Originally Published: Jan 27, 2021
Last Edited: September 1, 2022
A/N: Welcome to Chapter 2! Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed the story! It was incredibly flattering to receive those updates throughout the week and encouraged me to keep posting. I hope to give something enjoyable back to the fandom and ship that I've grown to love so much.
Chapter 2
The Invitation
Thursday, September 12, 1918
The peppy sound of the live band kept Roy Mustang's toes tapping, a perpetual, practiced smile on his smooth face. A fresh rocks glass filled with brandy sat comfortably in his blank gloved hand, presently untasted.
He was tucked in a corner, the lighting such that he could easily be missed by the casual eye. His hiding spot wasn't perfect, though, and he caught the gaze of a Xingese woman. Her dark eyes gave him a once over before a sultry smile crossed her lips. She turned her steps towards him, her snug cheongsam and high heels emphasizing the sway of her hips as she approached.
Her appearance reminded him unsettlingly of the homunculus Lust, though her facial features were more round and soft. His skin crawled, his hand itching to retrieve an ignition glove from his pocket.
"General," Roy tore his eyes away, meeting Denny Brosh's blue gaze. Grateful for the interruption, Roy turned towards him, that practiced smile still on his face.
"Yes, Sergeant Major?"
"Both the Fuhrer and General Armstrong are looking for you, Sir," Brosh murmured, his eyes catching the glare of the Xingese woman. Her scowl threatened to kill, making Roy even more grateful for the interruption. He would not have had an easy time escaping her claws. "General Hakuro has also been mentioning you, but he seems more eager to harm you than talk to you."
Roy exhaled in a long hiss, "Of the three, I know who I'd rather talk to. Where's the Fuhrer?"
"Near the west staircase, Sir," Brosh answered.
Roy nodded, glancing at the Xingese predator eyeing them. "Walk with me," Roy murmured, wishing Hawkeye was there to deter such attention.
"Yes, Sir," Brosh sounded surprised, but followed quickly in Roy's wake.
As they passed the woman, her dark glare followed them, burning like coals on the back of Roy's dress uniform. Clearing his throat, he reached for his collar, pulling at the top button pressing into his Adam's apple anxiously. He began weaving through the crowd, sticking near the edge of the room. As he passed, he glimpsed a familiar blond head, eyes being drawn to Jean Havoc.
Like Roy's own corner, the half hidden position was dimly lit. Havoc stood with a familiar, bushy haired brunette, half concealed behind a pillar. Catalina's painted lips were wide in a bright smile, her plum dress showing off her shoulders and cleavage. Catalina moved to smooth Havoc's medals, his hands taking her by the hips as he pulled her closer.
Roy casually paused by a different pillar, Brosh at his heels. His eyes scanned around to see if anyone else had noticed the two of them. From what he could see, no one had, but he still stiffened slightly. He almost turned to confront them, stopping himself short. He didn't want to lose Havoc. To hell with Catalina, if Jean was discharged for fraternization, Roy would shoot his own foot... figuratively. He'd have to address this in private, but later.
"Brosh," his eyes narrowed, very aware the man had seen them too. "Do me a favor and interrupt that- quietly. Just going to talk to them should do the trick."
"Yes, Sir," Brosh replied soberly, stepping forward without hesitation.
Satisfied, Roy turned and continued weaving his way through the party guests. Before he made it ten feet, a hand wrapped around his elbow, a feminine curve pressing against him. Bristling with the unanticipated touch, Roy turned, expecting the woman from before. Who he saw instead made his eyes grow wide.
"Keep walking, Mustang. You're acting as my arm candy for the next ten minutes," she ordered, her free hand resting on her sword hilt casually. Her waist length, blonde hair curled slightly at the ends, her bangs hiding her right eye. She wore a silky, draping, navy gown; a silver sash around her waist acting as her sword belt.
"Olivier," he sighed, somehow grateful it was her. He slipped to a flirtatious smile, warming his tone intentionally, "You're arm candy? My, my! How can I help you?"
She urged him to keep walking, each step clicking with the sound of her heels. "Have you spoken with Hakuro?" Her visible blue eye darted around the room, her perpetually downturned lips pursing in displeasure.
"Not directly," he supplied, lowering his voice as he quickened his steps to walk with her rather than continue to be dragged around. "I expect he has nothing kind to say to me. He didn't like me before learning of my upcoming promotion."
Olivier scoffed, lifting her hand, gloved in white to her elbow, to pluck his brandy from his grasp. Roy decided to let her. She sniffed it critically before abandoning it on a table they passed. "He's only a hair less upset with my promotion, though I don't know what he expected. You were the one who put Grumman in the Fuhrer's chair. As his pet, I was surprised he only gave you Brigadier after the Promised Day."
"It was my request," he informed, "I wouldn't have had the freedom to restore Ishval at a higher rank."
Her visible blue eye narrowed at him, her scowl deepening. "Damn you. They wanted to make you Fuhrer three years ago and you postponed it so you could increase your reputation even further?"
"I suggested Grumman because I was blind."
"An old man who is openly fond of you," she stated as they reached the dance floor.
He resisted a grimace as they stepped out, Olivier turning towards him. He hadn't wanted to dance tonight. Doing so with her invited the requirement that he dance with every woman he could. Her iron grip on his hand and shoulder gave him little choice in the matter. He slipped his free hand to the side of her shoulder blade, a brief flicker of approval touching her eye as he began guiding her steps.
