Originally Published: February 4, 2021

Last Edited: September 1, 2022

Chapter 3

Return from Ishval

Friday, March 12, 1909

It was raining, Roy not paying attention to the damp as it ran over the back of his black coat, soaking his tousled hair. His hands were in his pockets, holding his ignition gloves tightly, trying to keep them dry. Trying to keep the one piece of Riza he had left as close as he could.

The car lights reflected across the wet pavement in the dark, the sound of their tires driving across the rain soaked street strange after his months in Ishval. Roy stopped in front of a familiar sign, the yellow and pink neon new since he'd last visited. Madame Christmas' Bar and Brothel reflecting across the rain stained sidewalk.

He'd been back for about a month now, the War still fresh, haunting him and leaving that dead look in his eyes. He lingered on the soaked sidewalk, the light filtering through the windows was warm and inviting. He hadn't dared come back yet. His empty liquor cabinet was what really drove him here now, unsatisfied that he was only drunk, and not blacked out.

He had to face her eventually.

Roy took the door handle and stepped in, the air warm and dry. A girl with curly blonde hair was at his side in an instant, the low neckline of her silky, violet dress causing him to unconsciously glance over her body. He instantly moved his eyes to her big green irises instead, a playful look in them.

"Hello, Handsome. I'm Annette," she rested her hands on his chest, leaning into him with her entire upper body. Her bosom pushed out of her low collar as she looked up at him with a warm, inviting smile.

He resisted the repulsion he felt, his skin crawling uncomfortably. It wasn't that he didn't think she was pretty, he simply was not interested in her advances. He didn't know this girl and she must be a new addition to Christmas's staff. Anyone else would have kept her distance. He took a steady breath, gently grabbing her wrists and taking a step back, keeping her away. "I'm here to talk to Madame Christmas," he offered, keeping his voice calm, though internally he didn't feel it.

She pouted, "She's a lot older than I am. I think you'd be more interested in me. I know I'm interested in you."

Shit, he was supposed to give a code, but his head was too foggy to remember it right away. He fished for it, looking past her, noting the patrons around the room, each with a girl or two close by. "Look, I'm not feeling too great. Was it... Annette?"

"That's right, Charming. And don't worry, if I can't help you, I'm certain someone here can," she was running a finger across his chest playfully, tracing little circles.

"Annette, could you just tell Madame Christmas that Roy is here," he swayed a little, regretting that last glass of whiskey he'd had at his apartment (and by glass, he meant the whole bottle).

"Ooo, you should really sit down. Here, let me take your coat," Annette rushed, trying to pull his arm from its sleeve.

"Roy?" His haggard eyes shifted, seeing a familiar face.

"Vanessa," he didn't try to hide the relief in his voice. The beautiful blonde was like a saving angel with this woman pulling at him.

"Oh, you know each other?" Annette asked in surprise, no longer trying to steal his coat.

"Back down, Annette. He's not here for services," Vanessa joined them, eyeing Roy. "You're drunk," she stated flatly. "You're supposed to wait until you get here to do that."

"Is my aunt here?" he asked, ignoring her upset expression. "I'd like a peppermint whiskey!" he jumped, finally remembering the code phrase.

"Help me get him to the back," Venessa murmured, pulling one of his arms over her narrow shoulders. It was a bit of a blur as they escorted him to the kitchen, the space used for the residence rather than the patrons. He found himself sitting in a familiar chair at the table, Vanessa pressing a glass of water into his palm. Annette left and he was glad to be alone with someone familiar.

"Nessie, I always appreciate your... yeah," he swayed, losing the words mid sentence.

"Drink, Roy. Madame Christmas is going to kill you when she sees you like this," Vanessa muttered, shaking her head as she moved to the cupboard, fishing around for something.

Roy obliged, the water tasting strange as he gulped it down. Had his mouth felt that dry before? The kitchen door opened again, a familiar face stepping in. "Aunt Chrissy," he slurred the words, leaning back in his chair.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Friday is easily my busiest night of the week, and you come sauntering in like a drunkard," Chris snapped, pulling her cigarette from her mouth and extinguishing it in an ashtray. There was a brief pause, her scolding expression softening. She moved over to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He was vaguely aware of his face pressed against her bosom, her smoky scent familiar. Relief washed over him from the embrace, an unsteady breath shuddering out of his lungs.

