Originally Published: May 13, 2021

Last Edited: April 6, 2022

Chapter 18

Fallout

Wednesday, September 25, 1918

Riza hadn't stopped Chris from going- but she hadn't stood down either. Her anxiety and concern were blanketed by a calm rush of adrenaline.

Riza recognized the firecracker pop from upstairs for what it was. Her entire body tensed as she met Vanessa's uncertain gaze, looking up towards the source of the sound. A second pop sounded and Riza took a jerky step towards the door.

"No, wait!" Vanessa protested, stepping more in the way.

"Move," Riza growled, gripping her Glock tighter.

She'd decided two weeks before, caught getting dressed in Roy's guest room, that she wouldn't intentionally harm this woman. For his sake.

She was beginning to regret that choice.

"Just wait! Everything should be..."

Roy's unintelligible bellow upstairs broke her self-restraint. She bolted towards Vanessa, the more slender and less muscular woman's eyes widening in shock.

"Move!" Riza roared, colliding with her. There was a commotion outside the kitchen in the bar, battling with the sound of both of their heels clacking on the stone floor.

"Major, stop!" Vanessa easily had the underhand in their grapple, her five inch heels giving her more height than Riza, but less stability. Plus Riza had spared against bigger, stronger, and more lithe opponents than Vanessa on the regular.

She wasn't as easily shoved aside as Riza had guessed though. She met Riza with her own grapple, wisely catching Riza's armed hand by the wrist, pointing the gun away from both of them.

Riza stepped a foot behind Vanessa's, hooking her ankle with her own. Vanessa gasped, gripping Riza's dress as she started falling. The silky material ripped under the unexpected jerk. As Vanessa scrambled to regain her footing, her stiletto heel jabbed into the bridge of Riza's foot.

There was a stabbing sensation with the pressure, accompanied by a sickening crunch of bones and cartilage. Grunting in pain, Riza intentionally released her Glock, freeing her second hand. She twisted her wrist in Vanessa's grip, reversing the grasp and clutching Vanessa in return. She jammed her free arm between their torsos, palm striking under Vanessa's jaw as Riza's elbow hit her forearm.

The gun hit the floor as Vanessa's grip broke on Riza's dress. With the force against her chin, she fell back again, never having properly regained her footing. Riza's clutch on her wrist swiftly twisted her arm, forcing her torso to turn so she landed chest first on the floor.

All of the air inside Vanessa's lungs was forced out in a gush, the other woman left stunned as she struggled to catch her breath. Riza released her, quickly stepping over her. As she added weight to her right leg, pain shot up her foot into her ankle and shin, amplified by the curve of her high heel. Crying out, Riza stumbled, grabbing onto the countertop to her left for support.

The door suddenly slammed open, Madeline bursting in with wide, worried eyes. She skidded to a halt at the sight of them, eyes flashing between Vanessa now kneeling on the floor, clutching her chest and gasping for breath, and Riza leaning heavily against the counter.

Dr. Knox shoved his way past Madeline, stress contorting his weathered face as he shouted, "Your first aid, Woman! Where is... What the fuck is going on here?"

"The General?" Riza winced, trying to put her weight back on her injured foot. There was a terribly unpleasant crunch as she shifted her weight, pain shooting through her foot again.

Madeline's shock faded as she grimaced. "It's over here," she directed, rushing over to a cupboard against the other wall.

Knox growled, "I don't know what idiocy you two have been up to, but gunshot wounds take priority. Deal with your own injuries," he snapped, accepting the first aid box from Madeline.

"General Mustang! Was General Mustang shot?" Riza demanded, voice breaking.

"Might as well have been," Knox growled, storming out of the kitchen without explaining.

Riza looked to Madeline, who had rushed over to help Vanessa to her feet. "What did he mean by that?" Riza knew her voice was too loud, her heart speeding up as fear coursed through her veins.

"Someone is already calling an ambulance. I think it was Captain Ross," Madeline dismissed, avoiding the question.

"That's not what I asked!" Riza shouted, the other two women freezing, clearly stunned by her reaction.

Taking a steadying breath, she kicked off her shoes, noting the blood trailing down from the top of her foot. She dismissed it, gingerly stepping on the injured foot, an involuntary cry crawling its way up and out of her throat.

"Are you insane? Stop! You're injured," Vanessa insisted, pulling away from Madeline's support, trying to help her.

"Stay away from me," Riza snapped, limping her way over to the open doorway, grabbing the frame for support.

"I'm not sure who was shot. I wasn't told," Madeline called after her.

"Then get out of my way," Riza growled under her breath, forcing herself past the pain as she crossed the hall to the corner opening out into the bar.

She was familiar with the tension of soldiers on edge. It crackled through the crowd, which was clearly two thirds military. She recognized quite a few people in passing, but the Team was out of sight. Somewhere in the crowd Elicia was crying, likely unhinged by whatever was happening.

Sweat began beading on her brow from her strained pain tolerance. Roy. She needed to get to Roy. She clung to the wall, keeping her weight off of her foot as she searched.

