Originally Published: July 29, 2021
Last Edited: September 1, 2022
A/N: As always, thank you so much for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! I hope you all enjoy the chapter.
Chapter 25
Dinner with the Fuhrer
Saturday, October 5, 1918
Riza fidgeted in the back of the car. The sleek, black vehicle bore little Amestrian flags above the headlights and matching security cars escorted them from ahead and behind.
Her day bag sat between her and Roy on the leather cushioned bench with his suitcase, Gracia's pregnancy books buried under her wig and her spare change of clothes. Both of her Glocks were tucked inside as well and with the volume, the bag was bulging slightly.
Gracia had helped fix her hair with pins into a bun, fastening the cloche into place so it still delicately shaded her eyes from the setting sun. Though it was still more than she was used to, it was a vast improvement on the wig, which had begun to make her scalp itch.
The wall fortressing Central Command loomed ahead of them, their security detail pulling to both sides, blocking oncoming traffic in the intersection as their car slowed, crossing the bridge over the mote and approaching the gate and the vehicle lift inside.
Roy shifted, trying to get a good look as they moved into the slanted tunnel, the hazy sunset was blocked out as the sunlight was replaced by artificial light. The lift sagged slightly under the car's weight as the chauffeur parked, rolling down his window.
A Lieutenant Colonel crossed over to the driver's window, strapping his rifle behind his back as he ducked down. "Griffin Two, returning with the Hawk and General Mustang," their chauffeur provided.
The Officer poked his head in, checking on both of them. "Welcome back, Ma'am. Sir. We'll send you up." He pulled back, intentionally smacking the car once with his palm before shouting unintelligibly as the chauffeur rolled up the window.
The lift jerked and began climbing up. Roy squirmed beside her, trying to get a look below them. "Excuse me, but could I roll the window down?" Roy asked, glancing at the chauffeur.
"No. That poses a security risk to Major Hawkeye," the chauffeur answered instantly.
Roy grumbled softly, "Way to kill a scientific mind. Major, I get the feeling you're more important here than I am. Isn't that a change," he chuckled, but his tone seemed almost nervous.
"She is," the chauffeur clipped, adjusting his sunglasses. "There are ten full ranked Generals in the Amestrian Military, but she's the only living relative to the Fuhrer. If she were taken hostage or injured, it could cripple the most powerful man in the country. We cannot afford to allow that. In short, General Mustang, you are expendable. She is not."
Roy glanced sidelong at her, clearly skeptical. Having her eyes, he mouthed, 'Really?' and she nodded, sighing softly. Roy cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "I won't disagree that she is important, but that logic doesn't seem very strategically sound. Five Generals on the Military Board, five over the Military Forces of each province. If, say, General Armstrong were to become a hostage to Drachman forces, the North would…"
"With all due respect, General, if the Military couldn't adapt to such a hypothetical, then we wouldn't have been able to maintain our borders for the past 70 years. My job is to insure the security of the Fuhrer and his family. I take that assignment quite seriously."
"By your own admission, the Military is adaptive. Both Fuhrer Grumman and Major Hawkeye have been in the Military for…"
"Sir," Riza cut in, sensing hostilities rising on both of their parts. "Please. Not here. I've already debated this with Grumman before."
Roy grew quiet, looking out the window again. "Excuse me, Ma'am," the chauffeur offered as the lift jolted to a stop at the top of the ramp. An Officer motioned them off of the lift and they moved slowly across the courtyard to the gate.
The back of Central Command stood tall ahead of them, but the Fuhrer's estate was to the left. Riza felt herself relax as they turned toward the manor, the grassy gardens and golden trees giving a sense of privacy. As they pulled up outside of the front door, a line up of household staff dressed in blacks and whites came into view. Riza recognized several of the maids from her previous stays, Mrs. Kent, and the Butler. The footmen were strangers, all tall and handsome. Two of them hustled forward as the car slowed to a stop, one to her door, the other disappearing behind the car to assist Roy.