When she finally released him, she pushed his soaked hair from his forehead. Vanessa had refilled his glass and a sleeve of saltine crackers was open next to it. "I'm going back out," Vanessa murmured to Chris, who nodded.

"Roy-Boy, why didn't you come home sooner? The girls have been worried about you," she explained as she found the seat next to him. Of course she wouldn't say she'd been worried, but even in his inebriated state, he knew that's what she meant.

"I'm a fucking murderer. I didn't deserve to come back," he answered sourly, self loathing returning to the forefront of his mind.

"Do you think I care? I was worried you'd run out on me like your sister. Fool girl. Fool boy!" She added, swatting the back of his head. His world suddenly spun, his grip finding the table for support as his stomach churned nastily. He heaved slightly, her hand finding the back of his hair and shoving his face away from the table. "If you puke, you're cleaning it up," Chris informed him briskly.

He managed to keep the contents of his stomach, the firm hand on his head pulling away so he could sit up again. He turned his gaze to her blue eyes, his body drained of energy. "I'm sorry, Chrissy, I-"

"Stop calling me that, you're not a kid anymore," she snapped, sliding his glass towards him.

He reevaluated, eyeing her hesitantly. "So you still haven't heard anything from Izumi?" he asked, avoiding the real reason he had come here.

"Nope. It's still like she doesn't exist," she answered, looking grim. "I at least knew you were still showing up to work. Are you getting this drunk every night?"

"I ran out of liquor," he murmured, picking up his water again, sipping it.

"That doesn't answer my question," Chris narrowed her eyes, her glare was one he was very familiar with.

"This week's been bad," he finally relented.

"The War?"

He shook his head, turning his gaze to his glass. "That's part of it, but it's- it's Riza," he whispered, throat feeling scratchy.

Chris reached out, grabbing his hand. "What's wrong? She told me when she was deployed. She actually gave me a call when she got back to let me know she was alright and that she had seen you."

His throat caught, tears threatening his eyes. He pushed the crackers and glass away, hiding his face behind his arms. He felt her gentle hand on his back, realizing he was shaking with silent sobs.

"Roy, I can't help you if you don't talk to me," she pressed.

He tried focusing on his breath, lifting his face. "I kissed her," he admitted.

Chris blinked in surprise, "I'm not seeing what's wrong. Did she not reciprocate?" He began shaking his head. "Wait, wait, wait. I need you to tell me what happened."

He swallowed hard, "Berthold's notes. She asked me to burn them," the color drained from his aunt's face, her grip on his hand tightening. Riza had agreed to let him tell Chris about her tattoo, and she was the only other person who knew of its existence. Well, as far as he knew, at least. Maes might have put two and two together after what had happened a few months back.

"Did you?"

"I didn't want to. I begged her not to make me, but she doesn't want any other Flame Alchemists. If I didn't do it, she would have done it herself, and she could have killed herself."

"Alright," Chris replied cautiously, "When was this?"

"She asked for it the day we left the front. I insisted she give me the chance to study how to heal burns. A week ago she came to my apartment, and we did it," his voice was growing stronger, his hand tightening around hers as he took a steady breath. "I'd been dreading it, so I had a few drinks before. I made her drink too, to help with the pain. After it was done, I- we- It wasn't just a kiss."

"Did you fuck?" Chris asked, not shying away from the blunt question.

"Not quite. Almost. Do I have to explain?" Her flat look was all the answer he needed. He inhaled, pushing past the embarrassment, "There was no- penetration. Her skirt and my pants were on the whole time. But there was friction..." he felt his face heat.

"Alright, I get it. But it sounds like she was alright with it?"

He nodded, his voice growing hard, "But she's a Cadet, and I'm a fucking Lieutenant Colonel. The frat laws..."

"She hasn't accepted her commission yet. She can walk away from the Military after graduation," Chris snapped.

He shook his head, "She won't, and I've requested her commission, and Grumman has approved."

"Why the hell did you do that?" Chris demanded, slapping the back of his head again. At least this time it didn't make the room spin. That meant he was sobering up. Good and bad.

"Berthold's last wish. I can't protect her if she's serving somewhere else, like Central."

Chris sighed, a suffering look on her face, "Alright, but why are you so certain she's going to stay on? When she joined the Academy, she was just talking about getting the training and leaving."

