Disclaimer: I don't own anything! *Bangs head against the wall*
I want to say thank you to lecchan, TheSoundofYourVoice, jbean13, Fabi Washu, StarCatcher1858, LilDemonWarrior, KageNoNeko, ssadropout, Aieika, Toushirou-chan, Hina Kita, Cantata Blue and mebh for your great reviews!
I also want to say a big thank you to my beta-reader, ssadropout, for your awesome beta work and for all your patience!
Chapter 14 – The Salesman
January 26th, 1918
When the clean white walls of the hospital welcomed the group, Riza was feeling relieved, but tired. Just to think that they'd go through another hospitalization made her feel uneasy. It wasn't the first time Roy entered a hospital in critical condition.
"Okay, what do we got?" a man in his early forties with curly hair and a friendly expression asked a long-haired doctor who had come with the ambulance.
They exchanged some information about the patient, and the long-haired man left with Riza to the hospital reception, to fill in the forms and the hospitalization chart, while the other one examined Roy.
"Do you know where you are, sir?" a nurse asked.
Harold and Victoria observed from a distance, trying not to get in the doctor's way.
"A campaign hospital," Roy answered after a moment of silence.
"Campaign hospital?" the doctor asked. "Where?"
"Ishbal?" Roy answered uncertainly.
The doctor shot a confused look at the nurse by his side and then turned to Roy again.
"Do you know what happened to you?"
"I was shot," Roy said slowly, like making an effort to remember.
The doctor got a small flashlight to check Roy's pupil reflexes and did some other neurological tests, while asking a few more questions with a tone of curiosity.
"Are you a soldier," he paused to look at the chart, "Roy?"
"Yes…" Roy answered annoyed, like the answer was obvious.
"Could he be talking about something that happened in the past?" Victoria stepped in and asked the doctor, slightly disturbed.
"Have you ever heard of any place called 'Ishbal'? He hit his head," the doctor said to her with a laugh. "So, Roy, what's your rank?"
The last question got Roy thinking a few seconds.
"Major… No, Colonel. Hell, I don't know…" Roy replied, feeling confused and exhausted. He was a Major in Ishbal, although for some reason he felt like he had another rank now and it wasn't even Colonel. However, he couldn't remember which that was.
Another nurse came, and they pushed the gurney out of the ER and to the operating room. The doctor stayed behind, filling some last details in the chart he had.
"This happens quite often. He's confused because of the head trauma, so he made up all this. A Colonel working in a sweatshop? No way…"
Harold nodded at the doctor and then looked at Victoria, unsure about it. He could see the woman wasn't so quick to consider Roy's confused talk a product of his head trauma.
"Hm… Mrs. Wilkinson?" the gardener called. "Is there such a place called Ishbal?"
Victoria puckered her lips, thinking about the war that had happened in Amestris, more specifically in Ishbal, years before. She had read about it many times.
"I have never heard of this place, no." she said, crossing her arms and looking in another direction. She didn't like to lie to other people.
"Do you think he's a Colonel?" Harold still asked, taking off his hat and scratching his head.
"I don't know, but let's not mention this to Riza for now. She's very worried already."
The two of them left the room and sat on the chairs in the waiting room. Victoria found it hard to believe. Could Roy be a soldier? Now thinking about it, it made sense. Despite his supposedly humble origins, he could talk about any topic and was very well versed in politics, just like Riza. He was also very respectful and disciplined, something that made Victoria remember her son Samuel, who had served in the army and had died in a violent conflict years before.
"This world is one messed-up place," Victoria mumbled in disbelief.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's nothing, Harold."
Soon Riza met them again and sat by their side, waiting. Harold stood up to call the house from a payphone and keep the others updated about Roy's situation. The surgery would take some time, but at least he was in a hospital, where the doctors could take care of him.
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February 4th, 1918
After spending more than a week in the hospital, Roy was finally discharged. He had been operated on, due to a ruptured splenic artery that had caused internal hemorrhage. When Harold opened the car door that morning, Aidan came quickly to help him get the General on his wheelchair. Roy had a broken leg and was still weak after the surgery, so walking was difficult for him. Despite all his injuries, Riza was very glad to have him back at home.
"Is it true that you don't remember the accident?" Aidan asked Roy casually, once the man was inside the house, with Riza pushing his wheelchair.
"Yes, the last thing I remember is having breakfast that day. Next thing I wake up in a hospital bed, and they tell me I had been operated on," Roy explained to the boy.
"But why can't you remember?" Aidan insisted.
"He hit his head," Hope joined the conversation.
"Yes, he was so confused he told the doctor he loved him," Harold said.
"What?" Roy asked very annoyed.
