Originally Published: February 11, 2021

Last Edited: September 1, 2022

A/N: Thank you for the reviews last chapter! I love getting them!

Chapter 4

Assumptions

Monday, April 18, 1898

"Hey!" Riza jumped, her book falling from her hands and into the dirt. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Hawkeye," the new apprentice leaned down, picking up the book and offering it back to her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Riza glared at him, snatching her book back and tucking it under her arm as she continued walking down the dirt road. He skipped to catch up, hands in his pockets as he walked beside her. "Where are you going?" She didn't answer him, nor even looked in his direction. "You know, I've never heard you talk. Are you mute?" She didn't reply as they entered the town. He shrugged, and kept following her.

Riza had plunged herself into her studies to try to avoid talking to him over the last week. Thankfully Ms. Kent and her father kept them both busy most of the time. Ms. Kent knew about her weekly ritual, and since Riza always took poetry with her, the Governess allowed it, leaving Riza free for an hour or two. Apparently her father had given the new apprentice a break as well. She continued her way to the market, grimacing slightly as he persisted in following her.

Silently, she moved to the florist. A middling man in age and height came out from his shop. With the exotic dark skin, white hair, and red eyes of an Ishvalan, Mr. Bishara had a kindly, if weathered smile on his face, "Ah, Riza, it's good to see you," he greeted before turning his attention to the new apprentice. "You even brought a friend with you. I don't think I've met you before. I'm Junai Bishara."

"It's good to meet you, Sir. I'm Roy Mustang!" His charming smile caused her to scowl.

"He's not my friend, he's a nuisance," Riza spoke directly to Mr. Bishara, refusing to look at the new apprentice.

"Oh," Mr. Bishara blinked in surprise, glancing at him.

"Can I get the regular?" Riza pulled out 300 cenz from her pocket, offering them to the shopkeeper. When her father had enough to give her a small allowance, she saved it up for flowers from Mr. Bishara's shop. With her eleventh birthday the day before, her coin pouch was even more full than usual.

"Of course, Miss Riza," Bishara took her coins, beginning to pick out a few flowers from his cart: hydrangeas, daisies, camellias, carnations. A single amaryllis was the centerpiece, each flower dominantly white. Wrapping them in paper and with a blue ribbon, he handed the flowers to her, "Here you are."

"Thank you, Mr. Bishara," she took the flowers, turning from him and the new apprentice.

"Sorry about her. She's been like that for a while now. I'm certain she'll loosen up soon," she could hear behind her.

"It's okay. Bye, Mr. Bishara!" She could hear his footsteps rush to catch up to her, falling in beside her again. "What are the flowers for, Miss Hawkeye?"

She tensed with the question, walking faster to get away from him. The persistent boy kept up and Riza ducked between two buildings, trying to lose him as she began running. His extra height made it difficult to gain ground on him as she turned on a different street, breaking from the market.

"Miss Hawkeye!" Riza stopped, shoes skidding on the gravel road as she turned to watch him run past her, her glare met his surprised expression, his ebony eyes wide in shock.

She ducked back another road as he skidded to his bum from scrambling to stop. He fumbled back to his feet, trying to catch up. "Miss Hawkeye, wait!" Riza was panting by the time she reached the wooden fence framing the cemetery. She slowed to a walk, glancing back to find she hadn't lost him. She gritted her teeth, clutching her book and flowers tighter to her chest as she turned to confront him.

He slowed to a stop, slightly winded himself. She took a slight sense of pride in that as she glared up at him. "Can you leave me alone?"

He blinked, looking towards the headstones beyond the fence. "Were you coming here?"

"Yes! Like a do every Monday. It's time I want to keep to myself rather than dealing with you," she snapped, her jaw tight.

His expression grew sober, looking back to her flowers. "Who are you visiting?"

She hunched her shoulders instinctively. Memories of Ms. Kent's scolding reminders to keep her back straight caused her to push them back defiantly. "My mother," she finally answered.

The new apprentice suddenly looked very confused. "Wait, that lady who does the cooking and cleaning isn't your mom? Is she your stepmom?"

"She's my Governess, and her name is Ms. Kent." The only time she really did either cooking or cleaning was to teach Riza how to keep house. Where her last pleasant memory with her mother was cooking, she valued the lessons more than she dared to admit.

"Oh..." he replied weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. Riza huffed slightly, turning on her heels and moving into the cemetery. She passed the familiar headstones, some fresh, some worn, stopping before one near the middle.

Elizabeth Hawkeye 1868 - 1896

Sighing softly, Riza placed the flowers before her mother's grave, primly lowering herself to her knees, flattening her skirt to make sure it covered her thighs. She glanced back, finding the new apprentice standing outside the fence on the street. His hands were in his pockets again and she thought she could see a frown on his face. He was far enough away she wasn't sure, and she was grateful for that.

She turned back to the grave, "I brought some of Ulden's poems today, Mother. I know you like them a lot, so I thought..." she trailed off, her heart sinking.

She was talking to a stone, not her mother.

Monday, April 25, 1898

Riza walked down the dirt road again to the market, another poetry book held against her chest. As she approached Mr. Bishara's shop, she stopped, watching the new apprentice hand over some cenz for a familiar bouquet of flowers.

"Ah, there she is. Riza, Roy here bought your flowers today," Mr. Bishara called, waving to her with a smile.

The new apprentice turned to her, a warm smile on his face. Riza's breath caught in her throat, clutching the book tighter. What was he doing? She'd told him last week she wanted this time to herself. Not that they spent a lot of time together, but she didn't want him here either.

That smile was what really rooted her to the ground. He turned, waving to Mr. Bishara with a "Thank you," before moving over to her. "Miss Hawkeye," he began, stopping before her, offering her the bouquet. "For your mother," his voice was kind, his smile tender.