"It's a feeling. After the War she told me she was to blame for all the people I killed. She's not one to back down from responsibility even when her reasoning is bullshit."

They grew quiet, Chris taking out a pair of crackers and handing them over. "So what did you do?"

Roy looked away, eyeing the sink evasively. "I panicked. I shouted. I told her we were both drunk and she should pretend it didn't happen. I didn't give her the chance to talk. When I pulled rank on her, that's when she really got angry. She left without a word. It's not like we see each other that often."

Chris let go of his hand, standing up and moving to a cupboard. "You fucked up, Roy-Boy," she offered factually. She returned with a wrapped peppermint, putting it in front of him. He looked up at her, setting aside the uneaten crackers. Chris Mustang only gave candy when she was about to say something harsh, and he knew he deserved it. He knew he had to hear it. He plopped the peppermint into his mouth, bracing for the storm.

"Do you know what you told her?" she began lightly. "That poor, malleable girl adores you, and you went and told her that your career was more important than her. The same fucking thing her good for nothing father drilled into her head for years," Roy flinched, his aunt's voice deadly quiet.

"You're a fucking scumbag, Roy Mustang. I raised you better than that. So tell me, in your precious career as a murdering war veteran, what is so important that it gives you a right to devalue her like that? Why did you do it?"

He swallowed the candy, fists having formed with her words as he instinctively thumped the sturdy kitchen table. "I have to become Fuhrer!"

His voice reverberated in the room, Chris's eyes widening in shock. A scraping noise came from the door, both of them snapping their heads in that direction. Madame Christmas swooped over, yanking the door open as three women tumbled in. Roy recognized each of them. Vanessa, Madeline, and Rachel stumbled to their feet, fixing their dresses and hair in a rush.

"Bad form, girls," Chris grumbled before raising her voice, "Get down here, Gwen. I know you're listening."

Roy could hear hasty footsteps from upstairs, his eyes flicking to the women as Chris ushered them in. He stiffened as Madeline gave him a sympathetic expression, "I'm so sorry about Riza."

Gwen arrived, stepping in as Chris closed the door, locking it behind her. "Sit down, girls. We're working," she barked. They rushed to obey, the table jostling as they joined him. Roy silently picked up a cracker, finally eating it as his eyes flicked to each of them individually. "From this day forward, you've never heard of the name Riza Hawkeye. If we have to talk about her, her codename is..." she looked to Roy, waiting for him.

He wetted his lips, considering for a moment. "Elizabeth," he decided.

"Roy has a perpetual crush on 'Elizabeth', making him unwilling to commit to another relationship. His feelings are unrequited. As a result, you've begun dating around. From now on you're the most insufferable playboy in East City. Am I understood?"

"No, why?" Roy demanded indignantly.

"Because, if you're going to use my information network, you need to blend in with my patrons, and your cover as a womanizer is the only thing that will make people expect it of you. You've got the looks, boy, you can play it easily enough."

Rachel smirked, leaning forward, "Who gets to pop his cherry?"

"You know that's a reference to women's hymens, right?" Gwen asked flatly.

"Well, what's the male equivalent? Who gets to peel his banana?" Rachel asked, deadpanned. Ruckus laughter spilled from the four younger women, Roy feeling his face and ears grow hot, certain he was scarlet as he glanced at his aunt, her expression considering.

As the laughter died down, Chris broached, "I can't and won't make you, Roy. But it would be helpful if you could stay in character no matter the situation. I know your heart belongs to Elizabeth, but right now, that's not an option for you. Give it time, and make it clear in your actions that she's more important than your image. The wounds will mend. In the meantime, we're going to get you to Fuhrer."

"You're not going to ask me why," Roy didn't try to bite back the bitterness in his voice.

"I don't need to. You've never had this ambition before. You come back from a genocide under the guise of a war, and you want to become Fuhrer? You want to stop it from ever happening again. You want to protect people and their lives here in Amestris. We're going to help you, because it's the right thing to do."

The girls around the table nodded their agreement, Roy feeling his shoulders relax for the first time in a long time.

"Besides, by the time we finish teaching you, you'll sweep Elizabeth off her feet, no problem," Gwen promised.

"And you'll give her the time of her life in bed," Rachel smirked, licking her upper lip sensually as she winked at him.