The footman opened her door, bowing to offer her a gloved hand out of the car. She internally cringed at the offer, pulling her bag closely against her abdomen. "No, thank you," she murmured softly as she swung her legs out. He blinked, but backed up, holding the door for her still as she climbed out.
Straightening her skirt, she flinched as he brushed her forearm to her wrist, "May I take your bag, Miss Hawk..."
"No. Thank you," she repeated, voice sharper as she clutched her bag, stepping back from him. Phantom aching instantly shot through her arms, her heart speeding up with her rising panic. Her hand itched to pull out one of the guns in her purse, and she resisted only just.
"Major," Roy voiced, Riza hearing the hints of his own tension.
"I- I apologize, Ma'am. I was only…"
Roy reached her, stepping between them, his hand briefly falling to the small of her back as he urged her forward at a swift pace. He retracted his touch quickly, taking position a step behind and to her left. It was beyond odd to be in reverse, Roy guarding her, but she was instantly grateful for his intervention. She clutched at her bag, feeling one of the hard lumps of her Glocks underneath the faux leather. She ducked her head, calming her breath as they moved across the gravel.
"Are you alright?" Roy whispered as they slowed their hasty pace.
"I'll manage," she breathed, looking up to find Mrs. Kent watching her with folded hands and a stern expression.
"Miss Hawkeye," she began, but Riza instantly straightened, her shoulder back and chin raised. She paused, reevaluating her. "What happened?"
"The footman tried taking my bag after I dismissed his assistance," she answered, only feeling a small twinge of regret with the report. She knew he hadn't meant any harm, but for his own safety, she knew she had to make her discomfort plain.
Mrs. Kent sighed heavily, glancing at the butler beside her, "Of course. Excuse him, Miss Hawkeye, he's one of our newer staff. I will discuss with him your aversion to physical touch personally, and remind the entire staff as well."
"Thank you," Riza offered, tone mild, though the rush of adrenaline and anxiety was only just beginning to fade.
She nodded, her eyes turning to Roy. "Mr. Mustang," she acknowledged.
"Ms. Kent," Roy returned, nodding politely as he adjusted his suitcase between his hands.
The Butler stepped forward, a shorter, portly man, balding on the crown of his head and gray-haired besides. "Master Grumman apologizes he was unable to greet you, and asked that I guide you to the dining room. He informed me you haven't eaten yet."
"That's correct," Riza nodded, shifting in her heels as she finally pulled her bag's straps onto her shoulder. "Forgive me, I don't recall your name, Mr..."
"Jefferson," he replied with a polite smile. He turned his attention towards Roy, offering his hand. "General Mustang, I've been asked to serve as your valet during your visit. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Riza kept her expression clear with that news. She was all too aware that a butler only substituted as a valet for the Master of the house, but Roy may not be aware of the subtle idiosyncrasies of a household staff. He smiled warmly, accepting Jefferson's handshake firmly. "The pleasure's all mine, good sir."
"Miss Hawkeye," Mrs. Kent spoke up, drawing Riza's attention again. "Do you have a preference on who assists you as your lady's maid during your stay?"
Riza glanced back at the women further down the line. "Not at all. I remember both Lucille and Ellen, and they were both excellent."
"Very well," Mrs. Kent replied with a small nod.
"Please, if you'll both follow me I'll take you to the dining hall," Jefferson offered, the footmen stepping ahead again to open the double doors for them.
Grateful to be moving again, Riza followed Jefferson into the manor, her heels clicking on the marble tiled floor. Roy moved to only half a step behind her, leaning in, "I forgot Ms. Kent worked for Grumman."
"Yes, she does," she whispered, examining the entry hallway, then the connecting hall leading to the dining room. "It makes visiting a little uncomfortable whenever she's around."
"I can believe it," he murmured before giving a low whistle. She glanced back to see him eyeing the stained glass to their left, a rainbow of colors pouring in on them.
"The Aviary is out there. It's a bit of a garden/courtyard with a fountain and cobbled path. Grandfather likes taking tea out there, and I think he had an outdoor chess board put in."
