Thank you all for the lovely reviews!
There's one flaw in their plan of living together, and it resides entirely in the fact that they are both horribly, notoriously untidy. Riza is efficient, and organized at work, but her apartments have always remained a maze of boxes and objects that never quite get unpacked. Roy is, unsurprisingly, much worse.
Riza notes this when she stares at the pile of socks and shirts in the corner of his bedroom. Half of them are hers, and while it's nice that he keeps his messes banished to one spot, it's worrisome that she can no longer seem to find Hayate in his bedroom.
"Roy," She breathed, hoping to remain calm. "Why are you ironing your shirts?"
Genuine puzzlement broke out over his face. "Because they need ironing."
"You have no clean socks, shirts are the least of your problems." She said pointedly, glancing over at the pile of clothes on the floor. "And have you seen Hayate this morning?"
"Can't say I have, Captain." He said breezily, before his laundry barked once. "...but you might want to try the socks."
Riza sighed, before she kneeled down to push aside dirty socks, a tangled bra, and more of Roy's undershirts before she found a black nose pressing wet against her palm. "My dog is buried under your clothes." She said dryly.
"Our dog," He said with a smile, as he held up his clean, white shirt.
"Don't you start with me, Roy." She said as she stood back up and rolled her eyes at him. She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest, but his eyes flicked to the stone on her finger, still new against her hands. It had taken a significant amount of willpower to not buy the largest stone he could find for the sake of what she rightfully deserved, and instead, had ended up just on the smaller side of large.
Riza had determined that it wouldn't interfere with her guns and that was 'tolerable' which Roy knew meant that she was really pleased with it. As pleased as she could be about something impractical, anyways.
A smile tugged at his features, and he grabbed the pointing finger and pulled her in by her hand. She'd dictated that he had to trade dogtags with her - their spare tags now hanging on the other's chain. Whatever symbolism he'd tried for, and however romantic he might've wanted to have been, there was something quietly reassuring about Riza's practicality and the knowledge that they were literally identifiable as one unit.
He tipped her chin, brushing a warm kiss against her lips before he put her hand down and smiled. Somewhere between the beginning of their kiss, and the moment it had meandered its way into becoming a heated gesture that hinted at remaining only half dressed for the sake of not having to take their clothes off again, the doorbell rang.
It was Riza who broke the kiss - Roy would have just as easily pretended he wasn't home.
"You should see who that is," She said, before she moved to tie the drawstring of his pajama pants, and handed him a robe. Roy pulled a face, and then nodded, pulling his robe around his chest. He might have been a confidant man, but exposing his scars to just anyone wasn't his idea of a good way to start his morning.
He shut the bedroom door behind him, listening as Riza spoke quietly to Hayate, giving a command that he be quiet, before she inevitably began to iron her own shirt. She still had work later that morning, and as her promotion was due to be announced, she needed to appear every bit as professional as she was.
She should hold out for 'Colonel', Roy thought, and he made his way to his front door.
The man on the other side looked amusingly infuriated and affronted, his ruddy golden hair and thick mustache accenting his red face and quivering cigar clamped between his teeth. That he managed to look at once so angry and so ridiculous at the same time was a wonder.
"Harrington," Roy greeted. Reginald Harrington, ace reporter for the Central Tribune (The People's Paper), fumed in response, his stocky stature reminding Roy of a certain other ill-tempered and short blonde man. He was talkative, loud, and weaselly, but he knew how to spin a story, and Roy couldn't blame the man for doing his job. He was good at it, and had been Roy's go-to for fair interviews over the years, putting him up as a regular figure in the Central Tribune which was an altogether less Conservative paper than the other alternatives.
He just wasn't sure why his job led him to his front door at 0700 hours.
"Mustang, you're killing me!" Out of what he assumed was a survival instinct, Roy cleared the doorway, stepping to avoid being barreled over by Harrington as he marched in, yanking the unlit cigar from his mouth. "Where's the respect, where's the loyalty?"
Roy could've sworn he heard a muffled snicker from the other room, but a moment passed, and he decided he had probably imagined it. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Harrington."
"The hell you don't, you bastard. Years of prettying you up for the papers, and adding charm and liveliness to all that no-nonsense reparations work you've been doing,"
"Harrington, people don't need to know if I can cook or want kids. I was trying to keep the focus on the restoration projects."