Friday, September 13, 1918

The office was rather bare compared to the years Grumman had occupied it. The bookshelves were devoid of Grumman's poetry collection. The large, unstacked matryoshka dolls were removed, along with the decorative pottery and artistic landscape paintings. The mysterious collection of bottles were absent from the corner of the desk, and the hand-carved, polished, wooden sculptures of wildlife were nowhere to be found.

The chessboard was gone too.

Roy tugged down the hem of his uniform jacket, eyeing the space critically. He didn't know what to add to the office to make it his. If he didn't add anything, the negative space would be filled with paperwork. He knew it, and his whole Team knew it. He sighed heavily, lifting a hand to rub his temples. It was bad enough he had a house to put together, now he had to put his own stamp on his office too. He crossed over to the desk, rounding it for the first time.

It was just a desk. It was just an office. He'd had quite a few during his time in the Military. Perhaps he should ask Madame Christmas's advice on decorating. Perhaps he'd just have a pair of couches and a coffee table like he always did.

He pulled open a drawer absently, mind flitting to a different matter. He bent down, examining the drawer bottom more closely... there! He found the trigger on the outside edge of the drawer, the false bottom lifting an inch. He pried it open easily, pausing when he found the space occupied.

A photo lay at the bottom, several faces instantly recognizable to him. Berthold Hawkeye looked much more put together than Roy had ever known him, his hair only shoulder length and pulled into a tail. His arm was around the spitting image of Riza, the woman's hair pulled up in a delicate bun. They were in a tux and wedding dress. To Elizabeth Hawkeye's left stood a much younger looking Grumman and his own deceased wife. To Master Hawkeye's right stood another couple, likely Berthold's own parents, though Roy had never seen them before.

A knock came at the door, drawing Roy's gaze instantly. He edged the drawer closed before calling, "Enter."

In waltzed the former occupant of that very office, Grumman's eyes flashing behind his glasses as he waved off his bodyguards, who swiftly closed the door behind him, leaving them alone. "Mustang, I'm headed off momentarily. The train to Central won't wait even for the Fuhrer."

"Of course not," Roy smiled, grateful he didn't have a second train ride ahead of himself. He slid the drawer back open, looking down, "It's good you came by, I just found something of yours, Sir." He picked up the photo, Grumman crossing over to accept it.

"Ah! I was wondering where this had run off too! I see you found my secret drawer," Grumman grinned, holding the photo carefully by the edge. "Do you plan on stashing anything in there? A photo? Secret contact information? Condoms?"

Condoms? Who the hell would he be fucking in...? Oh. Roy suddenly found himself picturing Riza pinned under him on the desk. The mental image of her aroused blush, half lidded eyes, tousled hair and beautifully bare body instantly shot flames into his veins.

He instinctively pushed the fantasy away. Instead he raised an eyebrow, his lip curling in a smirk. "Nothing like that," he lilted, reaching into his pockets. He pulled out his ignition gloves, slipping them into the hidden drawer and closing it.

"Ah, good enough," Grumman nodded. "Well, thank you for returning this. You'll be glad to hear Hakuro and Perkins are taking the same train as I am out of the city. I believe Armstrong is taking a train tomorrow. Perhaps you should invite her to dinner. With your new General's budget, she might not break your bank anymore!" Grumman laughed, turning and moving back towards the door.

"I was already planning on it. Have a safe trip, Sir," Roy offered, smiling at his old mentor.

"As safe as I can," Grumman chuckled as he opened the door. Riza stood just outside, several files held in her arms. She gave no reaction as she came nose to nose with the Fuhrer, her steady gaze focusing on him. "Riza! I'm glad you came to see me off."

Her stoic expression didn't change, her flat voice offering, "Of course, Sir. I hope you travel safely."

"Where's Vulcan?"

She visibly stiffened with the question, eyes widening slightly as her grip tightened on the files. "He's- finishing his transfer papers down in Personnel."

Roy couldn't see the look that Grumman gave Riza, but he expected it was something quite fierce. Riza didn't flinch beyond her initial reaction, easily composing herself.

"Major Hawkeye..." he began.

"Sir, my promotion won't be official until Monday morning. I'm still a Captain."

"Captain Hawkeye," Grumman grumbled, "I expect you to allow Vulcan to do his job. He is here for your protection. Next time I see you, he better be close by, and that's an order."

