Day Four – Riza Hawkeye

"To Take Charge"

Riza got up early that day, actually starting to feel accustomed to her new life. It was a horror, like in those wartorn places where children are accustomed to constant military presence, and walking down the street requires a bulletproof vest. Despite the horrifying necessities of this life, people must live, and live they do. It was with this type of disgusting, inhuman acclimation that Riza approached her sixth day after getting her new job. This was her first day off, finally a weekend had arrived to free her. This free day seemed like it would be even more mindwarping than a typical day at work for her – having a whole day without the mundane officework would give her time to think about the evil which she was now serving, despite it being completely against her will. She thought back to her time in Ishbal. How often would she be held hostage to do evil's bidding? Was this her life? She was dressing for the day when she heard a knock at her door.

"Who is it?" She pulled out street clothes in her bedroom and heard a muffle from the door. "I can't quite hear you, hold one second…" She walked toward the door.

"It's Jean!"

"Jean! Hold on a minute, I have to finish getting dressed."

"Ok – wait! before you do!" Riza halted her gait towards her bedroom.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"Riza! Do you get the Times or the Journal?" Riza sighed.

"The Journal, you know that."

"I thought you'd start wanting to soak up whatever news you could get. Remember, only the Times has a fully up-to-date Northern News section."

Riza jumped into her bathroom – it was closer than her bedroom – and yanked down her bathrobe, pulling it on. She ran to the door, opened it, and yanked the paper out of Havoc's hands. Havoc whistled a grade-A catcall – "Yo Riza!! This is certainly more of you than I ever expected to see!" She pulled her robe tighter about her and ushered Havoc into her apartment, while escaping to her bedroom. She read the proffered (and in less serious situations, interestingly alliterated) article while dressing.

Colonel's Condition Critical After Collapsing in Northern Headquarters By Drew Pearson

Colonel Roy Mustang of the Eastern provinces, known to most readers as the hero of Ishbal, was reassigned to Northern Headquarters to aid in a possible defensive Northern campaign against opportunistic Drachmans. However, after less than 24 hours of the Northern assignment, the Colonel collapsed in the mess hall and has had to be hospitalized. In a brief window of time today when the Colonel could answer questions, he claimed that he would be back in action by the time any presence on his part would be necessary. The doctors seem less sure, and stress the criticality of the case. Wellwishers and admirers have come to the hospital throughout the day, and the entire Northern headquarters area seems abuzz with the news. The Northern base eagerly awaits the return of the military hero to his position.

The article was short, one of those minor little sidebars to the main stories, and Havoc had clearly sought out news of their former boss – a casual reader wouldn't have found that paragraph. It was clearly an article banged out by a hack of a reporter desperate to milk a story from the air – Drachma, honestly. Riza listlessly finished her morning routine and walked back to her entryway to see Havoc again, handing back his paper. It was all she could do to block out the unwelcome memory – you can join your boss in no time… she had lost her head upon hearing bad news of Roy once – it would not happen again. She held back the tears this time; she was perfect. She followed Roy's orders – if you're my aide, be stronger than this. Never stop thinking.

"Thanks, Jean."

"Look, Riza, I'm sure he's fine. He's always fine – he got us out of that situation with Lust, he saved us two as well as himself. He can pull through this. I just thought you'd want to know."

"I guess you're probably right. Still, everything feels so much worse now that I'm immobile here in Central. If I were under his command still, I could…" she tapered off.

"Ha, sure. I'm still under his command, but what can I do, right? Well, I can do wheelies now that I've had this chair for a few days. Which I guess is cool. But of course I can't do anything useful."

Riza exploded angrily – "Jean, if you had any imagination at all, you could be infinitely useful! To be brutally honest, people don't view people who are, well, physically incapacitated, as a threat! You could be twice as useful as I could! Around me, everyone sees a threat, they don't let me get anywhere with them, I've been around that godawful homunculus Wrath for days and he never lets his guard down, ever. Believe me, I watch for a chance. It never comes." There was a palpable silence, and then a cautious word from Jean.

"Ok, Riza, I have to run to my physical therapy session, but I'll think about your suggestion, maybe I'll come to you for help? Or you'll come to me? I still have a room in the hospital, I've just been moved, and I'm obviously more mobile now, since I'm here! I'd like to be useful again…" The last sentence was fairly quiet for the boisterous Havoc, and he slowly wheeled himself away down the hall. Riza sighed and then cursed, kicking the wall forcefully. She felt the need to shoot something, grabbed her two nearest practice guns and headed off to the range after setting out some food for Hayate. This should let off some steam.

