"Lemon tart?" Grumman asks, a colorful tin of cookies held out in his hand.
"No thank you," Roy says as he politely declines. "Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?"
"Always straight to the point," Grumman says with a chuckle. He leans forward on his desk and rests his chin on the back of his hands. "How is Lieutenant Hawkeye's recovery?"
"She's handling it better than most," Roy answers honestly. "She hasn't missed a day of work, despite my best efforts to persuade her otherwise."
"The Lieutenant has always been a hard worker. Formed that reputation pretty early on too. That's actually why I called you into my office."
"I promise, sir, Lieutenant Hawkeye hasn't been overexerting herself. She's more than capable of office work while in a cast."
Grumman held up a hand, signaling for Roy to stop.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Grumman says with a deep sigh. The sigh worries Roy. It seems too hesitant, too cautious, too… troublesome. "General Grant from Western Command has requested a transfer. For your Lieutenant."
Roy's stomach plummets and his mouth instantly dries. He knows he's sitting there dumbfounded, jaw open and eyes wide with shock, but he can't seem to move. There's no other way to react.
Someone wants to take Riza from him. Someone with enough rank and influence to successfully do so.
Grumman sits there, unmoving, allowing Roy to process all of his emotion. A minute passes, maybe two, before Roy is finally able to clear his throat and respond.
"Oh, I see." He tries to make his words casual, but he knows his act is weak at best. "Did he give a reason why?"
"Word of the Lieutenant's injury has made its way to the West, it seems. Grant has always admired the Hawk's Eye. He mentioned at a gala once how he was a bit resentful you managed to have her assigned to your team before he did. He made a request for her transfer shortly after, but naturally I rejected his request before it had a chance to make it to your desk."
"Can't you just reject it this time as well?"
Grumman stands up from his chair and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He turns to look out the window directly behind his seat. "That's where things get complicated."
Roy' hands begin to sweat as he braces himself for whatever Grumman has to say next.
"Apparently, Grant has gone to the Fuhrer with his request. He argues that you are not fit to be the Lieutenant's commanding officer. A marksman with a broken arm. It doesn't help your case."
Roy puts his hand in his hair for a moment, allowing himself to visibly lament for a few seconds before collecting his nerve. He is an officer of the Amestrian military, after all. If he has to take bad news, he will do so with an iron resolve.
And later, he will drink until he barely recognizes the name Riza Hawkeye.
"If that's what the Fuhrer wishes…"
"Actually, the Fuhrer hasn't provided me with an answer," Grumman says simply. "He reached out to let me know of the situation and to ask a few questions about you and the Lieutenant as a team. I assured him you two were very successful, but only time will tell, I guess."
Roy doesn't know what to do with this. There may be a chance that Riza won't have to transfer, but at the same time… there may be.
"Well, I appreciate the heads up, General."
"Don't worry, my boy," Grumman says after a while. His voice seems more serious than before, if that was even possible. "I won't let the Lieutenant transfer without a fight. I have my own reasons for keeping her here in East City. I knew her mother a long time ago. I think she'd want me to keep an eye out for her."
Roy stands and salutes the General, bidding him farewell. "I won't let her go without a fight either, sir."
/-/-/
Roy keeps his head down the rest of the day, diligently completing form after form Hawkeye puts in front of him. If she's surprised by his focus, she doesn't say anything. Perhaps she reasons Grumman had managed to scare a little initiative into him today. In hindsight, he had.
It isn't until they make it back to his apartment that night, well past sundown and only after stopping for a quick bite at the canteen, is it clear his behavior is off.
"Sir, is there something wrong?" Riza asks hesitantly as she removes the waist skirt of her uniform.
"Um, I've honestly been contemplating telling you all day, but I might as well. Grumman informed me that General Grant has inquired about a transfer for you. Apparently he's using your injury to help petition his cause to the Fuhrer."
Riza's forehead wrinkles. "That seems like a waste of the Fuhrer's time, don't you think?"