"Just kidding," Harold said, and Aidan laughed.
"He is kidding, right?" Roy asked Riza, who was now sitting in the armchair by his side.
"He is, don't worry," she said, a content smile playing on her face.
Roy laughed and moved his right arm clumsily to place his hand on top of Riza's. He couldn't hold or squeeze her hand though, because his fingers didn't move well. His hand and wrist were still swollen and painful, although no bones had been fractured. After a few minutes chatting, Riza decided to take Roy to their bedroom so he could rest, and the others left to do their work. The moment the Lieutenant closed the door, Roy took on a serious tone.
"Did I say anything that might compromise our disguise?" he asked her.
He couldn't remember all the things he had said or thought during the time he was confused due to the head trauma, especially on the first day. Riza sat on the bed, quiet for a moment.
"I'm not sure, Roy. You were alone with Harold and Victoria when we arrived there. The doctor mentioned that you were saying things which didn't make much sense."
Roy noticed she seemed worried about it. He voiced out an ashamed apology, but Riza was quick to say it wasn't his fault. However, he just kept staring absentmindedly at the wooden floor.
Roy knew how lucky he was to still be in the living world. And if it hadn't been for Victoria, who had paid the expensive hospital bills, he would have died. Riza helped him lie down on the bed and pulled the blankets to cover him carefully.
"I'm sorry for giving you this much trouble," the Brigadier General mumbled, feeling useless, as he couldn't even stand up on his own.
"Stop apologizing already. You talk like you have a choice in the matter. It's not your fault."
"I feel like an old man."
Riza sighed, wondering about when he would get over all those depressing feelings. First the respiratory problems had gotten him worried about his health, and now the terrible injuries from the accident prevented him from doing anything. She placed a kiss on his forehead and sat by his side on the bed.
"For an old man, you still have a nice body," she joked.
"Yeah, well… There has to be at least one good reason for you not to run away from me, right?"
"Just one?"
"Maybe more, who knows," Roy said mischievously, leaning a little to the side and kissing Riza's lips. "You know, I was thinking…"
"No, Roy. You just got out of the hospital," Riza said, like she had read his mind automatically.
"You can stay on t-" he still insisted.
"You're all stitched up. No."
Knowing that it wouldn't make any difference if he insisted, Roy sank on the bed, frustrated.
"Do you have to go back to work right now?" he asked.
"No. I can stay here with you."
"That's good."
Riza rested her head on Roy's shoulder, slipping her legs under the blankets as well. There were actually lots of things to be done in the house. However, now that she finally had Roy by her side again, the housework would have to wait.
That evening, after everyone had had dinner, Victoria asked Roy and Riza to meet her in the dining room. She would have preferred to talk to them in her office, but Roy couldn't walk upstairs. When the writer closed the door and gave them a stern look, both soldiers knew Roy had said something he shouldn't.
"Have a seat, please," Victoria asked.
Riza did as she was told, and Roy moved a little on his wheelchair, feeling uncomfortable. They both faced the writer, like expecting a sentence from a judge in a court of law.
"When you first came to this house, you said you worked together in an office, is that right?" Victoria inquired, adjusting her glasses.
"Yes, that's correct," Roy answered plainly.
"When you were in hospital, you mentioned the war in Ishbal. You said you were a Colonel. The doctor didn't take you seriously as he obviously knew nothing about geography, but I know you didn't invent that."
Victoria's tone of voice wasn't angry or accusing. In fact, it was hard to understand how she felt about all that. She was just telling them facts, like a broadcaster of the radio news. Riza uncrossed her legs and stared quietly at her boss, as if asking what she wanted them to do. Roy didn't say anything either, so Victoria went on.
"I know that you were forced to come to Aerugo, but I believe that after paying for Mr. Hawkeye's hospital bills, I am entitled to the truth. Why did you two have to leave your country?"
The dark-haired woman was right. They knew she had saved Roy's life and now the truth seemed like a fair price for it. Roy glanced at Riza for a moment, before he looked back at Victoria's forthright eyes.
"We are both soldiers. We were ordered to leave the country by the Fuhrer himself."
Mrs. Wilkinson said nothing nor moved. She just listened to their story with attention, as they told her how they had run from Amestris after an execution order for Roy had been issued.
"What is your rank then, Mr. Hawkeye? Is that even your name? Roy Hawkeye?" the lady insisted.
"I'm Brigadier General Roy Mustang, Mrs. Wilkinson. I took the First Lieutenant's surname."
"But you are married."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Riza decided to answer that question. "Not officially."
"Roy Mustang… Weren't you the one who lifted the barricade around Ishbal and built the roads to Xing?" Victoria asked, creasing her eyebrows as though she was making an effort to remember something she had heard or read a long time ago.