She accepted the flowers guardedly, "Why are you doing this?"

He slipped his hands into his pockets, his smile fading as he met her gaze with his onyx eyes. There was a softness to that look. "Both of my parents died when I was five. I don't remember them as much as you probably remember your mother, but- I feel for you, Miss Hawkeye."

"Riza," she whispered, causing him to start in surprise. Part of her was just as shocked as he. "It's- Riza."

He smiled brightly, "I'm Roy," his charm seemed to have no end, and she felt her cheeks growing warm.

"I know that," she curled her fingers more tightly around the book's spine. "You're Roy Mustang. You're my replacement."

His eyes widened, his smile gone. "W-what? What do you mean?"

She sighed softly, turning, "Come on, Mustang. You can join me today," she offered before moving in the direction of the cemetery, not waiting for him. His longer legs easily caught up to her, falling into step beside her.

"Riza, you can't just say that! I can't replace you. How would I even do that?"

"It's not about... It's alchemy. My father used to teach me, but after my mother died every time I tried to transmute, I rebounded. He got tired of it. He gave up on me and replaced me with you. He rid himself of all responsibility concerning me when he brought Ms. Kent a few months ago and now he won't even talk to me anymore."

"Maybe he just doesn't know how to raise a girl," Roy offered hesitantly. When she looked at him in confusion, he continued, "My Aunt Chrissy, she doesn't really know what to do with me. She's very feminine, and she doesn't understand my interest in alchemy... Not that I'm saying there aren't female alchemists, my sister left to go study alchemy too. She just doesn't get it. She's trying to teach me to be a gentleman, but I think that's because of her work. She's distant and rough, but I know she loves me. She wouldn't have taken me in if she didn't. She wouldn't have looked for an alchemist to train me if she didn't care."

"You don't feel like she was trying to get rid of you?" Riza asked bitterly, looking up at him.

"That wasn't the plan, especially after my sister ran away. She told me she'd get me to my teacher for lessons as often as she could, but until Master Hawkeye offered the spare room, we were going to have me still live at home. He hasn't sent you off to distant relatives. You still live with him."

They reached the cemetery after his impassioned speech, Riza digesting his words, but not feeling much better. Part of her wished the soldiers who had tried to take her away had succeeded. "Well, that's something, but I don't know any of my relatives. I don't even know if I have grandparents, or aunts and uncles. He won't talk about them if they're still around." She recalled asking about the Officer's words concerning her mother's father and unknown family. Silence had been her only answer.

He was quiet for a moment, watching her carefully. "Well, Riza. I'll be your new family if you want. I won't make you, but I'm going to be around a lot. Master Hawkeye says it'll be at least five years for me to finish a comprehensive study of all the alchemy branches. He also says he might let me help with his research when I finish everything else." She flinched with the mention of her father's research, grimacing, "You don't have to choose now, Reez."

"Reez?" she wrinkled her nose as she repeated it, looking up at him in bewilderment. He laughed, that charmingly bright smile splitting his face.

"You can call me Roy-Boy if you want!"

"No," she shifted her book and flowers uncomfortably.

"Okay, okay. You don't have to. I should let you go visit your mom though. I'll see you back at the house," he smiled.

"Wait, Roy."

"Hmm?" he stopped, having taken a step away already.

"Can I- introduce you to my mother?" she asked hesitantly.

His smile was back, a warm feeling growing in her chest at the sight. "Of course. I'd be honored."

She stared at him for a moment before muttering, "You sound like an adult," before turning and moving into the cemetery.

"Well, I am older than you!" he followed her closely, stopping with her before the headstone. She bent down, placing the flowers at the base of the headstone. "Elizabeth. I like that."

"Sometimes I wish I had her name- but I like Riza too," she smiled softly, shrugging slightly. She looked sideways at him, hands twitching on the spine of her book. "I- read her poetry. Would you like to stay?"

He met her eyes, pausing a moment before smiling, "Sure."

Thursday, June 22, 1899

Roy lay on his stomach, drawing a transmutation circle on the wooden floor with a stick of chalk. "Roy, can I tell you a secret?" Riza was sitting against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest as she watched him, her arms discolored with bruises. That miniskirt of hers showed quite a bit of leg, and he tried not to stare. His aunt would whack him with a book every time he stared at the ladies at home- or well, the Bar. That's where they lived, after all.

"Hmmm?" Roy replied, focused on the line he was drawing. He was growing lengthy, his limbs gangly as he grew taller. Riza had started to show signs of maturing too: Budding breasts, curving hips and waist- he really had to try not to stare as he observed the changes in her. Berthold would kill him.

The bruising on her arms came and went. Roy had asked her a few times about it, but she always passed it off as an accident. His gut told him otherwise. Master Hawkeye was intense and almost dark, but brilliant beyond comparison. Roy felt lucky to have him as his teacher, but he worried about his relationship with Riza.

He wondered idly how Izumi's alchemy training was going.

"This is important!" she snapped before making herself relax, "Can you please listen to me?" Roy looked at her before he pushed himself up to his knees.

"Alright! I'm sorry. I'll try to do better," he promised.

She grew quiet, looking down at the circle. "My father, he claims the Military is evil, but I think he's just trying to put the blame on someone else."

Roy glanced at the door behind them. Berthold had supposedly left for the day, but in the year he'd been training, he'd learned to always keep an eye out. Turning back to Riza, he tilted his head. "The blame for what?"

"Killing my mother. He told me the Military made him do it, but I was there. It was him."

Roy was silent for a long moment, Riza's chestnut eyes hidden by shadows. "What did he do?"