"Yes, Sir," she snapped, heels clicking together, a fire of defiance behind her hazel eyes. Roy expected an off duty phone call would be made where Riza would voice her displeasure properly, but he would never be privy to that particular conversation.

"Sir, the train..." one of the bodyguards interrupted, poking his head into view.

Grumman remained unmoved for a long moment before nodding his head, reaching over to pat Riza's arm briefly. "Give me a phone call sometime, Love," he took a step to pass her, then paused. He turned his face up towards her, holding out the photo to her. "You were asking for this. Mustang found it just a moment ago, you ought to thank him." Roy saw the side of his smile as Riza took the photograph. "Also," he added, digging in his pocket and pulling out a key ring to hand it to her. "Happy Birthday."

Before she could refute his words, he turned and continued on his way, his bodyguards following swiftly with a deadly grace. "It's not my... birthday...," she trailed off as he vanished from sight. Shaking her head, she looked down at the photograph silently.

"Captain?" Roy voiced in the ensuing calm.

She looked up with his prodding, inhaling steadily. "Sir. I'm sorry to bring this to you today, but these are documents that can't wait until we return," she stepped in, carefully placing the stack on the desk, shifting the photo and keys out of the way in her grasp.

Roy sighed slightly, looking at the inch thick stack. He could have it done in an hour or two, he'd just hoped to be more on his feet today with the move. Gone were the days of leaning into his natural tendency to procrastinate. He didn't have anything to hide concerning his eagerness to climb the promotional ladder, and he was stuck until Grumman retired. Now he just had to prove himself equal to the task of Fuhrer.

"Thank you, Captain," he offered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his glasses in their sleeve. He paused, fingering the metal frames for a moment. "Armstrong is still here, correct?"

"Both General and Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong are here, yes."

"While I work on this, I'd like a coffee table and two couches moved in here. I'd also like a word with Falman as soon as possible."

"Of course, Sir."

"And-" he cut off her retreat, "What's the gift this time?" he teased, smirking at her.

She sighed, holding up the keys for examination. "They look like they belong to an automobile. Who knows which or where I'll find it."

"It probably has a big bow on the hood in the parking lot," Roy chuckled, slipping his glasses on and finally sitting down, pulling the stack in front of him. Riza murmured something under her breath as she left him, leaving the door open behind her. His smile faded as he pulled the first report, scanning it swiftly before giving it a signature.

He was half way through the fourth document when Falman finally stepped in, knocking lightly on the open door. "You sent for me, Sir?"

Roy looked up, setting his pen aside. "Come in, Lieutenant, and close the door behind you." Falman swiftly obeyed as Roy took off his glasses, gesturing to a temporary chair on the other side of the desk. "Take a seat, I have a- proposal for you."

Falman raised a gray eyebrow at that, pulling the chair slightly before sitting down. "Sir?"

Roy stared at the man for a long moment, linking his fingers as he leaned his weight into his elbows, touching his thumbs to his lips softly. He'd admittedly been debating Olivier's request since she'd brought it up, the proposal burning in the back of his mind constantly.

Falman tilted his head slightly with the prolonged silence, the edges of his mouth turning down in slight concern. Before he could probe again, Roy pulled his hands away from his mouth to speak. "General Armstrong wants you as Chief Staff Officer at Fort Briggs. You can begin the post with your upcoming promotion to Captain, but she mentioned you'd likely be promoted again within the year."

Falman's narrow eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows raising and jaw loosening. "She wants you because she claimed that the Promised Day made you into a 'proper Briggsman'. I don't know too much about that, but I do acknowledge it would be a good career shift for you. Staff Officer could lead the command of the Fort itself, and with it, promotions up into the General ranks.

"I'd be remiss to lose you though. You're a valuable member of the Team, and I don't throw away good soldiers- or friends. I thought it only best to let you decide where you go. Armstrong is leaving tomorrow, and I plan on meeting with her in a few hours. I would like your decision as soon as possible."

Falman took a moment to digest the news, the ever thoughtful man visibly considering the situation carefully. "You won't be losing me, Sir. Don't you need an informant strictly loyal to you up in the North?"

Roy released a single chuckle, lowering his hands to no longer hide his face. "I'm certain Armstrong won't give you much to work off of, but whatever you can give me would be appreciated. Congratulations on the new position."

