AN: Written for Day 3 of Royai Week 2022.
This chapter is entirely from Roy's POV.
Hope you enjoy!
Arrival
After the term of Roy's team's deployment to Ishval, he tracked down Riza's paper trail with the Human Resources Department back in Central.
He was unfortunately given the same rule Fuery had spouted in his face — he wasn't allowed to have access to Riza's files due to their 'previous' relationship. Like hell it's over.
He knew in his gut something was amiss. If only he could get some kind of message to or from her.
"Hey, where's Hawkeye?"
He groaned at the greeting, glaring as he faced none other than Edward Elric. The young ex-alchemist had grown a lot since they last saw each other and he begrudged that too, on top of him immediately looking for Riza. "How'd you get in?"
He shrugged, settling his luggage on the floor. "I still have access to the library."
"Tsk." He turned his back and walked to the direction of his office, knowing Ed would follow. "Hawkeye's gone."
"What do you mean gone?" Footsteps sped up behind him until he was finally in his peripheral vision.
Roy grumbled. Of course, he wasn't under his command anymore, he can ignore military protocols. "She tendered her resignation weeks ago." He wasn't sure who would be eavesdropping, given that they were walking along the halls, but he would definitely feel better to continue their conversation in the sanctity of his office.
Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Roy shoved him inside the office and closed the door harder than deemed proper.
Surprised and elated greetings rang through Roy's team until Ed whirled at their commanding officer and stomped his leg. "Out with it, Mustang."
He ran a hand through his hair. "She resigned and broke up with me," he said, volume decreasing with each word.
"That's impossible."
"We know, Chief," piped in Havoc. "Falman sent word about Hawkeye getting posted down South. Other than that… there's nothing."
"I already asked Grumman why her records are redacted and old man's feigning ignorance — Ack. And Human Resources is stonewalling me so I'm waiting for the madam's informant."
"So we go South." Ed shrugged.
Roy blinked at him. "Now?"
"Where and how else will you find her? Military records can still trace her as far South, your informant can hunt us there."
And that was how Roy and Ed ended up on the next train heading to South City, leaving Havoc in-charge of the office. He caught Ed up to speed with regard to rising tensions due to the Ishvalan Restoration, but as far as the military was concerned, everything was under control.
"Are you sure about that?" asked Ed.
As their train slid to a stop, they saw two soldiers cornering a civilian with their guns drawn a little ways outside the train tracks. People who noticed scurried away from the scene like mice.
Roy found himself leaping out the train as soon as the doors opened. "Identify yourselves and your authority to draw your weapons here," he demanded, sliding his gloves on just in case.
Only one of the men turned with a glare. Upon seeing his rank, he snapped at attention. "Master Sergeant Lockheed, sir," he nudged his fellow soldier with his elbow, "and this is Sergeant Vultee. This man was disturbing the peace."
Vultee turned at the formal way his companion was talking and snapped at attention as well. "Sir."
Ed plucked the placard from the civilian's trembling hands. "Down disinformation down with the Martin dressing-down!" it read. "Other than weird… very weird. Did he smack someone with this?"
"No." Vultee glared at Ed, visibly assessing his civilian attire.
"Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist," he cleared his throat as he introduced himself, raising himself to his full height. "What did the man do?"
"That, sir," piped in Lockheed, pointing at the placard in Ed's hands, "is a disturbance of the peace. It questions the head."
"The Fuhrer?"
Vultee looked ready to burst at the smart-ass quip. "General Martin, sir."
"Ah — Southern HQ. What do you say we get rid of the prop instead of shooting the man, yes?" Roy took another step forward and, not waiting for a response from either military officer, snapped his fingers.
The placard caught on fire — Vultee and Lockheed flinched at the spectacle — and turned to dust in the bat of an eye.
"Go," said Roy once Ed was patting down the ashes from his hands. The protester jumped back and ran away.
When he was sure the civilian was out of shooting range, Roy locked onto the two soldiers. "Will you escort me and my consultant to headquarters? We're looking for a soldier who went AWOL."
The tension was palpable as the two scrambled for an answer they clearly didn't want to give. Ed shifted his stance, furrowing his brows at Roy. These men were acting like Mustang finding any kind of soldier on AWOL was the worst thing he could do.
"She's my fiancée, was." He put on the most devastated expression he could muster, hoping there was some gentleman's code about broken hearts, idiotic choices, and runaway brides-to-be. "Used to be stationed in Central?"
At the mention of Central, they relaxed and led them to their vehicle, Ed and Roy exchanging glances every step of the way.
"Might we know her name, sir? We might have heard something," offered Lockheed as they wound their way through streets littered with plenty of armed military personnel.
"Hawkeye," he replied distractedly, "is there a military exercise going on?" The amount of armed men loitering around reminded him of the time they were hunting down Scar — completely unnecessary in what was supposed to be a time of peace.
"No, sir, but we have seen her around. She's not AWOL."
Vultee loudly cleared his throat, a sign he wanted his partner to stop talking.
"She isn't really posted anywhere, but —"
"Lockheed." The other was clearly the chatterbox between them.