"You know his research he does when he's not training you? Well, he's trying to perfect Flame Alchemy."

Roy started in surprise, "Flame Alchemy? That's only been theorized!"

She lifted her head, her eyes now visible. "He burned my mother alive. Her screams- I still hear them at night." Tears began to condense at the edge of her eyes, Roy quickly scrambling over to her. He pulled an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. "I used to love learning alchemy from him. But after he killed her- every time I transmuted, all I could hear was her screaming. I told my father it was rebounds, but I think he knew. Roy, alchemy did that to her. Alchemy took her away. I want you to stop studying with him. It's evil. It'll take you like it took my mother- like it's taken my father!"

His hand curled tighter around her shoulder. "I can't do that," his voice sounded deep for his age, almost husky. The effect was ruined as it cracked with his next words, "I can't-" he cut off with the sound, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. She looked up at him, tears on her cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I can't leave you here alone."

Her soft brown eyes grew gentle as she brushed a tear from her cheek. "But Roy, you can't stay here forever."

"Neither can you," he insisted. He watched hope slowly light her face, the sight lifting his own spirits. "Besides, alchemy isn't evil. You know the rule about equivalent exchange. You give something and it's returned in equal value. Would you say a Healing Alchemist is evil for healing someone who's injured? Would you say alchemists who use their gifts to steal or kill are good? No. That's why alchemists strive to help the people. We- know we can do a lot wrong, but we try to do a lot of good instead. That's how I view it, at least," he smiled, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

"Roy," she began, visibly hesitating. "Do you think my father should be a State Alchemist?"

He frowned, looking back at the transmutation circle he'd been practicing. "I think Master Hawkeye has his reasons for not becoming one. If he's studying Flame Alchemy, his studies could quickly become weaponized. As a State Alchemist, you lose the ability to make your own judgements about what is good for the people. I- I don't think that will keep me away from trying to get licensed though."

She pulled away from the hug, looking at him in shock. "You want... Why?"

He gave her a sheepish grimace, "Think of it, Riza. Aerugo, Drachma, and Creta are all aggressive nations. What if a war were to happen? I- I want to be able to fight them. To keep the people I care about safe."

"At what cost?" she asked softly, her soft brown eyes filled with hurt.

"My parents were military. I think I know the costs pretty well, don't you?"

She stood up suddenly, a deep frown on her face. "I don't want you to die, Mustang," she snapped, beginning to storm off.

"Riza," she paused in the doorway, looking back at him. "Don't tell your father."

"Why would I? I don't want you sent away," she scowled stubbornly before leaving him. He gave a quiet chuckle, smirking after her.

Monday, June 26, 1899

Roy watched as Mr. Bishara wrapped up Riza's bouquet with white tissue and the same blue ribbon as always. He leaned on the edge of the flower cart with a deep frown, his mind wandering back to his conversation the other day with Reez.

"What has you so troubled, Roy?" the florist asked lightly. Riza wasn't getting out of her lesson with Ms. Kent for another fifteen minutes or so, and Roy had taken to chatting with the older man for additional company.

Roy propped up his chin onto his hand, elbow digging into the wood below him. "You know why Miss Hawkeye gets these flowers every week, right?"

"For her mother," Mr. Bishara answered simply.

"Do you know how she died?"

Mr. Bishara's eyes crinkled with the question, a distant look to his red irises. "That's a nasty bit of business. If you don't know, keep your nose out of it, lad."

"My parents were shot and killed when I was five," Roy reminded him, having told the man before. "Miss Hawkeye told me last week what happened to her mother."

Mr. Bishara placed the bouquet carefully on the cart, shifting his hands to lean on it and look directly at Roy. "You want to talk about it? How your Master murdered his own wife in front of his daughter?"

Roy stood up straight, "The Military was involved somehow, and she says that Master Hawkeye blames them? Why? What do they have to do with it?"

The florist exhaled heavily, "The Military was pestering Berthold about becoming a State Alchemist. They know what he was researching, and they wanted rights over it. It was a conflict between an Officer and Hawkeye that led to Elizabeth's... The Officer was killed too. Some- Colonel from East City. Two of his subordinates were there as well, and they took the body back. No one has been back to recruit Hawkeye since."

Roy chewed on that for a long moment, staring at the gravel road absently. "But why? I mean, my father was a Lieutenant Colonel, and when the MPs found his and my mother's killer, we were told. He was locked up for life for killing a civilian and an Officer. Why wasn't- Master Hawkeye?"

Mr. Bishara didn't answer immediately, picking a large, pink and white flower from a pitcher, handing it over to Roy. "You know what type of flower that is?" he asked as Roy took it.

"No," Roy answered, looking between the petals and long stem then back at Mr. Bishara.

"That is Miss Riza's favorite flower. Do you see the same species in the bouquet she always gets?" Roy glanced at the bouquet, a similar, all white version of the flower standing out as the centerpiece. "Amaryllises are native to my homeland. They like rocky, dry terrain. Though this section of the East is dryer than Central or Western Amestris, it's still too wet here for them to grow properly. They're also expensive. So, why do you think I keep them in stock?"

Roy shook his head, mumbling, "I don't know."

"How much do I charge you or Miss Hawkeye for the bouquet every week?"

"300 cenz."

Mr. Bishara pointed at the flower in Roy's hand, "That flower alone is worth at least 1000 cenz. The reason I sell it for so cheap, just to decorate a tombstone every single week, is because of Miss Riza. She's in a very rocky and dry terrain, and if she can learn to bloom into something like that, it'll be worth every cenz I lost.

"It's fitting, I think. Amaryllises stand for beauty, determination, and love. Miss Riza is already strongly resembling her late mother, who was a great beauty. She has a stubborn streak that will get her places. She just needs to be reintroduced to love- in a healthy way."