"He may be," Roy admitted, "What of it?"
"I'm under no delusions you didn't set yourself up, Mustang. I'm also fully aware Grumman has you in mind as his successor. That being said, I suggest a truce."
Roy raised an eyebrow at her, humored by her round about way of getting to the point. Olivier was hardly one to beat around the bush, so she must feel at a disadvantage? In light of his connection to the Fuhrer, his public favor, and his unprecedented promotion, he understood.
"Get that smug look off your face or I'll give you a real Armstrong ass kicking," she growled, her grip on his hand squeezing painfully tight.
"Go ahead, Olivier," he placated, "What did you have in mind?"
"You need my support in your future bid for the Fuhrership."
"It'd be nice, but I believe we've already established that that isn't required," he countered.
"The loyalty of myself and my men. The North would be yours."
Roy tripped over himself, "What?"
"Stop making a fool of yourself! You heard me, Mustang. Any information I receive will be passed directly to you. Any joint operations would be under your command," she gritted her teeth, but her voice was steady.
"What do you want for this?" he breathed.
"If I'm being honest, I'd like Hawkeye." Roy's blood ran cold, "However, I'm too much of a realist to expect you to give her up that easily. The fact that she won't be going anywhere without the Fuhrer's approval is also a dampener on the idea. Instead, I'll settle for Falman."
"Falman?" he murmured, half disbelieving. Yes, he valued both Hawkeye and Falman, but no offense to Vato, he wasn't anywhere nearly as important to him as Riza was.
"He's a Briggsmen, especially after the Promised Day. That's where he belongs. I'd be willing to assign him as Chief Staff Officer. As a Captain, he'd do well in the post- since Miles is staying here," she added with a chilled tone. "He'd likely receive a promotion within the year. His investigation skills and incredible memory would be a great asset to Fort Briggs and all of Amestris."
Roy listened thoughtfully as she made her case. It would be a good move for Falman, but Roy was remiss at the thought of losing the man- again. Each member of his team was irreplaceable, and Roy had to acknowledge part of that was emotional attachment.
"Surely that can't be all you want."
She glanced around cautiously, her face drawing closer to his right shoulder, her lips hardly moving as she whispered, "I need your help." She pulled back slightly before continuing in her regular tone, "I want your word that I'll succeed you. I want to be your second. In the terms of chess, I want to be your queen."
Roy stared at her, calculating his response. Olivier Mira Armstrong asking for his help? Was human transmutation possible after all?
"You must think me a fool, Olivier," his hoarse voice grated. "I already have a queen, and I'm not trading her for you. As for a promise you'll succeed me, I'd be asking for my own assassination by giving you that.
"That being said, I think it would be best if we continue as we are. Our alliance has proven rather beneficial for Amestris as is. I also don't believe you'd take well to submitting authority to an equal. Make no mistake, Olivier, I do see you as an equal. Besides, Grumman is still Fuhrer and he should hold your loyalty."
She held his gaze silently as the song ended, Roy bringing her to a stop and removing his hands from her.
"As for Falman, I'm not opposed to the idea," he relented, glancing down and absently adjusting his gloves. "I'd like some time to think it over, and perhaps ask his opinion on the matter. I promise I'll get back to you before you leave the East."
He held her gaze, trying to convey that the follow up conversation wouldn't just be about Falman. Her blue eye widened slightly in surprise, though the expression only lasted a second. "You will?"
He smirked at her, offering his arm. "It's an alliance and I'm not exactly in a position to return Lieutenant Colonel Miles to your command. In a way, I owe you."
"Miles is doing what he has to for his people." Her practical words sounded too practiced for his liking. Olivier took his arm, allowing him to escort her off the floor.
"I agree, but that's not the point," he dismissed. "I'll still consider the matter and get back to you. For now, I need to go speak with Grumman."
She released his arm, scowling at him briefly. "Watch out for Hakuro. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."
"Good evening, Olivier," he waved dismissively, turning as he pushed his hands into his pockets. His ignition gloves were nestled inside, prompting him to rub the coarse material against itself.
Bewildered by their conversation, he kept his pace fast, hoping to avoid another interruption. It was reassuring she thought he practically had the Fuhrership in the bag, but an Olivier Armstrong willing to roll over made him uneasy. Olivier wanting to be in his pocket? It wasn't in her nature. A fiercely independent officer like her should be fighting tooth and nail to claim the title of Fuhrer from his grasp, not offering it to him, no matter what trouble she might be in.
"General Mustang," a familiar voice drew him short from his musings, Roy halting as he turned towards Lieutenant Colonel Miles. The sight of him in dress uniform was strange as the rest of his countrymen in attendance wore more traditional garb. With his upcoming promotion, he was being left in command of the military base in Ishval. The treaty with Ishval required those of Ishvalan descent to be in command of the military presence in the region- once Roy left, that was.
"Miles, how can I help you?" Roy asked, managing a pleasant smile.
"My Brother and I were hoping to talk with you for a few moments," Miles supplied. His 'Brother' was the man formerly known as Scar, the severe looking Ishvalan joining them the same moment as he pulled from the crowd. He wore a dress thawb, a red-orange sash across his shoulder, contrasting the white robe.
