartment at the top of the complex. Roderick needed this man for the cause, and she would be the one to deliver him.
Her polished shoes on the marble floors were lost about the din. While she usually packed her lunch and ate at her desk to get ahead on paperwork and keep an eye on the wayward General, today she and Black Hiyate took a walk through the rebuilt hallways. There were no signs of the struggle. No walls that had been left scarred. Everything had been rebuilt, mostly by the alchemists who'd joined the legendary Hero of Ishbal and the Fullmetal Alchemist in the last fight against the remaining government officials.
It had been hell. Idly rubbing her throat, she walked onwards. She would eat her sandwich when she came back from her errand.
A thundering sound and a quick shriek made Riza push through a double door to the office behind it. The displaced pile of fallen books made her smile and she took the hands which were trying to clamber their way out. With a gentle tug, the poor soul was pulled from the heap. Shieska winced and adjusted her glasses and smiled to see the Captain in front of her.
"Oh, Miss Hawkeye! Thank you," she gave an embarrassed smile.
Riza returned it, "Are you all right?"
"Fine. Just the normal," she crouched down to start the tedious task of placing the books back on the toppled bookshelf. Riza righted the lightly colored wooden piece of furniture before kneeling down next to the young woman.
"I need your help, Shieska," Riza said without preamble.
"Of course! What can I do?"
"I need all documents and files on a woman named Amelie Rochester. Discreetly, if possible."
Shieska placed several books on the bottom shelf and pinned Riza with a look, "They're all classified…"
"That's never stopped you before."
Shieska smiled, "It might be a few days. But I can get it to you."
"Thank you. As always."
"No problem. And thanks…for the help," she looked to the mess before her.
"Would you like me to stay?"
"Oh, that's all right. I have my own organizing system…"
"Of course. Well, until I see you, then."
Shieska nodded happily and continued to place her books back where she fancied they belonged. With Black Hiyate in tow, Riza made her way back through corridors and crowds. Seeing the double doors to the General's office guarded by two of the Fuehrer's guards, she smiled inwardly to think her grandfather had stopped by to congratulate Roy on his upheld promotion.
The two silent men barely registered her and she walked in to see exactly what she expected.
Her grandfather and Roy were locked in a game of chess. It seemed that her superior was losing and she cleared her throat while closing the door behind her.
Grumman turned in his seat and smiled warmly, "Ah, Riza! Come, come! Roy might need your help on this - I've backed him into a pickle."
Pulling her sandwich from her desk drawer, she moved closer to the game and saw that, while not yet in check mate, Roy wasn't far from defeat. She studied the pieces and the layout. As a young girl, in an attempt to avoid her own father, she'd turned to her grandfather and many an evening were spent in this battle of wits.
She casually reached out and moved a bishop. Roy's brow furrowed ever so slightly and Grumman gave a little chuckle. Moving away from the table to let Roy see the favor she had done him, she bit into her sandwich silently and resumed paperwork which wasn't due for another few weeks.
"So, on the topic of these terrorists: you were attacked last night I hear?" Grumman asked.
"I was."
"They're growing bolder by the day."
"They'll make a mistake. They're growing overconfident."
"You think?"
"I know it."
"And you've thought of a team to help flush them out?" the Fuehrer asked before moving a piece to compensate for Riza's intervention.
Roy studied the board and Riza watched intently, wondering if he would see the opening, "I have," he allowed.
His gloved fingers moved a pawn and Riza rolled her eyes, unable to watch the soon-to-be-massacre any longer.
"Well, get their names to me this afternoon. I'll sign off on them."
"I have them now, sir."
He handed over the slip of paper with his handwritten notes on it. Her grandfather looked it over and smiled in approval. His brow furrowed on one part of the note, and his wizened eyes rose to meet Mustang's.
"He's not a state alchemist anymore. What makes you think he'll follow orders?"
Roy smiled, "Curiosity."