Roy looked up at Mr. Bishara, brows furrowing, "Flowers have meanings?"

The florist smiled at him, his red eyes flicking past Roy up the street. "Every one. I'll teach you if you like, but not now. You do yourself a favor and give that to her after she visits the cemetery," he whispered before standing up straight, offering a wave, "Good afternoon Miss Hawkeye."

Riza climbed the two worn out steps onto the porch, Ulden's poetry collection in hand as she crossed to the door. She stepped in, the air cooler thanks to the shade provided by the house.

She crossed to the bookshelf with her mother's poetry collection, shifting to her tiptoes to replace the book she had borrowed. She glanced at the clock over the mantle, grimacing. She'd stayed out too late and now she was behind on dinner. Her arms ached at the thought, worried that more bruises would replace the fading ones if her father realized he was hungry before she finished.

With quick steps, she moved into the kitchen, grabbing her apron off the hook and pulling it over her head. As she set to tying the strings, her eyes caught on an oddity she hadn't seen since her mother had died.

On the kitchen table stood a flower vase, a single, pink and white amaryllis decorating the practical wood, a small note leaning against the base. Riza crossed over and picked up the paper.

Mr. Bishara said this was your favorite. -Roy

A smile tugged at her lips, her worry about dinner being late melting away for a brief moment. That familiar warmth she always felt when Roy smiled at her returned, her skin prickling. She paused, tilting her head as she processed the sensation, her stomach bubbling with joy.

Roy was the only one who made her feel that way. Mr. Bishara's smiles were nice, but they didn't make her stomach flutter. Ms. Kent's occasional tenderness seemed drowned out by her usual strictness. Roy- Roy was more.

More what?

Thursday, May 18, 1911

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Colonel, I'm distracted today," Lieutenant General Grumman murmured, shaking his head at the chessboard between them. Roy crossed one leg over the other, smirking at the pieces.

"I cornered you into a draw, Sir. I'm not complaining."

Grumman hummed absently, collecting the pieces and returning them to their starting positions. Roy watched him cautiously, noting his almost grim demeanor. "How's Riza performing?" Grumman asked, voice low.

"You know Hawkeye, excellent as ever. She took the day off, though," Roy commented, curiosity prodding in his mind. "Would you- happen to know why? I didn't press her on it."

Grumman sighed, leaning back in his chair. "She invited me to go visit my daughter's grave," the General admitted. "It's been fifteen years since Elizabeth died, and I've never once visited her. I suppose I'm afraid to," Grumman's chuckle was hollow and cut short.

"Oh- that was today?" Roy voiced, leaning forward to move his own pieces back to their starting positions.

"You didn't know?" Grumman inquired, a surprised lilt at the back of his tone.

Roy shook his head, "I- I never pressed her on information about her mother's death. She blamed Master Hawkeye for it, and he blamed the Military. She has never quite seemed to move past it, so I never broached the subject. Especially since I became a Flame Alchemist," Roy admitted.

"I have the military report, if you'd like," Grumman offered soberly.

Roy glanced up to meet his superior's gaze, shifting slightly. "It's not really my place."

Grumman didn't seem to listen, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a file. It looked a bit worn, the edges appearing to have been thumbed through on many occasions. He passed it to Roy, "Let me commiserate, Mustang," his voice taking on a gruff, almost painful tone.

Roy hesitated before opening the file. This was a part of Riza he hadn't pushed into. He hoped she wouldn't be upset to find out he'd read it. He skimmed the contents:

A Colonel by the name of Needen had gone to the Hawkeye home on May 18th, '96. His subordinates, the ones who had filed the report, claimed misconduct on the Colonel's part, forcing his way into the home, holding Mrs. Hawkeye as a hostage.

Roy furrowed his brow at the explanation of Berthold's Flame Alchemy. It sounded unrefined and extremely dangerous. The soldiers had both noted the warning Berthold had given Colonel Needen before resorting to the proto-Flame Alchemy.

The descriptions of Needen's and Mrs. Hawkeye's deaths were gruesome. Roy felt his lips twitch downward in a scowl as he reviewed the autopsy of the deceased Colonel. A note from one soldier explained his brief attempt to remove the child from the residence for her own protection. Upon further threats from Berthold, the Second Lieutenant had determined to withdraw before the girl could be accidentally killed as well.

Roy closed the file, a deafening silence filling the room. "Sir," Roy broached, looking up at General Grumman.

"Yes, Mustang?"

"He murdered a Colonel, and there were no repercussions," Roy stated, passing the file back.

"You're curious why? I was selfish. The bastard had just murdered my daughter, I didn't want him to kill my granddaughter as well. Never mind the fact I'd never met her, she was my flesh and blood. Besides, from the description of the transmutations, I doubt anyone other than the Freezing Alchemist could have taken him on, and this was before McDougal was in the Military."

Roy nodded slightly, understanding, but wondering how Grumman had gotten away with sweeping it under the rug. This should have made it to Central Command. "Lieutenant Hawkeye hasn't seen this, has she?"

"No," Grumman answered simply.

Friday, September 13, 1918

Between the train ride to East City and the frantic setting up of Headquarters for the influx of several hundred additional soldiers, there hadn't been time to change into proper evening wear. Roy ruminated on his still packed, and likely dusty, suit and vest he would have chosen to wear on a proper date with a proper lady. He probably would have even slicked back his hair for the proper event.

He'd barely gotten the reservations in before rushing out of the Office. He hadn't even given Riza a decent farewell and that realization made his stomach writhe with guilt.

He cut the engine after parking, slipping the keys into his pocket as he smoothly climbed out of the driver's set. Bracing against the wind, he rounded the car and grabbed the door for his companion, holding it open for her to climb out.