The Ishvalan had a long wolf's tail atop his head, having grown it out. Few knew he was the one who had killed Bradley and Roy was careful to keep it that way. With all the propaganda obscuring the real events of the Promised Day, people still believed Bradley had been a good man, murdered in the coup d'etat. Not a homunculus set on destroying his own country.
He allowed Ishvalans to call him 'Brother', but had made it clear that title and name was reserved for them alone. Roy could understand that much. "Good evening, gentlemen," he offered pleasantly.
"So you are leaving tomorrow," the man supplied in his cool, even tone.
"Indeed. I'm sorry if this Gala isn't tactful, the Fuhrer insisted on it."
"No, it's good to see this sort of thing," Scar glanced around the party goers, his expression far from soft, but that was just his face. "I see hope in my people's eyes. I see possibilities at the sight of the Xingese. I see repentance on the faces of the Amestrians," he looked back at Roy, his red eyes holding a strange light.
"You were given the title 'Hero of Ishval' during the War," Miles broached. "The Council has expressed their appreciation again and again for your efforts here, General. I don't believe anyone else would have done what you have for a broken and oppressed people."
"It's a title I earned for the wrong reasons. I would prefer to leave it behind," Roy explained soberly, and not for the first time. The Ishvalan Council had brought up with him several times how they wished to redefine and solidify the title.
Scar nodded, the Ishvalan certainly understanding the desire to leave old names behind. He offered his hand to Roy, the tattoo becoming visible as his sleeve pulled up slightly. Roy accepted the hand firmly, hiding the slight intimidation he felt.
"Ishvala bless you, Brother. You have my support for your goal." Roy felt a warmth in his chest, not lost to the significance of either statement. He nodded firmly to the Ishvalan before glancing at Miles. The reserved man gave no indication of how he felt about the interaction, face schooled and stoic.
Scar nodded one last time before returning to the crowd, leaving the two officers alone. "If there's nothing else..." Roy broached lightly, slipping his gloved hands into his pockets.
"Have you spoken with General Hakuro tonight?" Miles plowed on, as if Roy hadn't tried to leave.
"Funny, Olivier just asked me that same question," Roy commented, cocking an eyebrow at him. Miles gave no reaction, his red eyes holding Roy's intently. "No, I haven't."
"Don't allow yourself to be distracted tonight, Sir." Without another word, Miles passed Roy before he could ask any follow up questions. Turning, he watched as the Lieutenant Colonel was swallowed up by the crowd.
"What the hell?" Roy breathed. After a moment, he shook his head, wishing he still had his brandy.
He turned and forced himself forward. He glanced towards Dr. Marcoh speaking with Dr. Knox and his wife. Giving them no pause, he pushed on. Finally reaching the west side of the room, he scanned the foot of the staircase up to the second floor balcony.
Grumman was nowhere to be seen, but Ross and Breda were chatting over drinks in his place. Ross was in a white and red cheongsam, the dress likely a souvenir of her time in Xing. It reminded him of a dress his mother had once had, the memory vague from the decades that had passed.
Joining them, he gave his attention to Ross, "Meili."
Her dark blue eyes brightened, "Xie xie," she swiftly replied.
"Brosh told me the Fuhrer was here, have you seen him?" Roy continued in Amestrian, the little Xingese exchange one he'd asked Ross to humor him with on occasion so he could refresh his mother's native tongue.
"So he did find you. We sent him half an hour ago," Breda chuckled, sipping his amber drink.
"I was sidetracked- three times," Roy acknowledged, "Olivier twisted my arm into a dance."
Breda smirked, "She did seem overeager to find you. What did you end up talking about?"
"Perhaps you should go over the details later," Ross interrupted, "The Fuhrer is upstairs, Sir, and gave orders for us to send you to him."
"Sounds official," Roy lilted, "I'll talk to you both later." He stepped past them, easily climbing the tall staircase. Feet padding quietly on the dark red carpet, he reached the top, failing to gather the attention of the group on the balcony. Three obvious bodyguards, dressed in black suits and ties, surrounded the others, one making eye contact with Roy and giving a small nod, granting him permission to approach.
Grumman was in the middle, barely reaching Alex Armstrong's elbow. He was talking animatedly, the Lieutenant Colonel laughing in response, his hulking figure trembling with the effort. Hakuro's expression was unamused, likely having been the brunt of Grumman's joke, his wife at his elbow covering her mouth in an obvious attempt to not laugh. Even the Supreme Cleric had a humored grin on his sun aged face.
Roy paused, mouth downturning fractionally as he realized who was absent.
As Grumman's only surviving relative, Riza had been called upon to be escorted by the Fuhrer during formal events since his inauguration. Roy hadn't been fond of her trips to various parts of Amestris over the last three years, gone for a handful of days at a time. It wasn't that she left her work hanging, though. She always pulled longer days than she had ever done before leading up to her departures to get ahead, and repeated the process when she returned, catching up on any surprise duties she'd missed while gone.
No, it was her absence he didn't like. Just as he didn't like her absence now. She was supposed to be with the Fuhrer. She was supposed to be under the watchful eyes of his guards.
She was fine. She could handle herself. She was likely close by anyways.
"General Mustang, you made it!" The jovial, thundering voice made Roy focus on Alex, his feet finally carrying him to join the rest of the group.