Her eyes fell on a familiar pair of blond heads. Edward's arm was wrapped around Winry's shoulder, holding her close. "Ed-Edward," she called, voice strained. The ten yards between them over the buzz of the crowd and music didn't give her much success at catching his attention. Gripping the edge of the wall tighter, she tried again, "Edward!"

He started, both he and Winry turning to see her. "Miss Riza?" Winry asked, as they rushed over to her. "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Nevermind me, where's General Mustang?"

"He wasn't with you? I haven't seen him since the birthday cake," Ed answered, pulling his arm from Winry.

She met his golden eyes with desperation. "Edward. I have to find him, but I can hardly walk on my own. If he's been shot..."

She should have been there.

"Winry, are you okay?" Edward asked, checking with her.

There was a slight pain behind her eyes, but she nodded. "I'm going to go find Elicia and Mrs. Hughes."

Edward nodded sharply, grimacing. "Be careful, alright? There's lots of soldiers here, so you should be fine."

"I know. Go. And be safe yourself, 'kay Ed?"

Edward smirked, a warmth to his eyes Riza had grown used to seeing in Roy's. He ducked in, kissing Winry's forehead briefly before turning back to Riza, expression growing sober. "Alright, let's do this."

Winry ducked away as Ed came closer, moving a supporting arm around her waist. She wrapped her arm over his shoulder, gingerly shifting her weight to her injured foot.

After having rested for a minute, the pain came back worse than before. Clutching at his vest, tears welled up in her eyes as she clenched her jaw, forcing back her cry of pain.

"Are you sure you can walk? I could probably carry you. Or I could just go find him and bring him here."

Unless he was injured too. Damn her foot. Damn Vanessa. Damn Roy for telling her to stay out of it!

"I can't heal her. There's no exit wound. The bullet must be lodged in her chest."

A nauseous lump had settled at the back of Roy's throat after Chris had lost consciousness. He was pointedly not looking in the direction of Annette's blood soaked corpse, slumped in the armchair on the other side of the room.

"We need to staunch the bleeding, then. Hold this compression, Mei. I'm going to check something real quick."

His chest had tightened too. The adrenaline from the confrontation still ran through his veins, but he had nowhere to channel it. And now that help was here, he felt numb, disjointed, and disconnected.

"General Mustang, let's get out of their way. Mei and Dr. Marcoh know what they're doing." Alphonse was tugging on Roy's elbow, trying to pull him away from the room. Roy knew he was right, he was just in the way. But he couldn't tear his eyes from his unconscious aunt lying on Annette's stupid, red rug.

The darker red of Chris's blood covered the floor and his hands, one gloved, the other exposed. They both shook slightly, palms up as he swayed next to the bed, tempted to sit down. He had only stood to make room for Marcoh and Miss Chang to assess Chris.

His only real anchor at the moment was Miss Chang, bent over Chris as she replaced Marcoh's pressure on the wadded up sweater acting as a compress. She'd saved Riza, surely she could save Chrissy too.

"What's going on here?" Armstrong's familiar voice seemed to come from rooms away, not the doorway next to them. "General Mustang?"

"I think he's gone into shock. He's hardly responding to me," Alphonse explained.

"Captain Havoc, assist young Alphonse in moving the General to a different room. Breda, Catalina, I believe we have the numbers to handle most of this without involving too many MPs. Have Vulcan and Brosh guard the two staircases. I only want the EMTs coming up here. We do however need an investigation squad called in from Headquarters to document the scene. Fuery, make sure it's done."

Several "Yes, Sir,"s followed Armstrong's orders. Roy looked up from the events on the floor, feeling slightly lost as his men started moving in. Havoc approached him and Alphonse, jaw tight and eyes hard.

"Come on, Sir. Let's get you cleaned up," he instructed firmly.

Roy looked back down at the blood again. When had he gotten it all over? There was so much of it too. His breath seemed loud in his own ears, his heart thundering.

"An ambulance. Chris needs an..." he mumbled. Havoc grabbed his elbow that Alphonse wasn't already supporting, the world spinning slightly. He inhaled sharply as they began escorting him from the room, "She needs an ambulance. If Miss Chang can't heal her, she needs a surgeon," his voice firmed as he tried to find footage in a moment of lucidity.

"No duh," Knox grumbled as he pushed his way through the doorway, fumbling with a first aid kit.

"Ross is already calling one," Havoc murmured, "We need to get you out of the way, Sir."

Being steered away, Roy looked back at Chris again before he was pulled completely out of line of sight. In the upstairs hall, he was left questioning why he'd so completely lost his head. He'd been in a war. He hadn't lost his ability to function when Riza had been injured. Why was this so much worse?

"Is the only bathroom downstairs," Al asked to his right.

"I can't go downstairs. I'd cause a panic," Roy processed that well enough, Gracia and Elicia in particular coming to mind. There was also the fact he was shell shocked and in a position of authority over all of the soldiers downstairs. If they saw him in this state, it would undermine his position and damage his men's trust in him. Was he already doing that with his Team?

This line of thought cleared his head further. "Chris's Suite has a bathroom. I can clean up there if it's unlocked."

"Which one is that?" Jean asked on his left.