He confirmed it and Victoria sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I see. Dear Lord, I thought stories as this one could only happen in books…"
"Mrs. Wilkinson, I'm truly sorry that we had to lie to you," Riza said, her face giving away her honest feelings of guilt.
"Well, you would have to be stupid to tell the truth to someone you didn't know, considering the circumstances. There's something else I need to ask you," Victoria said. "Do you plan on going back to your country?"
"There will be a time when we will both be called back," Roy said, not letting any emotions show. Victoria was quick to understand his concern.
"I suppose the less I know about it, the better."
"I'm afraid so."
"I hope you being here won't pose any threats to my family."
Fortunately, very few people knew of their whereabouts, and the people who wanted Roy dead weren't included. After hearing that, Victoria seemed much more at ease.
"That will be all. I shall keep calling you Mr. Hawkeye," Mrs. Wilkinson concluded, standing up.
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March 3rd, 1918
Time had flown by and spring was coming soon. The weather was getting warmer, so there was a lot to be done in the yard. Roy had decided to work outside that morning, and the idea really made him feel glad. Using a cane to support part of his weight, as his leg hadn't healed completely yet, he was going to place some wires around an area of the garden. This way he could prevent animals from stealing the vegetables he had to plant. He had recovered the movement of his hand and fingers, and the surgery incision had become nothing but a big scar, but his leg still wasn't the same.
Working with tools and doing some exercise after such a long time only reading and resting was like a reward for his patience. The cold breeze blew at him, but he didn't feel cold since the sun was shining. The weather was just perfect that day.
"Don't overdo it, okay?" Riza came a few minutes later and stopped at the door, watching Roy's contentment as he got his hands dirty working again.
"I won't, don't worry," he answered, as she walked out of the house and sat on the doorsteps to rest for a moment.
Roy heard a noise and looked somewhere around the corner of the house. Riza watched with curiosity as Aidan jumped from behind a pile of logs with a stick in his hand, pointed at Roy like it was a gun.
"I'm an evil bandit! I want your money!" the boy yelled happily and made a sound like he was firing his imaginary gun.
"You forgot I'm armed," Roy said in a good mood, pointing a hammer at him like a gun as well.
Aidan made another loud shooting sound with his mouth and fell to the ground dramatically. "Oh, you killed me!" he added.
"Are you playing a game?" Riza asked, and Roy could see she was finding it very funny, to see him playing pretend with a child.
"I'm a bandit. He's a policeman," Aidan explained.
"He didn't really give me a choice," Roy said, putting the hammer back in the tool box.
Aidan laughed and helped Roy pick up the rest of the tools. The General sat on the step by Riza's side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, as they watched Aidan. The boy had now crouched and started drawing on the dirt with his fingers. Riza placed a hand on Roy's knee and caressed it lightly, asking about his leg.
"Why don't you have any kids?" Aidan asked out of the blue, bringing them back to reality.
Roy and Riza stared at each other, as asking which of them should answer that question.
"Perhaps it's not the best time to have children yet," Roy said, although not thinking much about the matter.
"Wouldn't you like to have children? Because I think your children would be very lucky," Aidan said with the innocence that only a child could have.
Roy couldn't resist asking why they'd be lucky. The child's logic was simple most of the time, but he often came up with curious ideas that the adults couldn't even imagine where he might have gotten them from.
"Because they would have cool parents who love each other. My parents don't love each other, and they aren't cool. They didn't even want me," Aidan said with a normal tone, as if he was talking about ordinary facts that were known to everybody. He had no idea that he made adults uncomfortable when he showed how aware he was of the circumstances that had led to his birth.
Roy and Riza were relieved when Hope called Aidan and the boy dashed inside. None of them knew exactly what to say after such a cold statement coming from a nine-year-old. They just sat there, silently thinking about the kid's question for a few moments, until Harold showed up at the window.
"Hey, Roy! There's a gentleman at the front door selling tools."
"Thanks, Harold, but I don't need any," Roy replied, stretching his neck back to look at the old man.
"He's very insistent, that salesman. Said he won't go without showing you what he's got," Harold explained in a good-mood. "He's traveled a lot in the last few days, why don't you just come take a look?"
That said, Harold disappeared inside, leaving them there. Roy didn't move from the place he was sitting. He was more interested in his conversation with Riza.
"Have you ever thought about… you know… kids?" he asked hesitatingly, staring at some place ahead.
"Before I joined the army I used to think about it," Riza replied, unintentionally wallowing in the memories of a time that would never come back.