"I've been here the whole time," Roy smiled, ignoring Hakuro's scowl directed at him.
"Yet you seem to have been keeping a low profile," Grumman laughed, a bright smile under his mustache, his violet eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "Has the last three years broken you of a few old habits? I believe the ladies might regret hearing that."
"I hold more respect for the Ishvalan people than to go gallivanting around at this celebration," Roy offered a nod to the Supreme Cleric, hoping all of them would believe it. It was true, but it wasn't the main reason he was avoiding 'entanglements' tonight.
No, that reason just walked into sight.
Riza Hawkeye held a cocktail glass in her gloved hands, her intelligent, hazel eyes scanning the room over the balcony for any possible threats. A bodyguard followed in her wake, wearing the same black suit as the rest of the Fuhrer's retinue.
Roy allowed himself a moment to appreciate her hourglass figure, accentuated by the mermaid style of her emerald green gown. A beaded, diamond shaped applique decorated her right thigh where the fabric flared out around her legs. The flattering, sweetheart neckline showed off a pearl necklace, matching a dangling set of earrings. Subtle makeup accented her naturally beautiful features, her lips a glossy pink and begging for some attention. Her golden hair was curled into smooth waves, pulled to hang over her left shoulder, hiding the thin scar across her jugular vein. The high back and cap sleeves of her gown were intentionally designed to protect what only he was privy to.
A lump forming in his throat, Roy forced his eyes from her. His gaze latched onto the short Fuhrer, desperate to distract himself from his adjunct. "You wanted to speak with me, Sir?"
"Ah, right to the point today, I see. If everyone would excuse us, I must have a private word with the General." Grumman's eyes scanned the entire group but focused on Hakuro when he emphasized Roy's rank. Roy glanced at the middle aged man, Hakuro's mouth twitching sharply.
Everyone began breaking from the group, Armstrong noticing Hawkeye and crossing to her with a large smile, the rest moving downstairs again. The three bodyguards around Grumman moved further away, giving them privacy while keeping the Fuhrer in sight.
Roy turned his attention back to his elder, "Sir, is it wise to antagonize Hakuro further?"
"Pah! He only got his promotion and assignment over the South because of the Military Council. The man is still dryer than an uncooked bean. I'd love to have him gone."
"You're the Fuhrer, if you want him gone, he can be gone," Roy reminded, eyes catching onto Hawkeye and Armstrong, the gentle giant laughing warmly. Riza's own lips were slightly upturned, her cheeks a gentle pink.
"There's so few of the upper staff left from before the coup d'etat. He has experience and skill, I can't just ignore that," Grumman let out a long sigh. Riza began fiddling with her glass, her mouth moving in unheard words. His eyes focused on her fingers, each small action making a heat spread through his chest.
"Mustang," Grumman's voice pulled Roy back into the moment, his gaze flashing to his mentor instantly. There was a slight twinkling to his eyes, a knowing smile under his mustache.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Have you put any more thought into my offer?" Grumman inquired.
"Offer?" Roy frowned slightly in response, recalling nothing along the lines.
"To have you take my granddaughter as your future First Lady, of course! She's done well in events I invite her to, but only in the most superficial way. She would do well in an official position."
Roy's heart clenched, the memories rushing back to him as he stared at the doddering old man. His hands twitched by his side, recalling the way he'd laughed Grumman's comments off for years. After his careless display of eyeing Riza, that same reaction wasn't one he could justify.
"Sir, I'm afraid it isn't much of an option. Not with the Anti-Fraternization Laws in place. Captain Hawkeye takes great pride in her work as a soldier and I'd be wrong to take her from it."
"What if... said laws weren't involved. Would you be interested?" Grumman's voice was low, barely reaching Roy over the din of music and voices.
Roy swallowed hard, mind tracing back to that night. Riza's freshly burned back uncovered and exposed to the air, leaving her topless. A warm blush along her cheeks, eyes heavy with arousal. Their feverish kisses on his couch...
"I don't think she'd be interested, Sir."
Grumman watched him with steady violet eyes, his characteristic smile gone. "Is that so? Perhaps I need to consider a different successor," he lifted a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully.
An involuntary sound escaped his throat as Roy felt his limbs freeze, just barely realizing what Grumman had proposed. Riza as his First Lady, not just his wife. "Sir..."
"That's all I wanted to speak about, Mustang. I need to make a few more rounds before my tired, old body gives out on me," he smiled warmly before leaving Roy speechless, his bodyguards following him down the stairs.
Roy scowled at the carpeted floor, a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn't that he didn't want to marry her, he'd come up with that idea back during his days in the Academy. No, it was the fact that he'd so royally fucked up his chances with her that it was laughable to even consider it as an option.
He sighed, languidly looking back up at Riza and Armstrong. The bodyguard standing six feet away from them eyed Roy carefully, his expression unreadable.
The pull to join Riza was growing in his gut. He had to put some distance between them before he did something stupid. Pushing his hands back into his pockets, he turned to head downstairs again. He hadn't had any of his drink. Perhaps he should get a new glass and return to his corner. It sounded like a safe plan. It was worth a try.
Riza's eyes flicked past Armstrong, watching Mustang's back as he descended the stairs. Her stomach twisted slightly, feeling a sense of loss.