Falman smiled with a hint of embarrassment. "No, thank you, Sir. I've been grateful to work on the Ishval Restoration, but now we're back to normal, I was worried about feeling out of place. Briggs- it changed things for me. Watching a Commanding Officer give his life to end Bradley when all else seemed hopeless... Well, I haven't been in a drawn out war like you, Sir, but I learned a lot from those months leading up to the Promised Day."

"You know, that's the most unsynced thing I've ever heard you say, Lieutenant," Roy laughed. "It's almost as if there are some emotions there." Falman's smile twisted slightly, as if the man had been caught in something. "I don't need to know any private secrets, Falman. I'll get the transfer order ready and inform Armstrong you'll be heading out with her."

Roy pushed himself to his feet, Falman following suit. "Thank you, Sir," he snapped to attention, lifting an arm in salute. "It's been an honor serving under you."

His words struck with more force than Falman likely intended, causing Roy to pause, looking him over. "Let's not- act like this is goodbye. I have every intention to see and hear from you on the regular, Lieutenant."

Falman smirked slightly, lowering his arm to his side. "Yes, Sir."

A firm rap came at the door, Roy far too familiar with the sound to mistake it. "Come in, Captain," he called.

Hawkeye pushed the door open, swiftly stepping aside for a group of enlisted men to carry in his requested furniture. "Two couches and a coffee table, as requested," she reported briskly.

"I see that. Hawkeye, please have the rest of the Team meet in here on the double. I have an announcement to make," Roy met her chestnut gaze, questioning but steady.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, smoothly stepping back out of his spacious office.

"Lieutenant, could you go grab a transfer form while the rest collect in here?" Falman nodded sharply, departing with quick steps and leaving Roy with the enlisted, directing where he wanted the furniture placed.

It didn't take most of the Team long to 'collect'. Those whose duties for the day were in the adjoining staff office were there almost instantly, Havoc plopping down on a newly placed couch and swinging his boots onto the coffee table.

"Feet off, or Hawkeye will flail you," Breda teased, grabbing a chair and propping it against the far wall before sitting in it.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she did," Ross chuckled, sitting across from Havoc as Brosh took the empty seat next to the smoker. Havoc scowled slightly, Catalina hesitating before redirecting her steps to join Ross.

"I was just trying to break it in," Havoc raised his hands in surrender, removing his boots from the table.

Roy took his seat, trying to minimize his pleased smirk at Brosh's tact to keep the two lovebirds separated. If that's what it was. Now Roy thought about it, Brosh may not have the foresight for that. Roy picked up his pen, shifting back to the document he'd been working on earlier. Scanning to find where he'd left off, he tried to filter out the casual conversation shared between his subordinates: New housing, their plans for the coming weekend, expected bumps in the transition to Eastern Headquarters.

Fuery arrived, shortly followed by Falman. Roy gave Falman a nod as the taller man placed the form on his desk. Roy absently grabbed it, shifting to the new document immediately.

He managed to fill out most of it by the time Riza returned with Alex, the giant boisterously interrupting his work. "Good afternoon, my fine comrades!"

"Lieutenant Colonel," Ross replied with a nod.

Roy scanned the room, doing a headcount. Nine, not counting himself. He'd been expecting eleven, his mind digging for the missing faces. One would have been Miles, who was back in Ishval. The other would have been Sheska, in the corner taking minutes. "Is Sheska unavailable?" he asked, eyes flicking to Riza.

"The Secretary Department has her swamped. I could try to extract her," Riza offered, looking ready to leave again.

"No, I'll be heading to speak with her soon enough. What about Vul..." he trailed off, deciding against the sudden thought. Just as well, as Riza's expression shifted almost to murderous. "Never mind.

"Two announcements, and hopefully you can all leave early today," Roy set down his pen, pulling off his glasses as he focused on Falman briefly. "General Armstrong approached me last night with a request, and after consideration and consultation, Falman has agreed to take up her offer to become Chief Staff Officer at Fort Briggs."

"What?" Havoc exclaimed, sitting up straight, hands on his knees.

"I thought you didn't like the North, Lieutenant?" Fuery voiced.

"Damn, you did something right," Breda chuckled.

All their reactions were overshadowed by Armstrong's sudden boom, his meaty hand slapping Falman roughly on the shoulder. "YOU IMPRESSED MY SISTER! WELL DONE!"

Falman coughed, trying to breathe properly after the collision. "Thank you," he wheezed, rolling his shoulder and rubbing it gingerly.