"I do. But I guess the Fuhrer has chosen to entertain him. He reached out to Grumman for more details about our professional partnership." Roy takes off one of his boots and throws it to the floor in frustration. "I told you nothing good comes from working with me."
"If you really think that, then the solution is right in front of you. Let me transfer."
Riza's words are a challenge, exposing Roy's bluff. He knows it too, so he silently sits there before removing his other boot and gently placing it on the floor.
"The problem is, there's no other adjutant that will keep me focused like you," he says simply. "It just irritates me that one broken arm has caused this mess."
"If it helps, I think General Grant is a lousy man," Riza says softly. She moves to sit down beside him and, oh so gently, grasps his fingers with her good hand. She gives him a small, reassuring squeeze- something she would not have dared to month ago, but the lines of physical contact have been temporarily blurred with her injury. "That man enjoyed Ishval a little too much if you asked me. He used to come visit the snipers in our perches and make the worst comments. The man doesn't know how to shut up."
"Well, at least you already know how to deal with a loud mouth."
"Maybe," Riza smiles softly. "But until the Fuhrer decides, don't try and let it weigh you down. You always spiral, sir. I can see you starting too now. Don't. Please. We can cross this bridge when and if it comes."
Roy doesn't know how Riza is so calm. He looks at her, examining her features to see if she's just as rattled as he is. Her expression is level, but he finds panic deep in her amber eyes. She's looking to him for reassurance, he realizes. She wants him to buy the lie she is selling and sell it back.
So he does.
"Right. We will handle it when and if it happens. But it won't," Roy says with firmness.
"Now, sir, if you could please help me into my pajamas. A cup of tea sounds wonderful, but I'd like to at least be in my comfortable clothes."
They change for bed- the awkwardness of assisting Riza long gone- and settle in the living room to relax. Roy boils a pot of tea and they quickly get comfortable. Riza's nose is in a book and Roy sits at his desk, furiously reviewing alchemical notes.
They coexist with an ease quickly rediscovered shortly after their current arrangement was established. It echoes the past, back when Roy was merely an apprentice, burning the candlelight into the early morning hours, and when Riza was a bookworm longing for an escape. It's comfortable and domestic, but Roy doesn't allow himself to dwell on it too long, for it is also too easy to regret. Perhaps, if he had made different choices in his youth- better choices- they would have been able to live like this everyday for the rest of their lives.
He wonders if Riza has ever thought about the 'what-ifs'. He'll never ask her, he knows, but later that night as he struggles to fall asleep, he focuses on the sounds of her steady breathing and can't help but wonder if there's an alternate Roy in a different world who had managed to make Riza his wife.
/-/-/
"Come on Hawkeye, it's Friday! Breda's officially in town and Captain Hughes too! It's basically a requirement for us to go out tonight!"
Riza sighs. "It's been a long week Havoc. Aren't you tired?"
"Never too tired for a drink! Right boss?"
To her great annoyance, Roy grins eagerly. "This could be a great opportunity for team bonding, Hawkeye. Lieutenant Breda starts Monday after all and Hughes' visits won't be as frequent after the wedding."
Riza hesitates. It's not that she's against going out to the bars. She just doesn't feel like playing babysitter tonight. She tells Roy so.
"You won't have to babysit us, we promise," Havoc says. He's begging like a puppy. "You could invite Catalina! Best friend night!"
He's selling her a solid argument. Riza pauses for a minute before relenting. "Fine. If Rebecca goes, I will too."
An hour later Riza finds herself at a local bar frequented by all ranks of soldiers. She's relaxed, wearing only her uniform pants and signature short sleeved black turtleneck. Rebecca, it turns out, was only too eager to attend once she realized that "team bonding" meant Roy would be picking up the paycheck.
"So Lieutenant, have you found a place to live?" Riza asks as the group chats in a spacious booth.
"Please, call me Breda. Heymans even. I've never been one for formalities, especially outside of work," the man says as he takes a swig of beer. "And I'm bunking with Havoc for the meantime. I don't want to go back to the barracks but Mustang expedited my transfer so I'll have to find something soon."
"It's like old times at the academy!" Havoc cheers. He's already drunk but Riza's grateful he will be Breda's problem tonight.