"First door near the front steps," Roy nodded down that end of the hall. "And- I'm doing better, you don't have to keep holding me, gentlemen."

Alphonse looked at him, clearly concerned. "Are you sure, Sir?"

Roy nodded, "I just need someone to open doors for me," he weakly lifted his bloodied hands demonstratively.

Alphonse hesitantly pulled away, Jean letting go more briskly and stepping quickly ahead to test Chris's door. Luckily it opened inward with no resistance.

"Havoc, Armstrong could likely use your help with the situation. The girls downstairs are probably handling crowd control, but they might need a hand as well."

"Yes, Sir," Havoc began, moving to head back to Annette's room.

"If you see Major Hawkeye..."

Jean visibly stiffened, looking back over his shoulder at them. "Sure, Sir," his voice was brittle and cold with a bite of sarcasm, leaving Roy to quickly calculate the hostile response. He'd been alone in a room with one of the girls. After his comment about Roy flirting with Vanessa earlier, he understood why.

He'd probably be upset too.

Grimacing, Roy moved into Chris's room without responding. He'd have to address Havoc later. Alphonse joined him, hovering close to him. "I won't keep you. Could you just open that door?"

"I don't think you should be alone right now," Al had a clear resolve in his gold eyes, leaving little room for argument as he opened the bathroom door for him.

Roy's grimace deepened. There was no point in arguing with him. He was right, he shouldn't be alone right now. "Could I just have a little privacy while I clean up?"

Alphonse held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. "Right. I'll still leave the door cracked, but I can do that."

Moving into the bathroom, Roy was unaware if Alphonse followed through or not. He hastily turned on the faucet, flinching at the blood smear he left on the handle, a rushing dizziness rising up inside his head.

Jean cried out in pain, Roy spinning to see his unlit cigarette falling to the floor. Back arched, toes dragging on the ground, Havoc was impaled from behind by two black spikes.

Jean's clearly shocked and pained expression burned itself into Roy's mind before he jerked as Lust retracted her spear like fingers. He instantly dropped face first to the ground, unmoving.

"HAVOC!"

Shoving his bare hand under lukewarm water, he realized he was trembling. The sight of watered down blood running down the drain sent a wave of nausea through him.

"We alchemists are hungry creatures. We must continue the hunt for knowledge as long as we live. If we forgo pursuing the Truth, then we allow ourselves to die. Trust me, I've been dead for a long time." Master Hawkeye's eyes widened suddenly as he clutched at his chest, hunching down as a wave of rough coughs took over his frame.

"Master!" Roy cried, stepping forward as Master Hawkeye bent to the side, trying to cough into his elbow. With his body wracking coughs, Hawkeye lost his balance. Roy gasped as Berthold fell partially out of bed. "Are you alright?" His eyes widened as he saw blood expelling from his mentor's mouth. Rushing to his side, Roy grabbed Berthold's shoulders supportively as his coughs were replaced by a wheeze. "Master Hawkeye!"

"Look after- my daughter. She's in possession- of my research. Look after her." Berthold gave a heavy exhale, and grew still.

Heart thundering in his ears, Roy's teeth clicked together as he looked up. Riza stood there, wide eyed, one hand bracing on the doorframe, the other half raised to her mouth.

No. Not her too. She'd always had one parent left. Without Berthold, she'd be an orphan- like him.

"Riza!"

His knees threatened to buckle as he tugged his wet glove off, abandoning it in the sink. Heat pulsed through his body as he yanked his suit coat off, rolling up the bloodied sleeves of his dress shirt.

"Mommy, why are they putting all that dirt on daddy?"

The cold shink of shovels piercing through dirt filled the air. Roy kept his head down, his eyes closed. "They're burying him, dear."

"But if daddy gets buried, then he won't be able to do all his work!"

Roy felt the lump grow in his throat. She was three. He'd barely understood at five. Gracia's restrained sob colored her "Elicia..." before she picked up her daughter, holding her close.

"Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do! No! Stop it! Stop putting dirt on him! Daddy!"

Roy's throat gave an involuntary sound, his chin lowering another inch. He couldn't... He couldn't... Not Hughes.

His fists shook, his callous response to Hughes' final phone call playing back in his head again and again: "Look, Hughes, I don't have time for daughter stories..."

He fumbled with the soap, desperate to remove the blood. Why was there so much of it? It wasn't like he'd purposely touched it. It had just been an accident while standing up.

"Izumi, take me with you!" Roy begged as she opened the bar door. A cold blast of wind from the blizzard outside whipped her black locks against the white of her winter coat.

She looked over her shoulder, not turning completely to face him. "You'd just slow me down," she dismissed, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind her.

Bile rose up in his throat, his stomach twisting as he bent down, ripping the top buttons of his shirt loose before furiously splashing water on his face, the back of his neck, and through his hair.

"Major! Stop wasting time! Your unit has to pursue the insurgents!" General Grand bellowed at him.

Roy stared at the smoking bodies he'd just littered across the sandstone streets. Their lives had been snuffed out by his flames.

When would this bloody, godforsaken War end?

A distressed sound broke its way out of his throat, somewhere between a sob and a grunt. He tugged at the roots of his hair, elbows and abdomen digging into the counter.