It was sad how they both had put their lives on hold because of their military duties. It was a common thing amongst soldiers, though. Their work took most of their time and got them so physically and emotionally exhausted that there was little energy left for other things.
"Hey, Roy!" Harold called again from the window.
"What?" the soldier said, making an effort not to sound as annoyed as he actually felt.
"The salesman won't leave. He wants to show his tools to all the working men in the house."
"I don't need tools!" Roy replied impatiently.
"He won't leave… He's a pain in the ass, describing the tools he sells like he's a walking dictionary," the old man complained. "I can't get rid of him."
"Fine… I'll go tell him where he can shove those tools," Roy mumbled and stood up with the help of his cane.
Riza stood up as well and followed him inside to go back to work. Roy limped his way to the main entrance, ready to tell the salesman he didn't want to buy any junk he could be selling. The door was half-open and only Hope watched it from the stairs, to be sure the stranger wouldn't walk in unnoticed. She disappeared upstairs once Roy finally made it to the door and pulled it completely open.
"Good morning," the thin grey-haired man greeted him, taking off his hat. That was the last face Roy could expect to see.
"Falman?" the General asked in a whisper, so surprised that his voice sounded slightly high-pitched.
"It's good to see you again, Sir," the man said with a shadow of a smile and a tired expression. Only then his eyes turned to the cane Roy was using. "What happened to you?"
Roy didn't need more than a couple of minutes to explain about the accident in the factory. He took a wrench from Falman's suitcase and pretended to examine it, as Falman listened to him with a worried expression. Every now and then Roy shot a glance inside, to be sure nobody was eavesdropping. He wished Riza could come out to join them, but that would get the rest of the staff curious.
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir," Falman said as Roy finished his quick description of the accident and his injuries.
"It doesn't matter. I'm alive and I can still walk; that's good enough. But how are the others?" Roy asked, changing the topic. "How are you? Why are you here in Aerugo now?"
Roy couldn't hold back his anxiety after spending such a long time in the dark. Falman seemed to notice his agitation, as he laughed a little and rubbed his own head.
"Masheck, your informant, was killed. That's why I'm here. I'm doing all right, although I've been selling tools from door-to-door throughout the city for almost a month. You have no idea how glad I am to have finally found you."
Masheck had been very unspecific about any information regarding Roy and Riza's location, in case his messages were intercepted.
"Masheck died? When?" Roy asked worriedly.
"Around the end of December. We don't know the exact day, because the last time he contacted us was on December second."
"But then… how did you know I was here and not at the factory?" Roy asked.
"Masheck informed us that you weren't working at the factory anymore. I thought you had gotten a job here."
"I took a couple of weeks off at that time of because I was sick, but I had to go back to the factory. Then we had the accident there, so I'm staying here now," Roy said.
"So you won't go back to the factory."
"No, I don't think so."
"That's good."
"And what about the others, how are they?" Roy barely let Falman finish his sentence. The Brigadier General didn't care if he looked extremely uncool or desperate by doing so. He was just craving information.
"I talked to Breda a couple of months ago. He's been working undercover with the Nymbean soldiers. Havoc apparently joined the rebellion and was arrested, but Breda set him free."
"Breda? What the he- Wait, and what about Fuery?"
Falman sighed, taking on a sad expression as he told Roy about Fuery's disappearance. That had been quite a blow to all of them.
"Could he have joined some rebel group?" the shorter soldier asked, eyes pleading for an affirmative answer.
"I doubt it. We found blood on the floor at the entrance of his building."
Both of them were silent for a few moments. Considering all that, Roy didn't think he was very likely to see his Sergeant again.
"Shit. He could have gone out to take Riza's dog for a walk and someone got him. Was there much blood?"
"No. We think he was taken alive. To be questioned, probably."
"Shit, shit, shit…" Roy raised his head and rubbed his face repeatedly, thinking.
"When I become Fuhrer, I'll promote him and we'll hold a proper…ceremony," he said, feeling sick just to think about it. "Shit…"
The images of a funeral crossed his mind and he tried to shake them away. Another funeral. He had been to more than he could remember already, and now there would probably be many more. And for that one they wouldn't even have a body to bury. Roy couldn't help thinking that perhaps he should have stayed and fought with his comrades. This was a thought that always bothered him. What if he had stayed? Would it have made a difference?
"Damn it, Falman. Please tell me you're here to take me back. I can't wait to burn those bastards."
For the first time since Falman had arrived, Roy noticed a real smile on the older man's face; the kind of smile of somebody who trusted him and was relieved to fight by his side again.
A/N: YAY! Roy is alive and Falman is back! And I have to go to work! ARGH! Well, thanks a lot for reading! If you have the time, please leave a review! See you next Friday!