Armstrong followed her gaze, his face furrowing in a frown. "Excuse me, Captain. I forgot I have to talk with General Mustang about my assignment in East City."
"Of course. I'll speak with you later," Riza offered a soft smile. He returned with a slight bow before turning to follow after Roy. Riza sighed heavily with his departure, glancing back to the tall blond who was acting as her bodyguard.
Second Lieutenant Bret Vulcan was pleasant enough, having become Riza's personal bodyguard at state events. He was just a bit redundant. Her grandfather had suggested making his guard duties part of her regular life, which she had swiftly put down three years ago.
Apparently she hadn't done a proper job of it, as he'd brought up the idea again tonight- firmly.
"You'll be a Major, it's not unprecedented for you to have a personal bodyguard."
"I am a bodyguard. He would just get in the way of my duties to General Mustang," she protested, infuriated at his subliminal lack of confidence in her abilities.
"I've already put his transfer in with Eastern Command. You're a high profile individual, dear. I insist."
Vulcan's green eyes met hers, expression stoic. "Captain, perhaps we should find a more secure location."
She nodded, stepping over to the railing. She lowered a hand to rest on the carved wood, lifting her glass to her lips. The berry dyed liquid stung on its way down her throat, the mix not lessening the bite of the liquor. Her eyes scanned over the room, searching for a place she could potentially avoid unwanted attention, her sniper experience kicking in.
There, in the northeast corner.
Without seeking Vulcan's opinion, she pulled away from the railing and began leading the way there. Her bulky skirt dragged her legs, her feet protesting the high heels she'd worn to the event. She used to wear heels on a regular basis, but over the last three years, she'd hardly worn anything other than her uniform, working from sunrise until well after dark. The rare exceptions had been the state events she'd participated in, each leaving her feet aching and tender for a few days afterwards.
She pressed through her current discomfort, heels clicking on the marble floor as she weaved through the partygoers. No one approached her, though she drew plenty of gazes as she passed, a few people even purposely stepping out of her way. She glanced over her shoulder at Vulcan, wondering if he was looming too much. He wasn't, at least not to her, but something seemed to repel the guests from her like a bubble of oil floating across water.
She shifted her grip on her cocktail, exhaling as she reached her destination, turning to look across the crowd. She stepped close to the pillar in the corner, Vulcan setting up behind her, arms crossed as he kept a watchful gaze over their surroundings.
Well, it looked like tonight she wouldn't have to avoid her usual crowd.
She sighed softly, eyeing the dance floor. The band was currently playing an upbeat tempo, the trombone giving a blaring wah-wah-wah. Even from here she could make out several familiar faces. Rebecca was the first to catch her eye, Riza raising a brow as she realized she was dancing with Jean. She knew her best friend had a crush on the man, but it wasn't legal for them to date. She just hoped Rebecca wouldn't try anything rash to score their teammate for herself.
Fuery was out there too, Riza recognizing his anxious expression as he tried not to step on his partner's toes. Curious as to who could possibly get Fuery out of his shell, Riza focused on the mousy woman. Sheska had a nervous smile and flushed cheeks, Riza blinking in shock at the sight of them together. She tilted her head, considering the pair.
Fuery was awkward. Sheska was awkward. Fuery was a technology wiz, Sheska was a book fanatic. Both were shy and both were hard working- when they weren't distracted by their real lifes' passions. Fuery was even an inch or two taller than Sheska. There was also the fact that Sheska wasn't officially Military. Unlike Havoc and Catalina, the Anti-Fraternization laws didn't stand between them.
Riza smiled softly to herself, approval resonating through her bones as she lifted her glass to her lips.
"Ah, you found my hiding spot," the all too familiar voice drew her attention. She lowered her glass, turning to Roy as he joined her. She was a bit surprised he approached her, but hardly displeased.
Despite herself, she glanced over his dress uniform, admiring the fit on him, though it wasn't quite as form fitting as a tux. He held an amber colored drink in a rocks glass, ice floating in what Riza guessed was brandy. He stopped just to her right, sipping his drink as his dark eyes glanced around the party.
"I wasn't aware you were hiding, Sir," she answered, lightly holding her cocktail glass between both hands. She was trying not to focus on how fine he looked. It had been a long three years in Ishval and he had cleaned away the dust and grime of hard labor for the event, his hair slicked back as he preferred for formal occasions, his jaw freshly shaven.
"I may have been," he teased, smirking at her. "What had you smiling so brightly a moment ago?"
Riza nodded towards the dance floor. "Kain and Sheska," she answered simply.
His eyes followed hers, scanning the crowd for the pair. His smirk took a different light about it at the sight. "They'd make a good couple," he admitted, lifting his drink and taking a sip. His expression darkened suddenly as he caught sight of something else. "Shit. If they keep this up, I'll have to address it tonight," he growled.
"Rebecca and Jean?" she inquired, her eyes finding them swiftly.
"So you've seen them too," he sighed, taking a step forward.
"I think it can wait, Sir. Let them have their fun for the night," she interrupted, not feeling the sentiment as resentment rolled over her.
He looked back at her, surprise in his ebony gaze. "You'd let it slide?"
"Tonight. It's a celebration and things are about to change. Let them flirt and nip it when we're all back in the office on Monday," she shrugged, sipping her cocktail casually.