"DO IT!"

Eye's welling up with tears, he snapped, the crackle in the air tangible.

And she screamed.

His blood curdled, heart stopping. The burn was larger than it needed to be. He hadn't had as much control, allowing himself to be pressured into the transmutation. He watched as she rocked back and forth in agony. His knees gave way as he fell to them with a thud in shock, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sobbing, Riza lowered herself to the bed. Clawing at the sheets, she lay on top of the pillows, burying her face into the blanket. All he could manage was watching her. How her skin smoked. How her torso shuddered with each sob. How her beautiful face turned red from the effort of her tears. He watched her, too limp to move.

The hinges of the bathroom door creaked, yanking him back into the present. "Damn it, Alphonse, give me a MOMENT!" his voice rose instinctively as he slammed a fist into the bathroom counter, not lifting his head.

"Sir!" Riza's sharp voice scolded.

Jerking upright, he spun, desperate to see her, certain she'd provide the calm he fervently needed.

What he saw instead froze him to his bones.

"I've told you...," the Gold-Toothed Doctor began, adjusting his glasses. "...we have run out of time."

Riza clung to Fullmetal's back, riding piggyback.

The swift motion to his right drew his gaze, Riza's eyes widening in shock. Blood spurted from her neck, the sight making his stomach writhe.

Her pretty dress was torn at the collar along a seam, the black of her plain bra visible as it hung open.

The Fuhrer Candidate let her go as she took a weak breath. For the briefest second her eyes met his before she collapsed to the stone ground.

Her curled hair was tangled, sweat causing a light sheen on her brow.

She grew still as she stared ahead sightlessly.

Her feet were bare, the right one bearing a nasty puncture wound, blood slowly dripping down her toes and onto the floor.

Roy's heart stopped, paralyzed by the sight of his love taking such a mortal wound.

"LIEUTENANT!"

The injuries were hardly comparable, but this was the first wound she had taken since that hellish day. Mixed with Chris in the other room...

He stepped forward, ignoring Fullmetal completely as he demanded, "What the hell happened? You were supposed to be downstairs! You were supposed to be safe!"

She blinked past her clear bafflement, face growing stony. "Edward, please let me down," she requested icily.

Roy spun his attention to Fullmetal. The sight of his hands holding Riza's thighs around his waist sent a white hot rod of rage through his blood. "Let her go!"

"Whoa, calm down, Colonel Hot-head," Edward took a defensive step back, his grip tightening on her.

"Brother, that's not going to help in this kind of..."

"Get out of my way!" Roy's voice echoed his desperate cry when he'd sprinted to Riza's side three and a half years ago.

"No. If he wants to fight, I'd love to have a proper rematch with this motherfucker!" Edward spat, eyes narrowing.

"General Mustang, stop!" Riza cried, her voice breaking the tension like shattered glass. Blinking in shock, Roy took a step back, staring at the three of them wide eyed.

What was he doing?

"Edward, please let me down," Riza repeated, shifting her hands to his shoulders.

He grimaced, looking back over his shoulder. "Just use the counter as a crutch, Major. Don't go walking around like you were earlier," he chastised, easing her down to her feet.

She lighted on her uninjured foot, using a hand to brace herself on the bathroom counter. "Excuse me, please give us a moment," she murmured, Edward quickly taking a step out of her way. She limped past him, hissing in pain as she added weight onto her injured foot.

Roy stood there numbly, the water of the faucet still running over his soiled ignition glove in the sink's basin. With another limp, she was right in front of him, casting a glance behind her at the two young men standing in the doorway. "The door," she prompted.

"Major Hawkeye," and "Miss Riza," protested her request in unison.

"The door," she repeated more firmly.

They glanced at one another uneasily before Al gave a nod, grabbing the door handle and closing it softly. Riza turned back to him, pushing off the counter, her weight clearly only on her good foot as she gently grabbed his opened collar, fingers fiddling with the fabric softly. "You popped a button. It'll need mending," she murmured.

Swallowing hard, he moved a hand to support her at her waist, the other falling to the ripped seam between her bodice and sleeve. "Your pretty dress. It's torn."

She gave a breathy chuckle, finally looking up to meet his eyes. The sparkle from her laugh faded, the hazelnut brown softening as she shifted a hand to his jaw, brushing his skin. "I'm glad you're not hurt, but what happened? I was so worried that it was you."

A burning behind his eyes rose up, his nose stinging. He moved his hand from her waist to her scar, caressing the seam on her skin as his vision blurred. As tears escaped his eyes, she came in and out of focus as more salt water replaced the tears burning trails down his face.

Her warm hands found his cheeks, brushing away the flood as he sobbed. Wrapping an arm around her upper back, he clutched at the fabric covering her burn as he dipped his mouth to her neck. Desperately, he dusted kisses on her lifeline, squeezing her tightly against his chest to support her weight.

She gasped ever so softly, but swiftly grew still in his arms, allowing him to find solace in her skin. One of her hands softly dug into his hair, caressing his locks and massaging his scalp in a delicate show of comfort. Her other arm wrapped behind his shoulders and clutched to his shirt.