Roy smothered his grin. "If I could see her one last time, it might help explain things."
"Awfully like a stalker," piped in Ed, "but I swear he's just a lovesick idiot."
It was an admirable attempt to ease their suspicion, who both forced out awkward laughs as they drove on.
They heard the screams and sounds of a clash before they turned the corner and saw the mayhem.
Roy lifted his head skyward and wasn't sure if he imagined the flash of blonde hair at the top of Southern military headquarters. One of the guards? Riza?
Vultee parked the vehicle a ways away and nodded at Roy and Ed. "This is probably where the man you let go ran off to, Colonel."
Before Roy had the chance to berate either of them for passive-aggressively blaming him for a situation that was clearly not within his control, the two of them drew their weapons and rushed to the rioting crowd. He and Ed looked at each other a beat before they decided to join the scene as well.
The gate to Southern Headquarters was closed and barricaded but Roy noticed with dread how there were guards posted high above the walls and gates. A platoon's worth of soldiers stood in front of the gate, pushing, fighting, shoving at civilians.
The crowd's roar was near-deafening with the added mix of wood, metal, what-have-you clashing against pavement and fellow Amestrian.
He spotted fallen civilians — injured, bleeding, unconscious, some possibly dead — strewn debris all over, trampled-on placards similar to the one he burned earlier, and a makeshift barricade that a group of soldiers were trying to push down. It was clear the fighting had been going on long enough to establish enemy bounds.
"What the hell is going on?!" Ed shouted as a soldier rushed at him and attempted to hit him in the face.
Roy tried to tell the soldier that Ed was not a part of this, but with the madness ensuing around them, the blond man was forced to retaliate: by sidestepping and hitting the soldier's jaw with his elbow.
This set off a domino effect: civilians were heartened at the sight (a fellow civilian breaking through the soldier lines) and pushed back with even more fervor than before; soldiers were angered to the point that those unarmed also pulled out their weapons.
A handful of them broke from their ranks and charged at Ed.
Civilians started throwing what they could over the barrier and pissing off the soldiers even more.
Amidst the chaos, Roy calculated if it would be advisable to use his alchemy after Ed had disappeared from his side. In the meantime, he deflected attacks from both civilian and military as long as they were trying to hit him, or about to hit him by accident… So long as it broke up much of the fighting. He also began to escort injured civilians out of the immediate range of fighting, shouldering his way through in order to get out and get back in.
One soldier caught on that Roy wasn't fighting with them despite the uniform he donned. "What are you doing, sir?!" He elbowed the civilian Roy was helping out of the danger zone. "They're all supposed to be arrested!"
"Stand down!" He shouted back, scrambling to help the man up again. Once away from the fighting, he turned to the soldier and grabbed him by his jacket. "Who is your commanding officer? Who ordered this uncivilized attack?!"
He pointedly looked at Roy's insignia before answering. "General Martin, sir. They're rioting."
"There is nothing to suggest you followed protocol here!" He pushed the soldier back. "Stand down."
Another soldier tried to placate them. "Sir, if you would just get behind us, we'll protect you from these idiots."
"Idiots… are they?"
"Yes, sir." He gritted his teeth and whirled to punch a civilian trying to wiggle his way away from the crowd because he clearly couldn't breathe anymore.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" Roy helped the man to his feet and pushed him far away from the soldiers.
"He's part of the protests!"
"I doubt they were the ones who started the physical attacks!"
"No wonder your fiancée left you!"
Both the retorting statement and the drawn fist headed in his direction shocked him. Roy only managed to turn his head to see before Ed whacked both soldiers with a piece of wood.
"Ed!"
"You're welcome!"
To continue fighting together would mean they were fighting against both factions. The rioting protesters and abusive military personnel only looked at the clothes one was wearing to identify whether to hit or not to hit.
The makeshift barrier between military and civilian lines had broken into sections and the crowd began to push against one another with more fervor. Ed handed him the opposite end of the wood in his hands, raising it now and then to thwart flying objects or fists attempting to connect with his face.
They soon found themselves pushed to the end of the line, braced against the wall of military headquarters.
Ed tried to swing the wood hard, only to come up short because of the surge of the crowd. "Damn it!" The younger man already spotted the beginnings of a black eye and Roy was sure he didn't look any better.
He clapped against the wood and it spread upwards, making a thin wall for them to hide behind, only having to bother with pushing against the crowd in order not to get crushed as they thought of a way out.
"We can't hold this for long," said Ed, back and shoulders braced against the wood to push it back. He had his feet braced against the wall, grunting at the effort.
Roy imitated his stance, wiggling his back against the wood and only managing to get one foot up against the wall while he was certain the other was getting cut off with the weight of the mob. He growled in frustration, the only sure way to send a flame to shock the crowd enough was to snap high up into the air.
But the guards posted along the wall could be burned if they stood too close.
He hunkered down lower against the wood, the very edge of it slowly chipping away with each hit from whoever was on the other side.
Bang.
The shot reverberated amidst all the shouts, grunts, and overall skin colliding against skin. The rioters scattered and with adrenaline high in the air, panic soon ensued… away from him and Ed.