"I never thought I'd hear that advice from you, Captain," Roy commented, taking a step back so he was next to her again. "Why are you in this corner? Have you been saying no to the poor men who've asked you to dance?"
"Would you be surprised to hear the only person who's asked me is my lovely Grandfather?" She managed to keep her voice light, like she didn't actually care. She flicked her eyes towards him, seeing the slight frown on his face and the tight grip on his glass, his blank glove wrinkling with the effort.
"I can't imagine why. It's not like you're unavailable," there was a slight bitterness to his voice.
"Sir?" she uttered, her heart racing at the possible implications.
"It's nothing," he dismissed, "So, why are you hiding, Captain? I doubt any woman as radiant as you could really go through an evening like this without suitors clambering to get to you."
She hesitated, her cheeks threatening to blush with the casual compliment, "I'm avoiding those who might ask me to dance for more selfish reasons."
"Selfish? Selfish how?"
"Middle aged men who are more interested in having an in with the Fuhrer than with me personally. It's quite insulting, really, but since his inauguration, every event I go to is dominated by such a group. I'd rather have a break tonight."
"I could see that," Roy nodded, a silence rolling over them.
Riza's eyes shifted to the guards in the room, disguised amongst the guests in their own formal clothes. She was reminded of the Desert Eagle strapped to her thigh under her skirt, the metal tucked between her legs. With three national leaders in attendance and representatives from Amestris, Ishval, and Xing scattered throughout the crowd, security was rather high.
Her eyes sought out and paused on Ling Yao. The young Emperor was chatting with Lan Fan, the metallic gleam of the young woman's arm catching her eye.
"You let her wander around the sewers with her arm cut off? Don't blame me if she gets lockjaw," Dr. Knox scoffed, tossing a bloodied instrument into a sanitization bath. Riza held the Xingese girl down by her right shoulder, her free hand holding up a lantern for the Doctor's work.
"I'm afraid the only patients I've had lately have been corpses, so this might be a little rough," he added. The girl bit down on a towel, whimpering and giving muffled cries of pain. Blood coated the sheets and blanket, Riza gritting her jaw against the sight.
Knox grimaced, Riza keeping her eyes on the girl's face to avoid knowing exactly what he did. Lan Fan suddenly screamed into her towel, her face contorting in pain.
Riza blinked away the grim memory as she watched Lan Fan's automail arm reach for the young Emperor, the two youths taking each other's hands. Fond smiles melted onto their faces as they drew closer, Ling tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She moved her eyes away, her face warm as she became aware of how close she and Roy were standing. He appeared lost in thought, his empty hand hanging between them, very available. Her hands twitched on her glass as she shifted it to one hand. Lowering the other, she let it dangle an inch from Roy's, her heart beating rapidly at the thought.
She scanned the crowd, trying to see if anyone was watching. There were so many bodies: Ishvalan, Amestrian, and Xingese. Wouldn't they just get lost in the crowd? Riza took a deeper drink of her cocktail, hoping for a little liquid courage. She moved her hand towards his, and at the same moment he shifted it into his pocket.
She looked up at his face, heart halting for a second before she realized he was looking away from her, towards the food tables.
"Do you think there's any cheese dip left?" he asked absently, her heart starting again, hammering against her eardrums.
What the hell had she almost done?
"I don't know. I haven't been back there for a while," she kept her voice light, at a wonder as to how she managed it. "Um," she half turned to glance at Vulcan, his shoulders set and face impassive. She had completely forgotten he was there. Watching. "Sir, I should introduce you. This is Second Lieutenant Bret Vulcan. Vulcan, Brigadier General Roy Mustang."
Vulcan's eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned his attention to Mustang. Roy took a breath, nodding sharply as he offered his hand to shake. "Lieutenant," he greeted tightly.
"General. Congratulations on your upcoming promotion."
"Fuhrer Grumman informed me tonight that Vulcan will be transferring with us to East City- as my personal bodyguard," she supplied, glancing between the two.
Roy focused on her, his subtle bafflement only visible in his dark eyes. Riza doubted Vulcan would pick it out. "Is that so? Well, I suppose I should welcome you to the Team."
"Thank you, Sir. I'll do my best to not get in the way," Vulcan promised.
A bright laugh suddenly broke the air around them, Riza tensing as she turned to find the still strange sight of Alphonse Elric in the flesh. As if fate were trying to be extra cruel, his hand was laced with Mei Chang's.
The girl who had pulled Riza from the brink of death had grown with puberty, her face now level with Alphonse's shoulder. She was likely here as a Xingese representative with her half brother, though Alphonse's presence was a complete surprise to her.
"Colonel M... Sorry. General Mustang, Captain Hawkeye," Al greeted as he and Mei half tumbled into each other, stopping before them. They were all smiles and short of breath, having come from the direction of the dance floor.
"How's the body treating you?" Roy's smile was warm as he glanced over the young man. He was tan from his traveling through the east, his frame less gangly than the last time Riza had seen him, weight padding his once gaunt features.
"Great!" Al gave a toothy grin, Mei stepping closer and pressing against his side. Riza noted the small panda on the girl's shoulder, just as pleased as her companions.
"That's good to hear," Roy chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.
"I mean, yeah. Sorry to interrupt. I came over to give you both something," Alphonse released Mei's hand, pulling his suit coat open and digging through an inside pocket. A stack of stationary envelopes came out, Alphonse flicking through the pile until he came across the one he was looking for.