They embraced there for what felt like an eternity, his tears barely easing as he clung to her. Her soft whisper eased into his mind, her throat vibrating ever so slightly, "What happened?"

He stopped pressing kisses to her scar, his focus turning towards forming words without sounding like a blubbering mess. He pulled back to look down at her, meeting her concerned eyes.

"Chris..." his voice was thick, forcing him to swallow hard and try again. "Annette shot Chris. Well, she was aiming for me, but Chris shoved me out of the way. There was- so much blood. She passed out and there's nothing I can do to save her," his voice hitched, the memory causing his eyes to flood with tears again.

"And here I am," he ducked his head, shaking it roughly as he fought off the new tears, "crying in a bathroom about it. I- I should be stronger than this. I should be fine. I mean, I managed through worse than this before. Ishval and- others..." he couldn't confess the series of memories haunting him, it'd just bring more tears.

"And you," he shifted his hands to her hips, lifting her carefully to sit on the edge of the bathroom counter. She shifted with him, her hands moving to rest atop his arms until he kneeled before her. Running his hands slowly down her exposed calfs, he clutched to her good leg as he cradled the ankle of her punctured foot delicately. "You're injured again. I try so hard to keep you safe... What happened? Who hurt you?"

She stiffened under his touch. Looking up, he found a hard light behind her eyes. "We're not talking about that right now. Five minutes with Marcoh or Mei and I'll be fine. You should be more concerned about Chris. She's your mother."

"Riza..."

"No. We will talk about it, Sir, but not tonight. Am I understood?"

He hesitated, eyes falling to the messy wound on the bridge of her foot. Exhaling slowly, he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her arch before murmuring, "I let you give me too many orders, Major."

"Well- you call me your Queen in the bedroom and ask to worship me on your knees." He looked up at her, her expression warmer than it had been a moment ago. "Now you're kissing my feet. If anyone is at fault for the shift in our power dynamic, it's you."

A disbelieving chuckle threatened his throat without escaping, a weak smile finding his mouth. "You've always challenged my authority." He rose back to his feet, resting his hands on her knees. "Alright, we'll talk about it later," he relented, shifting his attention to a drawer. Opening it, he wasn't surprised to find a few spare washcloths tucked away inside. He hadn't lived here for over fifteen years and Chris still hadn't moved things around.

Grabbing one, he adjusted the water to a warmer temperature before soaking the cloth. Finally turning the faucet off, he dismissively dried his cheeks on his sleeves as he moved to open the door.

Edward was still there, leaning against the doorframe with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He met Roy's gaze, checking out his disheveled state before pushing himself off of the frame. "The ambulance is here. Al went to go get Marcoh or Mei to help with the Major's foot."

Roy nodded before he turned back to Riza. Kneeling before her again, he carefully began wiping the blood off of her foot and from in between her toes. "I'm sorry for my aggression earlier, Fullmetal. I'm- admittedly unhinged. It's not everyday my mother takes a bullet for me and seeing the Major injured as well was a- trigger."

Edward was quiet for a long moment, Riza muted as well while he cleaned her up. "Yeah, I get it," Edward finally relented.

Exhaling softly, Roy stood up, throwing the washcloth into the sink with his glove, the two materials giving a wet smack as they collided. Turning towards Edward, he wiped his hands dry on his pants. "Look, I know my reaction was uncalled for. I trust you, Edward, and I want to thank you for bringing her to me. I would be worse off by now if she hadn't been around to talk me down."

"You can stop gorging on humble pie, Mustang." Ed broke in, lifting his hands in a 'down' gesture. "I get it. I've overreacted during tense situations too and I've taken it out on you. I'm just- glad you've calmed down." His eyes shifted to Riza, expression softening slightly, "Are you doing alright, Hawkeye?"

She sighed softly, rolling her ankle. "Edward, I'd prefer if you called me Riza."

He blinked in surprise, "But..."

"You're a civilian, now. There's no need for formality anymore. Please, I prefer Riza."

Roy glanced at her, a subtle determination on her face as she focused on Edward. A smile tugged at his mouth again and he ducked down, grabbing his discarded suit coat from the floor and shaking it off.

She was standing up for herself now. Not just for others, or for certain situations, or against his stupidity. She was standing up for what she wanted. It sounded small, but he found it a huge accomplishment after twenty years of knowing her.

The pleased sensation quickly vanished as his thoughts turned back to Chris.

Thursday, September 26, 1918

Riza sat on the cushioned hospital bench, knees crossed and purse resting in her lap. The Glock inside weighed the bag down comfortably, returned to her by an unharmed and guilty looking Vanessa.

She watched as Roy paced back and forth a few feet in front of her. His jaw was tight again, his suit and hair disheveled. His clothes bore clear stains of dried blood.

She may have been able to comfort him through his breakdown at the Bar, but she could already tell the psychological and emotional wounds from tonight would affect him for weeks, if not longer.

It depended on how Chris pulled through surgery and recovery.

Her eyes wearily lifted to look at the clock above the nurses' desk, sighing softly as she saw midnight had passed. She lifted a hand to her neck, rubbing an itch along her scar absently.