Two Generals in regular uniform, going to a five star restaurant on a Friday night. It wasn't his standard for a date on several fronts, but it was likely the only date he'd get with the (in?)famous Olivier Mira Armstrong.

He noted her critical once over of the restaurant as he offered her his arm, which she promptly ignored, stepping past him and onto the curb. He paused for a brief second, then simply closed the car door, lengthening his stride to join her.

"I hope you like Cretian," he attempted with a false smile, his voice raised to be heard over the gusts buffeting them as they briskly moved towards the entrance. Roy nearly had to lunge to grab the door for her.

Just like during the car ride there, she gave him no response beyond a cold stare, walking through the opened door. He exhaled in a huff, cheeks puffing with the motion as he followed her in.

The host behind the desk glanced between them swiftly, grabbing a pair of menus. "General Mustang?" he asked, attention shifting to Roy. When he gave a nod of assent, he continued, "Private dining for two. Please, follow me to your table."

Wordlessly, Olivier followed, leaving Roy to trail behind them as they were taken to a sectioned off table, the space cozy and almost romantic. Candle lit with a white table cloth, black napkins, fine cutlery and dishes and empty wine glasses.

Olivier had the grace to allow Roy to pull out her chair, helping her scoot in before sitting across from her as the host gave his pitch about specials and such. He vanished, leaving them in a tense silence. Roy barely picked up his menu when a waiter popped into view, hair slicked back, reinforcing Roy's sense of being under dressed for the locale.

Before the waiter could speak, Olivier finally gave voice since they'd left Headquarters. "I want the most expensive item on the menu and a bottle of 1836 Pinot Noir with the meal. If you don't have that, any year other than '52 is acceptable. I want a pitcher of water immediately, and no interruptions until our food is ready. Am I understood?"

The waiter paled slightly, likely not having expected a command for a food order. Roy put the menu down, instantly finding himself trying to soothe ruffled feathers. "I'll take whatever the chef suggests. Please and thank you," he gave the request one of his characteristically charming smiles

"Of course. Water right away," the man offered with a breathy voice, managing to keep his steps even as he rushed out and back with the requested water. With his second disappearance, taking the menus with him, Olivier suddenly ducked out of sight.

Roy blinked, bewildered by her pulling up the table cloth, groping the bottom of the table and knocking lightly on each leg before she started picking up the table settings left and right, her visible blue eye narrowing critically. She stood, scouring the space with deft fingers and a careful eye.

"Are- are you looking for bugs?" he stammered as she worked, picking up her chair and looking at the underside.

"Get up, Mustang," she snapped, nearly toppling him out of his seat to look under it too. He stumbled to his feet, watching her in shock as she turned her attention to him. She grabbed his lapel and began patting him down without warning. Opening his uniform jacket, she took his Glock from his shoulder harness, discarding the neglected weapon to the table. She felt down his chest, sides, back, arms, moving down to his legs, boots, even reaching into his pockets. She pulled out the contents, his keys, glasses, wallet, and State Alchemist watch.

Anger suddenly flashed through his shock, his hands snatching hers roughly and stopping her invasive search before she decided to 'inspect' his crotch. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm not letting you compromise me, Mustang," she ripped her hands from his, rounding the table and sitting smoothly back down. He watched her, literally ruffled by her rough treatment, and utterly bewildered. The waiter had gotten off easy!

"What's going on? You're practically unhinged, Armstrong. A trait I thought I'd never see in you. And this..."

"I'm being blackmailed," she interrupted, crossing her arms and legs, her fingers tapping impatiently on her forearm as she tilted her head, the angle draping her bangs away from her usually hidden eye.

He paused, reevaluating the woman slowly. He straightened the hem of his uniform jacket and began returning his things to his pockets. He tensed as it hit him that his gloves were absent, his mind swimming for the last time he'd held them. Panic resolved as he recalled the conversation with Grumman about the secret cubby in his new desk. Continuing, he reholstered his gun and sat back down, ready to deal with Olivier's pronouncement now he was back in order.

"Family or Military related?"

"Military."

"And you came to me. Why?" he cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her explanation. She was silent for a long moment, calculating, cold.

The Northern Wall of Briggs.

"I believe you have particular experience with this matter. I would like your advice." Roy gave no response, leaving the ball in her court. The only thing remotely illegal he'd done in the Military was the coup d'etat and plotting against Bradley, and amongst the powers that be, there were no secrets there.

Olivier took a steadying breath, her gaze unwavering. "Yesterday evening, Hakuro stumbled upon- Lieutenant Colonel Miles and I being- intimate."

Roy stared.

Roy blinked.

And finally, Roy let out a disbelieving laugh. "What? I'm sorry, why would I be able to help you with that? Fraterni..."

"Lower your voice or I'll skewer you," she growled, hand falling to her sword hilt.

Roy took a composing breath, wrapping his head around the concept of Olivier and Miles. This was serious. Hakuro knowing about that could easily lead to Armstrong and Miles being court martialed and dishonorably discharged. He cleared his throat, sobriety settling in. "So, why come to me about this?"

"Well, Grumman knows about you and Hawkeye," she stated, so matter of fact about the situation, she even shrugged it off. "How do you keep it quiet? How do I prevent Hakuro from going after me? How do I get Grumman on my side so I can't be blackmailed by this?"

"Excuse me, what? Grumman knows what?"

"About you and Hawkeye... your relationship."

"What about it?"

"You're fucking... Aren't you?" the statement turned into a question as she held his gaze, her expression shifting subtly.