"Ed apologized that he couldn't make it...," Al began.
"No, he didn't," Mei added in a murmur, her panda giving a little sound of agreement.
"... but he wanted to make sure you got this," he passed an envelope over to Roy. In green ink, the envelope was addressed in a fine cursive to Mustang and Hawkeye. "It's a wedding invitation. Ed and Winry's, that is," he rushed, glancing at Mei.
Riza felt her gut clench.
It might have been Lan Fan and Ling. Perhaps the glimpse of Rebecca and Jean. Or the sight of Sheska and Kain. Maybe even Mei and Alphonse. Or her Grandfather's prodding earlier that day. It could have even been her failed attempt at trying to take Roy's hand, or the fact that the invitation was addressed to both of them, rather than being two separate invites.
Whatever it was, the news of Edward and Winry caused a hot liquid to coalesce behind her eyes. Her nose stung and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. She tightened her grip on her cocktail glass, gritting her teeth against the tears.
She should smile. It was good news. She'd been hoping the two would confess their feelings for years. Yet smiling seemed impossible. The only emotion flooding her was a deep pang of self pity.
"So Fullmetal finally asked? I'm surprised he did it so soon," Roy laughed.
Al laughed hesitantly, glancing at Mei. The young woman's dark eyes were trained on Riza, concern flooding her face. "Miss Riza, is something wrong?"
She inhaled deeply, shutting off all emotions. The ability was one she'd mastered during her childhood and applied time and again in high risk situations. She forced a smile as her tears retreated slightly, the men's focus shifting to her. "Nothing. I'm glad to hear they're finding happiness together." A lump formed in her throat, causing her voice to crack with the word 'happiness', her emotional barrier already cracking.
She had to get out before she lost control. She couldn't break down. Not in front of Roy. Not over this.
Mei's brows drew closer together as she frowned, clearly not believing her. The edges of Roy's eyes crinkled slightly in his own doubt, Alphonse showing clear concern. Even the panda looked worried for her!
She fished for an excuse to leave, her throat feeling swollen. An allergic reaction? There was crab at the buffet. She'd avoided it, knowing she occasionally had bad reactions, but- she could pretend. It'd explain her red eyes- if they were red. It'd give her an excuse to rush away, find Dr. Marcoh, and ask if he had anything for food allergies.
Plan made, she opened her mouth to give her excuse as Alphonse attempted to change the topic, "Oh, I was also supposed to ask you both something. With both of our parents gone, we're trying to decide who to have stand in for mom and dad. Winry just wants Granny, but I think Ed would really like it if you two could stand in for them. I know he can be difficult, but he really does appreciate everything you both did for us while we were trying to get our bodies back."
Riza's eyes widened in stunned shock, her glass slipping slightly before she tightened her grip again. Roy's own eyes were also wide with surprise, his lips parted slightly. "Stand in for your parents? During the ceremony?" he voiced with disbelief.
Al nodded swiftly, a desperate light to his golden eyes. "Yeah! And at the rehearsal dinner and reception."
Roy's expression relaxed as he thumbed his glass thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to consider it- if Fullmetal were to ask me himself."
"Sir," Riza broke in, drawing his attention. "Would that be entirely appropriate?"
"What do you mean?"
Riza turned her eyes to Alphonse, "Isn't there others you view in a parental manner. What about your alchemy teacher? Isn't she married?"
Married. It slipped from her lips so easily. It wasn't a qualifier for this situation, but her mind was panicking, making her tears sting worse. Her. And Roy. Filling in for Edward's parents in an official ceremony.
Work was one thing. She'd sworn to watch Mustang's back and she wasn't going to ever retract that. The only thing that had really gotten her through all these years was the tenuous line between them: the Anti-Fraternization Laws. Every time that line was threatened, Riza swiftly found herself compromised emotionally.
And she already was.
"I mean- we considered the Curtises, but- you two were the first choice. Do- you not want to, Miss Riza?" Alphonse wilted slightly.
"I-It's not that. It's-" how was she supposed to say it? She didn't want to fuel any more rumors that she and Roy were together. She didn't want to encourage an investigation to see if they were fraternizing. She couldn't stand the emotional pain that would be involved.
She took a deep breath, fishing for the only excuse she could: "I just don't feel worthy of the honor," she struggled with the words, feeling too vulnerable in saying them as they were partially true.
"Hawkeye, you've been like a mother to them. You deserve this more than I do," Roy smiled warmly.
Alphonse quickly nodded his agreement, "Ed even told me he wanted you because you're the one who made him realize how he felt about Winry. We owe you so much, Miss Riza."
Mei stood there, her round, dark eyes so knowing as she watched Riza silently. The girl recognized too much. "I- suppose I could," Riza relented, avoiding Roy's eyes.
"If he asks us himself. If he wants me to stand in as his father, I'll have him man up for that at least," Roy emphasized, drawing Al and Mei's attention away from her.
Al laughed awkwardly, "Yeah, I see your point, Colonel... ah, General!"
Riza's hand twitched on her glass, her body ready to bolt before anyone brought up any additional questions or information. She needed air. She needed to go.
She looked down at the invitation in Roy's hand, grimacing slightly. "I'll look at that later, Sir. I'll be at the wedding, Alphonse, and I'll make sure the General submits the proper request for leave forms," she clipped.