She would stay with Roy for as long as he needed, of course, but she'd never had a chance to eat at the party and her body was lagging from lack of nutrients. On top of that, her foot ached, Marcoh having warned her there would be residual trauma to her foot that would cause pain over the next week or two. Putting her heels back on had been uncomfortable, but manageable. For now she could walk and drive and do the things she had to.

"I doubt the General will be in the Office tomorrow. I might not be either. Will you take care of the request for leave forms, Sheska?" Riza asked, passing Hayate's leash over to Kain who'd offered to take him home.

"Of course, Major. Please, call me if you need anything else," Sheska urged.

"And don't worry about Hayate. I can keep him as long as you need," Kain nodded in agreement.

She wasn't the only one who'd joined the General at the hospital. Vulcan hovered behind her bench, Riza trying her best to not let herself grow angry at him. Once they'd arrived, he'd called Grumman and informed him of the situation, as well as her status. This had nothing to do with Grumman! She was fine. Roy's direct orders had kept her relatively safe. Now she had a worried, ill grandfather in Central who might just come all the way here to make sure she was alright, and a tormented partner, worried his aunt/mother might die.

Breda sat on the other side of the bench, arms crossed as he too watched Roy continue to pace. Maria and Gracia sat a little ways off, talking in hushed tones. Elicia had been taken by Winry to spend the night with her 'big Sissy' so Gracia could come here. Winry certainly had her work cut out for her with how Elicia had still been crying when she and Edward had taken her away.

More of the Team would have likely come to the hospital to show support, but Armstrong had needed the help documenting and cleaning up the scene. Riza grimaced as she brooded on that point, slipping her high heels off and rubbing the itch on the side of her healed foot with her toes.

She'd found out from Marcoh that Annette had died, a blessing and a curse. The violence would have triggered an investigation anyways, but now a death was involved.

Riza had assisted with many military investigations and she knew they were in trouble. There were too many people involved. Too many people knew different pieces to the event. She, Roy, Chris, and Vanessa were supposedly the only ones who knew the source of the confrontation, but Roy was in no state to be questioned about it. Even if the four of them could corroborate a suitable cover story, he might break their cover unintentionally.

They needed to tell Armstrong the truth. In private.

"Major," Vulcan broached quietly behind her, breaking her train of thought, "I'd like to escort you back home tonight."

From the perspective of her years as Roy's bodyguard, she understood. "Lieutenant," she sighed, keeping her voice firm and gentle as she slipped her shoes back on. "I intend on staying with the General all night. If I can convince him to go home, I will, but I'll be staying at his house. Am I understood?"

"Major, I..."

"Bret, drop it," Breda interrupted. "The threat has been neutralized and neither the General nor Major Hawkeye will thank you for interfering."

Vulcan looked sullen, but turned his gaze back to Riza, "Permission to stay until you leave the Hospital, Ma'am?"

"Permission granted. I understand where you're coming from, Lieutenant. I really do. But the General needs more emotional support than anything else right now. I may try to talk him into a holiday because of this," Riza confessed, eyes focusing on Roy's dress shoes as he paced. Was there blood on the left one?

Breda gave a humorless chuckle at that, "I've never known him to take a holiday before. All his leaves of absence are usually tied to undercover missions."

"He should have taken one when Brigadier General Hughes died," Riza murmured, looking back up at Roy's face, his jaw tight as he chewed at the inside of his cheek.

"He was working his ass off for that transfer to Central," Breda reminded, his voice just as soft. "He's just been promoted to General. I don't know if he can afford to take a break now."

"My grandfather has known Madame Christmas for decades. I know he'll understand."

Haymens glanced sidelong at her, grimacing, "You and I both know Grumman isn't the one who will judge him."

She tried not to let that thought crush her. Roy needed time to process this without worrying about the entire Eastern Area. "Just tomorrow and Friday. With the weekend, he can come back on Monday ready to take care of things with a renewed focus."

"Are you planning to take that time off too?"

She looked back at Roy, her heart clenching at the subtle signs of his inner distress. Beyond the pacing, beyond the brooding, she could feel his pain as her own. The way he'd cried out 'Lieutenant' earlier, pure fear in his eyes, had her in little doubt about what was plaguing him. He'd silently carried too much pain for too long and now he was breaking.

She couldn't let that happen.

"It depends on how he handles things," she finally answered, keeping it vague.

She couldn't abandon him now.

A silence fell over them again. Back to the waiting game. The clock on the wall ticked quietly as seconds dragged into minutes and minutes dragged into an hour.

The door beside the nurses' desk finally opened, instantly drawing eyes. The nurse in the doorway glanced up from his clipboard, "General Mustang," he called softly, his voice loud in the hush of the waiting room.

Roy shifted his steps, quickly meeting the nurse at the desk. Riza pushed herself to her feet, flinching slightly at the throbbing pain in her foot. She limped her first set of steps, Vulcan rustling with movement behind her. "Major, you should be resting," he insisted, catching up to her.

"I'm fine," she grumbled as she walked off the limp. Her foot still hurt, but that was dross. Roy needed her.