The liquor is flowing and even Riza finds herself relaxing. It's easy with this group. Maes Hughes finally stumbles into the bar after their second round and Riza can see Roy finally relax after a week of tensely waiting for news from the Fuhrer. They talk and laugh about everything and nothing all at once and for a few blissful hours, they are not soldiers, only people.
"Another round?" Roy asks.
Riza begins to hesitate before Hughes promptly cuts her off. "Yes. It's best friend night. Another round."
Riza rolls her eyes before Rebecca pokes her in the ribs. "Oh shut it. You can't say you're not enjoying yourself."
"I can enjoy myself and not want to be a drunken mess on the floor. We aren't at the academy anymore."
"Of course we aren't. Your rich boss is paying for the drinks this time. Back at the academy we would have had to work a little for free drinks."
"Man would I have liked to see that!" Havoc says before Riza silences him with a glare. "What? A man can dream. I've heard the stories, Hawkeye. You weren't always so stiff."
Roy chokes on his beer. "Havoc, be careful. Something tells me you're heading into sexual harassment territory. I don't like to keep having this conversation."
"I don't mean it like that! I just know Hawkeye used to drink everyone under the table back when she was a cadet."
"She did," Rebecca confirms. "All the men were so impressed. Not that anything came from it. Riza's always been a little virgin Mary."
"Rebecca!" Riza
"What? It's true."
To Riza's great relief, Hughes and Mustang return from the bar, another round of drinks in hand. The topic of Riza's love life dies as the liquor flows once more.
"So, Breda, you've known Havoc since the academy. Got any good stories?" Rebecca asks after a while. Her face is flushed red with alcohol but her words surprisingly lack a stutter.
"Plenty," Breda says with a chuckle. Besides him, Havoc begins to groan in protest. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything."
"Well, there was this one time that he was sneaking back into the barracks late at night after a date, but somehow- how did it happen again? - he was only wearing his boxers. And the warden caught him too. Four in the morning on a Saturday in his underwear hopping the wall. He ran laps for HOURS the next day."
The group erupts into laughter.
"What? My date's dad walked in and I didn't have time to get dressed before I had to climb out the window! I had no other choice."
"Did you at least get a second date?" Hughes teases. The answer is a clear no.
"It's okay Havoc. Some men are just bad with women," Roy says.
"Oh fuck you."
"You talk a big talk, Roy. Do you forget how you were as a cadet?" Hughes teases. He finishes his drink and throws his arm around Roy's shoulder, pulling him close. "This man right here likes to act like he was always a smooth talking ladies' man, but you should have been him back when he was at the academy. He was a little love sick puppy, always writing letters back to this girl in the countryside. Every single week without fail. Some of these letters would take three or four drafts. He never let me read them, which means they had to be just terribly sappy."
"No way," Rebecca scoffed. "Mustang?"
"You bet. He was convinced he was going to marry her."
"Did you come to visit for the weekend or annoy me to death?" Roy grumbles.
"Both," Hughes answers matter-of-factly. "I think it's important for you to show your human side more. Let your team know that there is a girl out there who resisted the Mustang charm."
"So what happened?" Havoc asked Hughes, genuinely curious.
"That is none of your business," Roy said. He crossed his arms.
"He had a month off between graduation and Ishval. He went to visit this girl, came back with Flame Alchemy mastered and happier than I've ever seen, but then… nothing. No mention of her ever again."
"I went to war, Hughes. I went to Ishval. That's what happened. Now can we drop it? Or do you want me to tell the group all about the time you had an allergic reaction to Gracia's laundry detergent and came back from a weekend off to your you-know-what more swollen than-"
"ROY!"
Riza spends the rest of the night distracted, trying to feign amusement. The group spends the night telling embarrassing stories about their times at the academy and the trials and tribulations of living with their respective roommates. She laughs when appropriate and shakes her head in disgust when needed, but she finds no matter how much alcohol she drinks, she cannot get her mind off the box of letters still sitting innocently on the dresser of her studio apartment.