He flinched lower against the wood, feeling the object smash against his back. The crowd pulled away from the point of impact and he sighed when the force had let up and he could at least gain mobility in his legs again.
Roy ducked and covered his head. Was the shot aimed at himor Ed? Shit. He weighed his options.
Pro: he wouldn't get trampled on by the crowd because of where the shot landed.
Con: the sniper could easily reload and find them on the same spot if either of them was indeed the target.
"The hell are you doing?! Fix the top!" Ed shot a hand out to gather some stray wooden pieces that had broken away from the shot.
Roy clapped his palms together and proceeded to do just that, remerging and extending the wood so it covered them high above their heads again.
Panicked screams and heavy footsteps continued to echo as the crowd dispersed while Ed and Roy stubbornly flattened themselves between wall and wood. Surely the sniper couldn't shoot them so close to the wall a second time around?
"That was an extremely lucky miss," commented Ed as he and Roy inched slowly alongside the wall with the wood covering their backs so they could escape.
/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/
"It wasn't luck," said Roy. He and Ed retreated to one of Madame Christmas' safehouses, located a few streets away from Southern military headquarters.
Ed pressed a cold compress to his reddish, turning slightly blue, eye. "That was an impossible shot to make on purpose. We were too close to the wall," he reminded him.
"The soldier you hit over the head —"
He smirked. "Which one?"
He shot him a pointed look. "He told me… 'no wonder your fiancée left'. If anything, we know this General is using a lot to spread such tiny tidbits of information to even the lowest of the low ranking personnel."
"Or gossip spreads too quickly."
"Riza wouldn't talk." He was sure of that.
"What about Human Resources?"
"For a rumor to spread that quickly from Central to here… down to someone like that Private…" He shook his head. "And Riza is probably the only sniper I know who could have made that shot." He was sure of that, too.
"It was too close to the wall."
Ed sounded exasperated, and he probably was. The young man was convinced it was a 'lucky' shot… but he'd learned a long time ago that there is no such thing as luck, only calculated opportunities. "It was a shot she could've easily made, but didn't."
"Do you trust her?"
"If not her, then I trust her aim." If the Hawk's Eye wanted him dead, Ed would be dumping his cold body into a crate by now instead of them having to nurse and lick their wounds at his aunt's safehouse.
/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/
Roy decided to stay up long after Ed retired for the night. He stared at the dwindling fire in the fireplace, the only source of light he kept given the time, and contemplated between putting it out or rekindling it.
He sighed and decided to rekindle the fire, wishing his aunt had stocked something stronger than the red wine he partook. He was sore and tired and no doubt will be cranky in the morning but he had no urge to sleep.
From his discarded jacket, he pulled and unfolded Riza's wrinkled resignation letter.
"I am writing this letter to signify my resignation as personal adjutant and bodyguard to Colonel Roy Mustang, The Flame Alchemist, due to irreconcilable differences.
Signed,
Lt. Riza Hawkeye"
Not for the first time since he'd received the cursed thing, he wondered why Riza opted to handwrite her entire resignation instead of typing it.
None of their usual codes were in the letter, no names nor mention of anyone they knew other than their own. R, M, R, H were nothing to ponder about. They meant nothing and that was a dead end.
There was nothing odd in the style, nor her manner of speech. His eyes scanned the paper from top to bottom again and again, straining against the light of the fire, desperate for something, anything, he could have missed.
It wasn't a lucky shot.
Everything in the letter was straightforward, direct…
Hawkeye wrote this, not Riza, he concluded.
He squinted at the end of her signature where the small letter 'e' almost looked like a 'c'. He had noticed the wet smudge there before. He always dismissed it as recklessness on those who handled her resignation process.
It could have been anything from a teardrop to sweat to water from someone's drink, but… he carefully brought it to his nose, sniffing the edge.
Nothing. I'm insane, he allowed a moment to temporarily berate himself then did a double-take.
The paper raised in front of his face the way it was, the firelight hitting it just so…
He realized part of the crinkling of the paper wasn't caused by him at all. The smudge ran a ways around Riza's signature, like a weird, tendril-like wet stain that had slightly dried off.
He grabbed his gloves and snapped on the tip of her signature, careful to only burn that part.
The paper disintegrated slowly, the flame tracing the edge of Riza's signature down then to the side then looping around like waves…
Saltpeter and water, he deduced, as Riza's hidden message was revealed — the fire had traced a path enough to reveal a distorted shape of two interconnected letters: B and M.
She's going after General Boeing Martin.
Who was Riza working with? Why did she agree to do this?
Did she agree to do this? How could she be assigned to the South if that was her intention? Did another General work with her to take down that particular officer?
He suspected Grumman had a hand in it, but couldn't tell how deep and how far the plan involving Riza went.
Snapping his gloved fingers once more, he made sure the entirety of her resignation letter turned into dust this time. He fanned the blackened ash in the direction of the fireplace to remove all traces of it.
Despite the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach at the thoughts that assaulted his mind, he smiled at the method she had used.
He might have been the one known as the "Flame Alchemist", but Riza Hawkeye was the one who held and kept all of its secrets.
AN: 'Til next time!