She reached the nurse and Roy without further difficulty. The nurse glanced towards her hesitantly, but Roy quickly urged him, "Yes? How is she?"

"The surgery to remove the bullet was successful, but the option to alchemically heal her damaged tissue is unviable."

"Unviable? What do you mean by 'unviable'?" Roy demanded, sounding harsher than he likely intended.

"Sir," she prompted softly, causing him to grimace.

"I'm no alchemist, General Mustang. I don't know all the reasons why Dr. Marcoh made that call and where he's a guest specialist, I don't have any guesses as to why. He is assisting with the post-op, so you might be able to ask him yourself."

"But Ms. Mustang is doing well, right?" Riza asked, hoping to ease Roy and her own, quieter anxieties.

"Yes, she is. The surgeon is very optimistic, though she's estimating a longer recovery due to age, weight, and smoking history."

Roy's expression darkened, a haunting behind his onyx eyes. Stifling the desire to comfort him, Riza focused back on the nurse. "Is there any chance they'll allow..."

Behind them, the door opened with a gush of air, purposeful, high heeled steps drawing Riza's attention. Vanessa and Madeline were rushing to them, both of them looking disheveled in their haste.

"What's the news?" "Is the Madame alright?" They demanded as they joined them next to the nurses' desk.

"Um, excuse me?" the nurse glanced between them and Roy.

"She's out of surgery," Roy answered hollowly.

"Oh, but that's good news!" Vanessa's smile was clearly forced as she grabbed Roy's elbow, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

Riza bristled at the casual touch, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag with one hand as the other moved to her neck, scratching again at her irritated scar. She struggled to shut down the jealousy and possessiveness rising up in her chest, biting off any snide remarks.

"You were asking, Miss?" the nurse asked, turning towards Riza again.

Resisting a grimace, she kept her expression calm as she turned her attention to him, draping her hair back over her neck casually, "Will we be able to see her tonight?"

"The surgeon has approved of no more than three visitors, though she says less is better. Ms. Mustang may also be unconscious for the visit. They'd like to let her rest to encourage healing."

"Major," Roy invited instantly, ignoring Vanessa on his elbow and looking at her instead.

"Of course, Sir," she nodded.

"Roy, let me come too," Madeline begged.

"I'm so worried about her, please let me see her," Vanessa requested more evenly.

"Sir, you and the Major could use an unbiased, third party, bodyguard," Vulcan piped up.

"Only her," Roy snapped, silencing them all and tugging his arm from Vanessa's grip. "You heard him, the less visitors the better. Maddie, Nessie, she'll likely be asleep anyways. You don't need to see that," his voice softened as he glanced at them both.

To Riza's surprise, they both nodded in agreement, expressions more sober with his ruling. "Right then, I can take you to her recovery room now if you'd like," the nurse offered.

"Please do," Roy pressed.

The nurse nodded instantly, turning to guide them through the double doors leading further back. Foot aching with every other click of her heels, she followed Roy through the door, the heavy metal nearly slamming closed behind them. Roy glanced back at her, silently offering his scarred hand.

Surprised, Riza surveyed the empty hallway with a quick scan. There was the nurse ahead, his back to them, but no one else. And there was that pain in Roy's eyes.

For all of the times she'd longed to hold his hand in silent support and affection over the last decade, she desperately snatched at the offer now, squeezing his warm fingers. She drew closer, pressing her body against his as they kept pace with the nurse, her free hand grabbed his lower bicep, rubbing his sleeve comfortingly.

Roy exhaled quietly, tension lessening in his frame, but not vanishing entirely. He wasn't the only one. She'd been unaware of the tightness lingering in her shoulders after Vanessa had been so handsy with him in the waiting room, but as his familiar, incendiary scent hit her nose, she felt it ease out of her.

He ducked his head, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Squeezing her hand once more, he pulled away.

Her skin chilled where they'd been touching. Her jaw tightened as she returned to her stoic mask, pushing down the feelings of loss and bitterness. Bitterness towards their situation. That they couldn't openly display their affection. That she had to share him.

She fell back, returning to her regular step and a half behind and to his left. The nurse slowed ahead of them, looking back, "This is her room. Let me check with the Doctors before you go in," he offered apologetically.

He slipped in, edging the door closed behind him. The silence following engulfed them, Riza shifting her purse to a more secure position under her left palm, biting back the desire to scratch her neck yet again.

"Are you expecting to need to use that gun, Major?" Roy asked in an ill attempt to lighten her mood.

"I'm worried about her too, Sir. She's the closest person I've had to a mother since my own died. I- don't mean to... I'm sorry I..." her cheeks heated, embarrassed with the confession after it left her lips. "I don't mean to say I'm as close to her as you are."

His midnight eyes shifted to her, expression difficult to read. "Don't apologize. I always worried she was too- brusque for you. I'm- glad..." his voice cracked, his body tensing. He looked away, clearing his throat roughly, "I'm glad and I think she will be too."

The door opened to the nurse slipping out and holding it open for them. "Go ahead, General, Miss."