"Shit, Falman," Havoc uttered, appearing baffled. "When do you leave?"

"I- Well, General Armstrong leaves tomorrow," Falman answered, Roy realizing he hadn't properly considered the question.

"I'm having dinner with her tonight, I'll make sure to ask when she'd like you to report for duty."

"Thank you, Sir," Falman nodded.

"The other announcement, Sir?" Roy's eyes flicked to Riza, a light of frustration behind her hazel irises.

She was that upset about Falman? "We have a new team member, assigned by the Fuhrer. You may have seen him on the train near Hawkeye. I don't know much about him- beyond his assignment as Captain Hawkeye's personal bodyguard."

"What? Riza doesn't need a bodyguard!" Catalina exclaimed, her curly ponytail bobbing as she suddenly leaned forward in her seat.

"Tell my grandfather that," Riza mumbled in a surprising verbalization of her displeasure.

"Captain, do you have anything to say about him beyond his..." 'Uselessness' was the word that came to mind, but Roy fished for a different one, "Redundancy?" he tried.

She exhaled, lips pursing slightly. "Second Lieutenant Bret Vulcan has always been professional and courteous when assigned as my bodyguard at state events. I haven't taken much of a chance to get to know him better, too many things were always going on. Admittedly, he does know how to not be in my way. I believe he's very aware that his position has always been ceremonial. His main convenience is that I don't have to reach up my skirt for a gun," her lips twitched slightly, "and I didn't need to share that."

Roy really wished she hadn't. The image of a thigh holster under that elegant emerald gown from the night before caused a knot to tighten in the pit of his stomach, heat flushing through his body, threatening to rush down to his groin.

"Well," Roy began awkwardly, breaking the silence, hoping no one else in the room was aroused by the same concept. "I suggest we all make an effort to welcome Lieutenant Vulcan, and I encourage you all to introduce yourselves. Until the Fuhrer deems otherwise, he's here to stay."

"I think I might know him," Breda suddenly voiced, drawing attention to his seat against the wall. He'd been leaning his chair against the wall on two legs, and brought himself back properly to the ground. "Some family friends when I was growing up had a son named Bret. I haven't seen him in close to fifteen years, but there aren't a lot of Vulcans around, and he did look familiar."

"Well, reintroduce yourself and go from there," Roy shrugged, musing slightly on the coincidence. "That's all I really had to say. Anything else?"

Heads shook in response, but Fuery perked up with the offer. "Oh, I just wanted to report some possible vandalism. There's a car in the parking lot with a giant bow on it..."

Riza sighed heavily, lifting a palm to cover her face. "I don't believe that's vandalism, Fuery. It's likely Captain Hawkeye's new car," Roy smirked.

Riza sighed as she peeled the large, velvety, red ribbon off of the silver sports car. The convertible was a newer model of the same car Gluttony had eaten four years earlier, her previous car having also been a gift from her ever generous grandfather (though he'd been much less public about giving that one than this).

Black Hayate sat patiently two feet away from her, watching as she crumpled up the ribbon, tossing it into the back seat with the box containing her new uniforms. "Ma'am, wait!"

She glanced behind her as Lieutenant Vulcan came jogging up, Riza resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably at the sight of him. She straightened, angling her chin upwards slightly to keep her eyes on his face as he reached her. "Lieutenant. How can I help you?"

"Fuhrer Grumman wanted me to escort you home every night, but I believe that's a bit overbearing," Vulcan began, his expression cautious. "I did want to give you this before you left though," he offered a small piece of paper, a list of digits scrawled on it.

"What's this?" she asked, taking it.

"My phone number. If you ever need my help after hours, please, feel free to call. I know you're extremely competent, Ma'am, but it's always good to have someone watching your back."

She glanced down at the number, processing the offer. "Thank you. Have a good weekend, Vulcan."

He nodded, slipping his hands into his pocket as he began turning to head back towards the building. "Lieutenant," she drew him to a stop, the tall man looking back at her in surprise. "Next week, if we have some down time, we should go to the shooting range together. Get to know each other better."

He gave a half-hearted smile, "So you can get to know my combat skills better?"

She shrugged slightly in agreement, "Catalina, Havoc, and Ross will tell you I like shooting with friends. And I'd like to assess your combat skills."

"I look forward to it, then," he offered with a nod.