Roy leaned back slowly in his chair, the wood creaking with the shift in weight. His lips were slightly parted, his hands clammy. His brain wasn't working quite right, and his response came from numb lips in a breathy whisper, "I wish." Immediately he knew that was the wrong answer, his mind suddenly kicking into gear again as dread washed through him. "I... I..."

"You're not?" she breathed, a frail silence chilling the air between them. He snapped his jaw closed, tense as he shook his head fractionally in denial. "You want to. Is it the Frat laws?"

"General," Roy snapped before she could ask more. The expression she gave lent no leeway. She would know. One way or another. "I shut it down before it could even properly start. Instinct, likely. It was right after the War. Vulnerability in that situation wasn't an option. I- I believe I broke her- her..."

"Her heart," she filled in, an unexpected softness crossing her features. Silence again stretched between them, Olivier looking down at the table. "Apparently I'm wasting my time. We really thought..."

"If I can help, I will," Roy interrupted, drawing her gaze again. "What do you need? What is Hakuro demanding?"

She weighed him for a moment, eye narrowing fractionally in consideration. "It's not that simple. Hakuro hasn't made any demands yet, but he didn't go rushing in to report us either. Grumman and the heads of the Military Council were all there yesterday night, he had every opportunity to burn us out. With how much he dislikes both of us, it doesn't make sense that he's holding his cards so close."

Her hand absently rested on the edge of the table, fingers tapping on the white cloth, her expression calculating. Something she said pricked at his mind, his face darkening with a thoughtful frown. "He dislikes both of us... What if he's waiting until he can take us both down?"

"Why would he wait?" she tested irritably.

"If he's aiming to take down Grumman too."

She took a moment to process the concept, her jaw tightening. "I am not telling the old man about this. It's bad enough I told you, and I'm already regretting that decision."

"But it makes sense, right? Hakuro was openly a supporter of Bradley and has only been resisting Grumman's administration. Both you and I are more likely to succeed Grumman than Hakuro. Perkins has no interest and is five or ten years away from retirement anyways. If we were effectively disposed of without being killed..."

"Yes, Mustang, I get it. I just don't like the idea of that crackpot Fuhrer knowing about my weak position. He might turn it on me too."

"I don't think he would," Roy insisted.

"You have that rapport with him, I do not."

"You could let me talk to him. That or you could build that rapport yourself."

Olivier scowled, picking up her water and taking a sip. "Does Hakuro have anything on you?"

"Not that I know of. I'm not doing anything illegal. Wouldn't stop him from making some trumped up charges against me, though."

"Well, aren't you a goodie little two shoes?"

He leaned forward, lowering his voice even further, "Don't get me wrong: if I ever have another chance with Hawkeye, I'm taking it."

She smirked over her glass with that, "Good."

"Good?" his cheek twitched with the question.

"You make an awful playboy, Mustang. It's the thing I dislike about you most. I'd be glad for the day you stop fawning over every woman in sight."

The temporary roof shuddered under the brisk wind sweeping over East City, the canvas being pummeled by occasional, sporadic raindrops. Riza held a flashlight in one hand, flipping through her updated address book awkwardly with the other. She didn't have a lot of personal contacts, mostly coworkers. Mrs. Mustang's East City bar's location and number hadn't changed in years, Headquarters, her Grandfather's personal line, A. Armstrong, H. Breda, D. Brosh, R. Catalina.

She pried the book spine open more, double checking that she'd remembered the new apartment address correctly. She glanced through the windshield, a street lamp illuminating the matching address in gold, metal lettering on the brick wall ahead of her.

A flicker followed by a crash of thunder made Hayate whine, the poor dear curled up tightly against her hip and trembling. "It's okay. Becca will help us out," Riza soothed, double checking the apartment number. Closing the book, she stuffed it back into her jerkin, twisting to grab her overnight bag from the back seat.

A silhouette ducked past her car, Riza tensing as her eyes shifted to the tall, masculine figure jogging towards the stairwell on the side of the apartment building. The paper bag under one arm and bouquet in the other made her quickly dismiss the threat and focus on digging through her own bag. Shampoo, soap, hairbrush, toothbrush and paste, pajamas, underwear, Hayate's kibble and leash.

Closing the bag again, she turned off the flashlight, abandoning it on the seat as she pulled the bag over her shoulder. Twisting, she pulled Hayate into her arms as another flash of lightning was followed by booming thunder. Hayate scrambled into her arms, crying some more as she opened the door, struggling to carry him out and lock the car. Once she'd managed both, she ducked towards the stairwell, climbing the stairs two at a time until she got to the second floor deck.

Hugging the brick wall, she rushed past painted, metal doors, finally stopping before the one labeled 27. Clutching Hayate to her bosom, she freed one hand to knock loudly on the steel, hunching her shoulders protectively around Hayate. A playful squeal could be heard over the wind, followed by the murmuring of indistinct voices.

"Come on, Becca," Riza breathed as a particularly strong gust buffeted her from behind. "I know you're there." A long moment passed with no sign of her friend answering the door. Groaning in frustration, she pounded at the door again, her arm aching with the amount of effort she put in.

The voices inside cut off, the wind threatening to make a rats nest of her hair by the time the bolt unlatched. Rebecca cracked open the door, poking her head out to check who it was. "Let me in," Riza begged, a particularly strong gust pushing her forward a step. She instinctively kept with the momentum, pushing her way in through Rebecca's door.

"Riza?" Becca gasped, doing her best to force the door closed behind them. "What are you doing here?"

Shivering, Riza froze.

Rebecca's entrance spilled right into the kitchen. Boxes haphazardly scattered around the space and the adjacent living room, a bar separating the rooms. On the other side of the bar, a fork in hand, stood Jean Havoc. He wore a flattering, purple dress shirt, his hair ruffled by the wind. A bouquet of flowers sat on the bar along with some take out food in carefully packaged boxes from a bag and a bottle of red wine. His blue eyes were wide in surprise, his lit cigarette fresh and nearly falling from his gaping mouth.