"What I'm saying is, I made you human, instead of some crazy work machine. Ladies loved the fact that you know your way around a stove. Tickles everyone's fancies, and gets all the warm and fuzzies out." He fished out a crumpled copy of the Amestrian Times (arch rival paper of the Central Tribune) and waved it under Roy's nose. "And this is what I get in return. Backstabbed! Right between the shoulder blades, and it hurts, Mustang, for all I've done for you-"
"Off the record, Harrington," Roy said dourly. "Shut up."
He glanced at the newsprint held firmly under his gaze, and read the thick black ink - GENERAL ROY MUSTANG RETIRES FROM MILITARY, FUHRER GRUMMAN ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT PLANS. MORE ON PAGE 5.
Ah, that.
"Yes, that." Harrington snapped, making Roy realize he'd voiced his thoughts aloud.
"I was under orders to let the Fuhrer make the call on how he'd announce this to the general public." Roy tried, knowing the excuse was flimsy at best. Harrington frowned. "Look, I would have gone to you if I could,"
"Hmph." The other man grunted. "This is a flimsy piece. Shoddy writing. But they got the scoop on me and I'm not pleased." He said tersely.
"What details was The Amestrian Times given?" Roy said, trying to skim more than the headlines as Harrington's hands shook the paper about.
"Oh the standard press release that we'll get later today, I imagine. You've been discharged, and Grumman's thinking of retiring, which should damn well mean you're running for office, kid, and I should be the first to be told when you can come up with something better than 'no comment',"
"No comment on that, by the way," Roy said, pushing his words in edgewise.
"You've got my vote, Mustang." Harrington said as breezily as he could with his smoker's wheeze. "But I'm still mad at you." He sniffed, taking off his cap, and running a hand through his thinning hair before he replaced it. Harrington eyed Roy's apartment with apparent disdain for the clutter of books, but with a mild interest in the brewing coffee.
"I could really use a cup, Mustang. Start with that and I might feel a little more loving."
"Oh, hell Harrington. I'm not even dressed, and I've got other things to be doing." If he thought he could have thrown the man out easily, he would have attempted it. As it was, Harrington tended to be a pest. Asking him to leave rudely probably wouldn't help him any more than hinting politely would.
"Like telling me about that adjutant of yours. It didn't make the paper this morning, but word on the street is she's being promoted to Captain." Harrington said, helping himself to Roy's dining table and chairs.
"Did the Madame tell you that?" Roy said disinterestedly, as he eyed the coffee maker. He was supposed to bring a cup back to Riza so that they could get dressed, but now he was just contemplating how to quickly get his sudden guest out of his apartments.
"Madame Christmas is sharp as a tack with ears that make me green with envy," Harrington enthused, waving his cigar between two round fingers. "One would almost think you don't see her for the girls, and just go for the hot tips." Harrington probably went for both, but had been in contact with the Madame for years. Longer than Roy cared to think about, and Harrington knew more than the average man about the biggest source of intelligence in the city. Of course the Madame had told Harrington. Because Grumman would have told the Madame.
"One would almost think." Roy said noncommittally, reaching for the finished pot of coffee. The rich warm aroma drifted through the room, and enticed him sweetly with the promise of being perked up. He grabbed a white mug, and poured. "Here's your coffee, Harrington." Scram.
Harrington had the audacity to look relaxed. Jovial, even. "So she's being promoted and you're getting fired?" Coffee was slurped down and he barked a laugh. "They always said she did all the real work, Mustang. Pretty harsh."
He didn't have to hear a snicker to imagine one coming from the other room with perfect clarity.
His eyes narrowed. "Harrington, you're overstaying your welcome. I have things to do today."
"Oh, sure kid. But you tell your little Captain that you can get back to her after you set up an interview for my exclusive." Roy stared. Responding was just as incriminating as saying nothing, but Harrington left no room for doubt on the matter of how he'd guessed. Roy blinked.
"Your sister Abigail mentioned you'd been to Barrett House Jewelers as of a few days ago, and dropped enough cenz to make my teeth hurt. You're no longer a General, and somebody finally got their promotion, so you finally manned up, and if I were you," He said rolling the cigar between his fingers. "I woulda done a few victory laps by now. She can wait for more later."
"Harrington," Roy said warningly.
"Putting it under the name 'Robert' doesn't exactly work when the whole city knows who you are, Mustang."
Roy sighed, and took a swig of coffee.