She walked into the shooting range casually, like this was any other practice session. This was a civilian shooting range, not a military one, she was trying to avoid the military at the moment. She vented every feeling of rage into that target, every feeling of sadness and terror, every feeling she had left. She was using a circular target, not a humanoid one – these were always easier to abuse, less disturbing. After a while, when she felt almost numb from venting all of her frustrations, she started shooting in a pattern. One on the left, for Breda. One on the bottom, for Fuery. One on the top, for Falman. Another on the top for Mustang. And two in the center – her and Havoc. Too bad we don't have a contact in the East…that would be someone who could still remain in touch; we have ties back to the East. We need contacts with our people, damnit! Wait…

Riza realized something for the first time – the Colonel might not come back from Briggs. He could die there, either of some infirmity, as seemed bizarrely likely, or from the ensuing battle. She had to take charge. Waiting for him to return so she could tell him of some idea was useless. Mustang's dream – he didn't own it, at least not all of it. She owned it, Havoc owned it, Falman and Breda and Fuery and even Armstrong – they all owned it. She had to take charge with what time she had. She abruptly packed away the firearms she had brought and decided to hit the streets. Mustang had told her casually about the bars, the women. She knew that his playboy façade had something deeper and more insidious inside it, though he never fully explained it to her. She knew about only one location of his activity – the bar of a certain Madame Christmas. She walked over, thankful beyond measure that she was in steet clothes and that as far as she could tell, no one had followed her. She knew that she couldn't be caught, or Mustang might be killed by those houmculi. However, she knew the codetalk, which the contacts might know as well. No one should be suspicious, really, if she kept the code as her shield. She went into the bar, and sat down on a stool close to the heavyset, aggressively made-up woman behind the bar.

"What's your poison, honey?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something strong?"

"We have plenty of that. How strong you want it?" The woman tried to loosen the atmosphere with a casual tone, but Riza would have none of it.

"As strong as you have." Riza's tone was of a conversation-ending quality, and the made-up woman knew this.

"Haha, ok." As Madame Christmas poured the drink, Riza thought back to the one arguably positive, or at least not wholly bad, change Ishbal brought to her: She could drink a sailor under the table because of that war. She was 17 back then, technically still too young to drink anywhere in Amestris, but she had no problem getting access during that mess. She drank as much as Roy or Maes had, really, though she'd rarely ever been drunk. Whatever drink she received today would be only enough to get her slightly buzzed, tops.

"So, are you Madame Christmas?" Riza asked, very quietly, as she took the shot glass in her hand.

"Yes. Where have you heard that, I wonder? And who are you, exactly? Wait, don't tell me – you're Elizabeth?"

"No – " Riza hesitated. "Wait a moment. Do you know a Jacqueline?"

"Yes! I heard that she was really hurt in a brawl recently! And with a guest of honor, no less… how sad. I hope she's okay."

"Um, she's doing better, I hear."

"That's good."

"Do you know if I'm in the same department from what… um, what's his name again… told you?" Riza just realized that she didn't have a codename for Roy – he must have one. But she had never used it, since she only ever called him in his office, where he couldn't be heard responding to odd names.

"You mean Don?"

"Sure, Don. How could I have forgotten Don… What did he tell you?"

"Oh, lots of things! That's how I was able to tell it was you – he has described you to us to the last detail! He usually only comes here if you're not available to be with, actually. I doubt any of us will ever forget when he came in here lamenting that you'd been stolen by another man! Who thought Don could ever be jealous, right?" It was at this that Riza finally downed the shot, and as expected, it barely even made her blink.

"I don't think he's jealous… but you do know I'm in the same department, right?"

"Yes, I do. If you can prove that you're Elizabeth."

"I'm not Elizabeth! I'm Riza!" Riza exclaimed, realizing that if the shape-shifting homunculus had followed her, she couldn't be found responding to odd names, just the same way that Roy couldn't on the phone.

"Of course honey, I should have realized… my brain is wandering! Well, prove yourself already!"

"Good. I'll do that, then I have some news about Don, and then I want to get down to business."