"Havoc..." Riza breathed, looking back at Rebecca. Her friend's chocolate eyes were even wider than usual, her face pale. Blinking, Riza glanced down, processing what Rebecca was wearing: a lacy, frilly, red and black, baby doll set of lingerie. Her curly brown hair was loose over her shoulders, slightly tousled, giving her that bedroom sort of look. Her make up was heavy and sensual, colored to match her clothing, her lips a lustful red.

She looked back at Havoc. The flowers. The wine. Back to Rebecca. "Oh..."

Hayate squirmed out of her arms as another crack of thunder made the floor shudder. He thumped to the ground, scrambling to hide under the bar near Jean. Havoc blinked, mouth closing on his cigarette butt again as he bent down. "Hey, come here bud. You're alright."

"What are you doing here?" Rebecca repeated, her voice weak from shock, a detail Riza had missed before.

"I- They lost my contract... I- my apartment... I don't have anywhere to go," Riza struggled, glancing between the two of them again and Rebecca's revealing clothing. "I- I'll go," she offered, her voice shaking.

Past the mortification of walking in on her best friend having an intimate evening with their coworker, the uncertainty of where to stay mixed with the violence of the storm had her overwhelmed. This part of her situation alone was nearly as bad as walking in on Roy with some random woman at that restaurant five years back. Only her overall situation now was worse. Much worse.

"No!" Rebecca jumped, stepping more between Riza and the door, holding her hands out to stop her. "Let me explain."

"Don't go back out in that mess, Hawkeye. I'll go," Jean rushed, rounding the bar quickly.

A flash of anxiety suddenly hit her, an escape denied her. She looked between the two of them, heart thundering nearly as loud as the lightning outside. Her hand itched for a pistol, but she instantly rejected the idea. These were friends.

She took a defensive step back, brushing the wall as she tried to keep them both in sight at the same time. "What are you doing?"

"W-we've been dating since I medically retired after I was paralyzed," Havoc stammered, glancing at Rebecca quickly.

"We kept it quiet because some of the senior staff are finicky on ex-military dating active officers. Then Jean got his legs back and..."

"We've kept it really quiet. We got a little drunk last night and sloppy, but..."

"Please don't report us," Rebecca begged, stepping closer.

"Report you?" Riza breathed, eyes flashing between them, heart still racing. "Wh-what kind of friend do you think I am? I won't report you."

Relief flooded across Rebecca's and Jean's faces, Rebecca going as far as to sag with a sigh, "Thank you, Ri. Oh, god, I thought we were dead!" She stepped forward, throwing her arms around Riza in a hug.

Tensing defensively, backed up against the wall, something inside of her snapped. "Do you know what you're doing? You could get court martialed for this! Dishonorably discharged, both of you!" Rebecca started, pulling back completely and blinking in surprise. Riza's chest constricted, her breath coming tightly as she mentally flailed with everything running through her mind. "Do you know how bad this would look on Mustang?"

Rebecca's eyes widened as she visibly tensed, indignation coloring her cheeks. "Of course you make this about him!"

"Becky, stop," Havoc urged, gently grabbing her upper arm, his eyes on Riza.

"We've been doing this for years. No one's found out yet," Rebecca snapped, shrugging Jean off.

"I found out," Riza shot back, frustration and resentment beginning to build in her muscles, her breath still tight. "You two need to figure out what you're doing. Either stop, or one of you resign. This is illegal on so many fronts..."

Rebecca stepped forward, her dark eyes ablaze, "You're such a hypocrite! You're just panicking because you're in the same situation. You and Mustang haven't been compromised yet, and you've been doing it for longer than we have."

Riza gaped, the words feeling like a slap to the face as the tightness and panic suddenly vanished from her body. "Excuse me?" she breathed, her tone deadly.

"You and Mustang. Who are you to tell us how to handle our relationship? You should be supportive, not telling us to stop. We have less on the line than you do, but you keep going on. Get off your high and mighty horse, Riza Hawkeye. We already know you're riding him."

Riza swayed unsteadily, lips still parted. A lump settled in the back of her throat, nausea accompanying it as her flesh grew clammy, sensation leaving her limbs. Her stomach clenched and as the shock rolled off of her it was replaced by pain and regret.

"You think..." she breathed, the words catching in her throat. The feelings from the night before washed over her, liquid lava building behind her eyes and blurring her vision. She tried to fight it. She tried not to blink. Despite her efforts, the tears pooled from her eyes, running down her cheeks. There was no stopping it this time.

Rebecca's anger evaporated, concern replacing it instantly as her lips parted, eyes wide. "Riza?"

She couldn't hold her gaze, glancing towards Jean to find his expression was just as concerned. "Hawkeye, what..."

Resentment enveloped her pain. The tears didn't stop, but her body tensed, her jaw tightening as she more firmly looked at Rebecca, "He rejected me nearly ten years ago," she over enunciated the words, speaking slowly so they'd properly sink in. "So don't go throwing that in my face. I just want you to be safe. So figure out what the hell you're doing before someone finds out who does decide to report you."

She was met by shock on both of their faces. She swallowed hard, her body jerking as she pushed her way past Rebecca towards the door. She grabbed the handle, tugging it open and plunging out into the storm, her feet moving swiftly, her eyes forward. The cool wind froze her tears before whipping them away. Unseeing, unknowing of her destination, she ignored Rebecca's cry after her, clutching the strap of her bag, sobbing shallowly as she briskly made her way down the stairs.

Climbing into her car, a small yip against the wind made her pause as Hayate clambered into her lap.