She gave him an attempt at a smile, doubting it was much stronger than his was. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight."

She watched him walk off for a moment before turning to her car, opening the door. "Come on boy," she called, Hayate springing to his feet and jumping in. He climbed to the other side of the front bench, sitting primly in the passenger's seat. She followed, taking the number Vulcan had given her and tucking it into the glove box.

Testing the keys her grandfather had given her, the engine turned and began humming with life. "Good, we didn't break into someone's car," she murmured to Hayate, pulling out of the parking spot.

The cool autumn air ran through her hair as she began making her way to her apartment building. For the first time that day she had a chance to stop and think, her mind taking her down the familiar streets automatically.

"That's the last of that. I need to head out, I'm meeting with Olivier for dinner," Roy announced, placing his stack of papers in the out box. The rest of the Team had headed out about twenty minutes earlier, leaving Riza with Roy as he finished his work. Despite Roy's attention to the paperwork, it had taken him about the same amount of time to handle as if he'd been procrastinating again, purely because he kept getting interrupted by other duties. Try as he might, fate seemed determined to make him work late, even when diligent.

Riza paused as she looked up at him. It was- odd to hear those words from him. During their time in Ishval, Roy Mustang had set aside his playboy tendencies to give his all towards the restoration. She should have known that now that chapter of their lives was done, he'd go back to this.

Then again, it was General Armstrong he was taking out. It was very likely this was official business. Olivier wouldn't give him the time of day otherwise.

Still, she'd been warned: Roy was still single, and very likely eager to mingle after his three year hiatus.

"Good luck, Sir," she offered in a flat voice, looking back down at her own paperwork. It was none of her business what he did outside of work. If he wanted to continue sleeping his way across Amestris, so be it.

She tried to ignore the pain in her chest at the thought. She still had work to do and he had made his stance on their relationship clear nearly a decade ago. She didn't have time to waste pining for him.

Riza exhaled heavily, regretting the reality of her situation. Roy was likely out enjoying a date with a stunning and inspiring woman, and she was here with her dog, driving to her old apartment complex to spend the weekend moving in.

At least she had a car. Roy had been jealous of her old one, and once he learned this was simply a newer model, he'd likely be green with envy. Or maybe not. It was just a car, and over the last few years he'd started showing less interest in those sorts of things. Or maybe that was just their return to Ishval.

She pulled up to the apartment building, five stories rising above her head as she parked. Turning off her engine, she glanced at Hayate, giving a simple command: "Guard."

He barked in acknowledgement, his spine stiffening and tail stilling from its wag. She climbed out and closed the door, grabbing a manila file tucked under her uniform box in the back. With her pace quick, she walked towards the leasing office. They'd be closing soon, but when she'd last called to confirm her accommodations two weeks back, they'd assured her it would be a few signatures, handing over keys, and she'd be good to go.

As she stepped in, a sudden wind blew her hair wildly, the door resisting as she tugged it open with a jerk. It nearly slammed shut behind her, drawing the attention of the spindly, middle aged man behind the desk. His wispy combover ruffled with the residual wind that made it through the door, his cheeks draining of color at the sight of her.

"Good evening," Riza offered pleasantly, running a hand through her hair, worried she looked like quite a sight. "It's Mr. Mayfield, right? I'm Riza Hawkeye, I've been in contact with your wife about renting an apartment here."

She crossed over to him, pulling out her documents, passing over the proper paperwork. He accepted the papers hesitantly, a nerve in his cheek twitching. She'd never spoken to him before, having dealt mostly with his wife and the maintenance man, Harold, when she'd lived here four years earlier.

He cleared his throat, scooting over to a filing cabinet and thumbing through manila tabs. "Hawkeye, you said? What room were you reserved for?"

"412," she'd filled out enough files for her new East City address that the number came easily to mind. "I was in contact with Mrs. Mayfield two weeks ago, and she said everything was in order. Is- something wrong?"

The man had perspiration on his bald head, making his combover hair stick to his scalp. His cheek twitched again. A nervous tick?

"Ah, well, see, we've been getting a lot of housing requests from the soldiers moving back from Ishval," he began. In her stomach, a leadened weight grew and settled, her skin prickling with unease. "It seems- our end of the paperwork has been misplaced."

A lump in the back of her throat caused her response to stick, Riza having to force the question out, "You- do have my apartment available, don't you?"