Roy didn't hesitate to step through, an anxiety to his step. Dipping her chin an inch, she followed him in. The room was dimly lit, a doctor inside with Marcoh, standing next to the reclined Madame Christmas.

Chris wore a loose hospital gown, the v neck exposing a bit of her chest wrap. Her bosom rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths, a slight rattle to the sound despite the oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth. Her skin was pale, an I.V. feeding into her arm.

The door latched softly behind them as Roy grew stock still ahead of her, his shoulders squaring in a clear silhouette of his proper frame. Hesitating at the sight, a slight fluttering of appreciation for his physic crossed her mind. It left as soon as it came, Riza walking up beside him to get a glimpse of his face, his jawline was pronounced, his eyes fastened to his aunt's sleeping form. So tense.

"General Mustang? I'm Doctor Katherine Reynolds. I performed the surgery on Ms. Mustang," the middle aged, bespeckled woman stepped forward, offering her hand to Roy.

Roy numbly turned his attention to her and after a long pause, finally accepted her hand. "How is she?"

Pulling her hand back, she turned to look at Chris as well. "She's doing really well. She'll need to stay here for a few days so we can monitor her. Her right lung was punctured by the bullet. Thankfully there wasn't any shrapnel, it made the surgery easier. I'm concerned about the amount of blood she lost and will be keeping her with an I.V. during the entirety of her stay. As with any injury to the lungs, I want to keep her on oxygen. I may even look into options of sending her home with oxygen as well."

"The nurse mentioned something about a longer recovery?" Riza prompted, glancing between Roy and Marcoh.

"You can't heal her through alchemy?" Roy asked Marcoh directly.

Dr. Marcoh moved closer, joining them, "I was optimistic until we saw her lung tissue. I take it she has a long history of smoking?" Roy nodded mutely. "If I had a philosopher's stone or if she had a healthy pair of lungs, I'd eagerly heal her. The smoking has changed the composition of her lung tissue enough that I don't dare try to transmute it."

"So, what does the natural recovery time look like?" Riza asked quietly.

The two Doctors glanced between each other before Reynolds answered, "About six to eight weeks for a healthy individual. Being in her sixties, her age can affect that number- as well as her weight. What I'm really concerned about is the pre-existing state of her lungs. She'll need constant check ups for at least three months and oxygen treatments. Right now she's doing well, so I think it's best we focus on that."

"You'll want to think about how you'd like to take care of her once she's been released from the hospital. She should have constant supervision in the first week and I don't think her bar would be the best place for her," Marcoh added with a grimace. "Of course that's just my suggestion. You likely know what's best for her."

Roy was stiff, his attention back on Chris in the bed. "Excuse us, could the General have a moment alone with her?" Riza voiced for him, sensing the desire for privacy.

"Please let her sleep. I'll send someone in to check on her in a few minutes," Dr. Reynolds kept her voice gentle as Marcoh was already stepping out.

"Major, stay," Roy broke in.

"I wasn't going anywhere, Sir," she reassured. As the door closed behind the two doctors, Roy stepped mechanically towards the bed, Riza following close behind him.

Seeing her like that didn't bring any relief. She hadn't seen her injured at the Bar, but the sight of her now left Riza with a tangle of guilt. She should have stopped her from going upstairs. She should have been the one to shove Roy out of the way.

Yet, if she had, then they both might have been too late. Roy might be in her place or worse and she would have been the one emotionally breaking down.

Sobered by that line of thought, Riza took his hand again, pressing her face against his shoulder in both an attempt to offer and receive comfort. With the connection, she realized he was trembling. Looking up in the dim light, his face was shadowed, but tearless.

"Roy," she breathed, shifting to face him properly. She took both of his hands, rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles and the scar on each hand, "She's alright. She's okay. She just needs to heal now."

He squeezed her grasp in silent reply, turning to sit on the edge of Chris's bed, he pulled one of his hands free. With a delicate touch, he picked up Chris's hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. When he finally pulled back, he inhaled with a gasp, as if he'd been holding his breath. Easing Chris's hand back where it had been, he brushed her salt and pepper hair from her shoulder, adjusting it to fan out across her pillow instead.

When he finally spoke it was with a surprising calm voice, "I'd like her to stay with us while she recovers."

Instinctively she wanted to agree right there. It was the right thing to do. Get her away from the stress of the Bar. Away from the alcohol, and the cigarettes, and the business of it all. But almost as quickly she started coming up with the problematic side of things.

Cautiously, she sat beside him, lacing their fingers and giving him a comforting squeeze. "We can look into it, but it may not be the best option for her. I know that's what we both want: what's best for her."

He nodded mutely in reply.

A/N: Thank you for reading chapter 18! Writing this was very difficult. Trying to get in Roy's headspace post such a traumatic event has been the source of a lot of writers block for months now. I kept writing him as too upset or too apathetic, but I think I finally got it right.

Thank you for reading and as always, thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites.

As for future updates, I think I'll have chapter 19 ready by next week, but I'm not 100% certain. I'm used to being a few chapters ahead on a story and I have zero buffer right now. I may switch to posting every two weeks instead of every week. I may take a hiatus to get ahead. I'll keep you all in the loop, though.