"Riza!" She turned to find Havoc had rushed after her, grabbing her door and holding it open. "It's not safe out here. Come back." A sob broke from her throat as she instinctively pulled her Desert Eagle from her hip holster. Jean instantly released her door, holding his hands wide. "Whoa," he retreated a step.

Nausea suddenly flooded through her as she realized what she'd just done. Shoving the pistol away atop her dash, she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she gasped, "I can't go back."

"Okay..." he breathed, "Where are you going?"

She shook her head harder, grabbing her door handle. "I don't know," she managed before snapping her door shut.

She could see his mouth move, recognizing her own name but not able to hear it between the wind and the door. She shoved her keys in the ignition, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking spot. Jean stepped back, watching her with concern as she drove away. Riza lost sight of him, her body trembling as fresh tears ran down her cheeks, Hayate whimpering in her lap.

Roy hung up the phone after his conversation with Lieutenant Falman. Having given Olivier's instructions that Falman was to report to the train station tomorrow for his transfer, Roy had only one thing left to do for the night.

Pulling out his keys, he fidgeted with them as he briskly made his way through the halls, lights dim. The thudding of his leather boots echoed off the walls as he walked, the sound accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder from outside. It was always eerie to be at headquarters after hours. Especially alone. Usually he had Hawkeye with him, or occasionally another member of the Team.

He grimaced at the thought. It had been some four years since he'd been stationed here. His whole situation was different now, so everything was far from the 'usual' these days.

He unlocked the door to his Team's staff office, the spacious room housing ten desks for his immediate subordinates. Turning on the light, a soft smile touched his mouth. Even with Falman's departure, a sense of pride in his Team swelled in his chest. They were his family, just like the girls and Madame Christmas. They'd all come so far.

His mind wandered back to his dinner with Olivier, her confession and belief swirling in his head, stealing his smile. Troubled, he crossed the room, finding the key to his personal office on his keyring. Slipping the key into the lock, he pushed the door open.

A growl greeting him.

Bewildered, he reached into his empty pocket, remembering why he was coming here after hours. His hand shifted to his pistol under his jacket instead, pulling it out as he flipped the switch.

As light flooded the office, Roy became aware of two things: first was Black Hayate sitting at the end of one couch, ears back and teeth bared. Second was Riza bolting up from her lying position on the same couch, pointing a gun at him.

They stared at each other for a prolonged moment, Roy processing exactly what he was seeing. She was in silky blue pajamas, her long hair rumpled from more than just laying down. Her cheeks were red, her eyes puffy like she'd been crying. A pillow, blanket, and even a fitted sheet covered the couch, a bag with an open pocket sat on the coffee table, several toiletries clearly visible.

A sizable pile of used tissues was also strewn across the table.

"Captain?"

"Sir!" she fumbled out of the blanket and sheets, standing up and saluting him firmly. The sight of her in such obvious disarray triggered a wave of concern. She was crying? In his office? Her cheeks suddenly turned bright red from embarrassment, her hands swiftly straightening her shirt and hair. "General Mustang, I can explain."

He stepped in, closing the door behind him in a smooth motion. "I'm certain you can. Do tell, why are you camping out in my office?" He returned his pistol to its holster, watching her with worry.

That blush persisted, her blood shot, hazel eyes wide. "Sir, I... The housing I had arranged for our arrival fell through. I went to Rebecca but... suffice it to say she couldn't take us in. With Black Hayate, I can't use Military dorms and finding a hotel that would take us both proved impossible with the storm," the edge of her mouth twitched with her comment about Rebecca, Roy recognizing the tail tale sign of a lie. She continued on, smoothing over the fact as she admitted, "I didn't know where else to go."

Roy stared at her, ignoring Hayate's padding paws as the dog came to his feet, aggression gone as he sniffed Roy's shoes in greeting. He had to handle this situation delicately. Riza hadn't wanted him to know about this, and if he worried about it, it would only reinforce her desire to keep him out.

He consciously melted his visible concern away with her explanation, a disbelieving laugh breaking from his throat. "You're crying about that? Hawkeye!" he stepped into the room, drawing closer to her. "Gather your things, you're coming with me," he moved past her and went to his desk. He pulled open the top drawer, triggering the secret cubby and grabbing his ignition gloves, pushing them into his pockets.

"Sir?" she sounded hesitant, Roy avoiding her eyes as he grabbed the top report from his desk, glaring at the blurry words on the paper.

"Now, Captain," he urged lightly, not meeting her gaze. There was a sudden rustle of sheets and she worked quickly to undress the couch. Looking up from the report, he watched her swiftly fold the sheets, then the blanket, stacking them on top of the pillow.

His flippant demeanor subsided as he watched her. Of course she wouldn't ask him for help. She probably felt like she already imposed on him as it was. He sighed heavily. Stubborn woman.

Giving up on the report, Roy rounded his desk, checking his pocket watch idly, holding it awkwardly far from his face to read the hands. 11:48. Stuffing it back in his jacket, he moved over to bend down, grabbing Hayate's water dish. He moved out of his office, leaving the door open behind him as he carried the dish to the sink by the coffee and tea. He poured it out, noting the dog had followed him.

"Hey, bud," he murmured, bending down and scratching behind his ears. "You're coming with me. Don't worry, my place is a lot more comfortable than here."

"Sir," Riza stepped out of the office, turning off the lights and closing the door. "Where are we going?"

"I have a spare bedroom at my place. Don't protest, Captain. I recall telling you once you would always be welcome to stay the night. Why you forgot is beyond me." He stood up, crossing over to her and snatching the neat stack of bedding from her arms. "Make sure the door's locked," he reminded, leading the way out.

"Yes, Sir."