"Alright," Al smiled, absently taking Mei's hand in his again.
"Please excuse me," she added, the pain in her heart growing as she looked at them, tears surfacing again. Unable to look at her Commanding Officer, she turned from them, slipping into the crowd. A tear finally leaked down her cheek, leaving her to angrily wipe it away, hoping it hadn't ruined her makeup.
Roy watched Hawkeye's retreating back, heading into the crowd. Her green dress against blonde hair was a stunning sight, the fabric hugging her hourglass figure and causing his breath to catch with the sway of her hips, exaggerated by her high heels. Vulcan followed in her wake, swiftly looking around for any threats.
Roy found his grip tightening on his glass and the wedding invite, frustration returning.
"She looked like she was about to cry," Miss Chang whispered, pity lacing in her voice.
Roy looked at the young woman, shocked. He hadn't noticed. Was she just misunderstanding one of Riza's stoic masks? "Pardon?"
The young woman glanced between the two alchemists, expression almost guilty. "From the moment we mentioned the wedding... She didn't smile. Not really. And just now, I was certain there were tears in her eyes."
Al shook his head, "What? Why would she be crying? I thought she'd be excited to hear about this."
Roy awkwardly stuffed the invitation under his arm, knocking back his diluted brandy, leaving the ice only half melted. "Alphonse, could you take care of my glass?" he requested, offering it to the boy- man. He was eighteen after all.
"Of course, Sir," Al took the glass, a slight surprise in his golden eyes. Roy swiftly stepped after his adjunct, eyes darting through the crowd, wishing (not for the first time) that he was taller.
Tears in her eyes and he'd been too distracted to see. His stomach twisted as he thought of the reason why. Riza Hawkeye didn't cry unless she was truly unhinged. If the news of Fullmetal's wedding had triggered such a response, he could only think of one cause: him.
He would have asked her to dance. He would have doted on her like a man properly besotted by the stunning woman she was. He would have given her the best evening she'd had in years.
He couldn't, though.
It was his own fault and he knew it. The night he'd burned her tattoo stood between them like a rift. From outside eyes, it was non-existent. They were a functioning and deadly unit, bound by twenty years of built trust and friendship. Nine and a half years hadn't made the memory fade to him, and he was often reminded how his careless words had driven this wedge between them. He expected she still resented him for that night. Not the burning, she'd begged him for that. No, for the kiss.
It had been more than a kiss though. It had been a full body make out, and once he'd realized what he was doing, he'd panicked. Fresh from the War, he acted without thinking, and it'd cost him.
Now, beyond the fact that he couldn't have her, he felt like he didn't deserve her. He'd dominated so much of her life, it was selfish to hope and wish for more. He'd asked her to watch his back so he could keep her near, and though he justified it as honoring Berthold's last wish, he knew that wasn't the heart of it. He needed her. He needed her with him.
He made his way through the crowd, mind cranking over the previous events. There was no sight of her. She wasn't with the Fuhrer, she wasn't with any of the Team. He even checked the balcony and gardens to no avail. Stepping out the front door, a group of valets milled about by some cars, attention turning to him.
"Something we can help you with, General?" One man asked, taking a few steps towards Roy.
"Has Captain Hawkeye left?"
The man glanced back at his companions, "About ten minutes ago. Johnny here took her back to the barracks."
Johnny gave a little wave, looking slightly guilty. "Thank you. As you were, gentlemen," Roy offered, stepping back through the doors.
His gloved fingers lifted to the edge of the wedding invite still tucked under his arm. He stepped beside a pillar, mostly out of the way. He fumbled with his pockets, finding a sleeve and pulling out the reading glasses inside. He slipped them on, examining the green cursive that was certainly not Fullmetal's hand. Winry's, or perhaps Mrs. Rockbell's?
He jammed his finger under the seal, trying not to rip it as he peeled it open. He slipped out a photo, Edward's two flesh arms wrapped around Winry's waist in a hug from behind, both of them grinning brightly at the camera.
Tucking the photo back in, he pulled out the official invite, penned in the same green ink and hand. You are formally invited to the union of Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell on December 22, 1918. The ceremony will be held at 4:00 P.M. at the Rose River Cottage in Resembool.
A small card added an invitation to the rehearsal dinner the night before.
Roy sighed, thinking of spending Solstice at a wedding. There'd likely be mistletoe and with Miss Chang's connection, perhaps fireworks from Xing. A wedding gift and a Solstice gift. Not impossible, but it could get expensive. Then again, he'd just been promoted to General. He'd just never been casual with his salary, feeling firmly that he shouldn't be flippant with taxpayer money. He should be fine to get something modest for everyone he knew.
He exhaled heavily, slipping everything back into the envelope, tucking the sleeve closed. Pulling off his glasses, he returned them to their pouch, slipping them into his pocket dismissively.
Looking up, his eyes were instantly drawn to a familiar figure, his left ear bearing a bullet hole. General Hakuro stood fifteen yards away, watching Roy with a deep scowl. He lifted his glass, taking a sip, never taking his eyes off of Roy.
Roy forced a smile, offering the man a respectful nod of his head. His skin crawled slightly, recalling the warnings from Armstrong and Miles before he turned away from Hakuro, plunging back out of the door and back into the night.