"You used the name Robert?"
Roy turned, and caught Riza in full uniform walk out of the bedroom. Her hair was now pinned back and Hayate was at her heels, marching nobly by her side.
"Riza, darling," Harrington said with a grin, evidently both delighted to see her end the ruse and disappointed she wasn't dressed in something more obviously incriminating. Roy had it on good faith Harrington wouldn't have written this up in his paper, but even so, he didn't like to pass up juicy details when they were available. The fact that he was right about everything had him tickled pink.
"We were just talking about you. Why don't you show us the rock?"
Riza gave Harrington a look. Roy suspected somehow, that Harrington enjoyed her for being even more of a challenge to get to talk than he was, shutting him down at every turn. "I heard you talking, Reginald."
"Aw, don't be like that, Hawkeye. I've got a job to do. Telling everyone you've bagged Amestris' most popular bachelor is just a part of it. I wasn't really going to write that you were at it like rabbits." He set his cigar down, tapping it against the table absently before his eyes caught on a handwritten paper on the table.
First Lady, huh?
Harrington flashed her what he no doubt thought was a winning smile.
"Harrington, you're not going to be writing anything down until we have an official meeting, otherwise I'll call up the Amestrian Times editor, and they'll have the story."
"I'm hurt, Riza, I'm really hurt. I came all this way to congratulate you, and all you want to do is get rid of me." He picked up the paper on the table, and sucked down his coffee (which Roy hadn't bothered to put sugar or cream in in the hopes that he'd get the hint and leave faster) as he eyed it.
It didn't register to Roy what he was reading until Harrington set the mug down and read off the list. "Loyalty, Intelligence, hardworking," Riza's eyes widened ever so slightly, before she found herself glaring first at Harrington, and then at Roy for letting the man in. "-You know, I'm not really sure well-mannered should be on here. You're not exactly soft in the etiquette category. Threatening guests isn't polite you know."
"Guests are invited places, Harrington." Riza replied coolly, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Roy leaned to snatch his list from the other man, "Give me that," He said, before he pulled it clean from Harrington's grimy fingers.
Harrington let go with a smile.
"Even your list is too good for you Mustang, but she really takes the cake."
Riza pointedly ignored him, and began to drink her coffee. Her eyes flicked over Harrington for a moment, deciding on just how threatening she felt that morning. She'd never discharge her gun in a warning shot (bullet holes were a bitch to patch up, and the neighbors would be upset, and most importantly, she didn't play with her weapons), but she'd developed a myriad of other intimidation tactics over the last few years.
An icy glare began to form over her mug.
"That's why they call it a better half, Harrington." She said, before she turned to grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. "We'll see you this evening at 1800 hours. You can put everything on record then."
Roy fought not to smile. He failed, but hid his grin in his mug, brows raised in amusement. "You heard the lady. We'll see you tonight for your interview."
Harrington stood, cup empty and sniffed. "Whipped already. But I'll be back round for your interview, and we can discuss that ring that cost you four million cenz." He waved a hand as he let himself out of the kitchen, chortling to himself as he heard Riza round on her fiance.
"Four million cenz, Roy?"
A/N: 4 Million Cenz would be around $52,000. The Guidebook for the latest movie The Star of Milos says that State Alchemists receive several billion cenz a year. This is in addition to whatever Roy was making at a Lt. General/General previously. To say that Roy is loaded compared to the average citizen is putting it lightly (Remember the estate Shou Tucker lived in?). I don't see him as the type to actually spend all of the money he's been earning on himself, so while I imagine he does spend some of it, he likely has a lot of large investments built up over the years, a few charities he donates to, and has money sequestered in the bank. The ring he bought was the one he chose after Abigail talked him out of buying a bigger, flashier, and more expensive ring. Riza doesn't object to the ring, and knows Roy can afford it, but on principle, it's too much! Barrett House and the pseudonym "Robert" are shout-outs to poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband Robert Browning. (A Browning is also a type of pistol, incidentally.) It's why Riza is amused/bemused by his choice of name. Riza in particular is canon-ly clutter prone, but Roy is as well. Certainly the kind of man who remembers to iron his dress shirts and press his slacks but forgets to wash his socks.
Reginald Harrington, reporter for the Central Tribune decided to make his debut this chapter, and is connected with the Madame Christmas. We'll probably see more of him since Roy is well aware of the importance of having the Media on his side. ;)