"Aviary? Are there birds?"
"Fuhrer Madison used to breed and train birds back in the 1820s. When Fuhrer Jaccard replaced him, he had the entire courtyard gutted and the stained glass installed. The name stayed, though," Jefferson informed smoothly, glancing back at them. "If you look carefully, there are little birds in the stained glass. Rumor is the artist was upset by Jaccard's lack of appreciation."
Roy's focus turned to him, an interested gleam in his eyes. "How long has this been the home to the Fuhrer's family?"
"The manor was built after Headquarters and was finished by Fuhrer Duncan back in 1798. The family has lived here since 1804."
"Why the gap?"
"After Duncan had the manor built, his wife told him it was underwhelming and refused to live here! Granted, she was comparing the architecture to the Armstrong manor which was finished two years before."
"There's probably thousands of stories like that. I'd love to hear more of what you know about the manor."
"Of course. Though it could take a few weeks to retell all I've learned in my thirty years working here," Jefferson chuckled warmly.
Riza smiled weakly as Roy laughed. "Please, I'd love to hear it."
"Well, I would start you off with a tour if Fuhrer Grumman wasn't already expecting you. The manor has fourteen guest suites, five suites meant for the family, and the master suite. There's a small ballroom for private parties. A library. Four offices, two dining rooms, and a fully stocked bar, just to name a few."
"It's ostentatious," Riza murmured as they stopped outside of the dining room's double doors. She checked the bow at her neck to make sure it was laying right, tugging her blouse down flat.
"It was built to host. Something the last three Fuhrers have gotten out of the habit of doing. I think the last ball held here was back in 1895 by Fuhrer Ridley."
"There've been Military Balls at Central Command," Roy pointed out, the two of them seemingly unaware they'd arrived.
"But they're not the same. I suppose the problem comes down to security, but I miss those days. The orchestras, the feasts, the wine."
"Wouldn't it just be a lot of work for you?" Roy prompted.
"Yes, but it was also rewarding."
The door was suddenly opened behind Jefferson by another tall and handsome footman. A familiar, bald head poked out as well, "Jefferson, are you holding up my…? Riza!"
Jefferson and Roy jumped apart as Grumman stepped towards her and between them, his arms wide as he pulled her into a brief, heartfelt hug. Riza fumbled with her purse, patting his back with one hand, a flushed heat coursing through her.
He pulled back, grinning cheekily, "I felt that gun in your bag. Don't worry, dear. No one here will harm you. Come in, come in… Oh, hello Mustang," he added offhandedly. He guided her inside, the large table set for three at the closer end. "I heard there was some trouble when you got out of the car. I want to apologize for that," he offered earnestly, pulling the chair to the right out for her.
"He was just trying to do his job. If he hadn't touched my arm, it would have been fine," she shrugged, absently rubbing her arms as she stepped into place, lowering herself into the cushioned dining chair and letting him push her in. Grabbing her napkin and placing it in her lap, her eyes caught Roy's, a keen light to them as his jaw tightened with focus. Grumman's valet helped him sit down, Jefferson quietly helping Roy.
"Ma'am, may I take your purse?" a different footman asked, Riza bristling as she hadn't sensed his approach from behind.
"Leave it, Beckham. She'll want to keep her guns close," Grumman waved off quickly, a smile on his face.
With his approval, Riza set it on the chair to her right, tugging it closer and popping the clasps open for easy access. She noted Roy gently waving off a similar offer, tucking his suitcase under the table. "Thank you, Grandfather."
"Of course, my dear," he beamed, his focus turning towards Jefferson, who had taken to standing a few chairs down from Roy. "Well, what has the kitchen prepared to delight us with tonight?"
"As requested, tonight's dinner is a four course meal, starting with a prosciutto wrapped ricotta blend. In place of the appetizer, Master Grumman requested Mistress Grumman's basil pumpkin bisque, which will be followed by a spinach stuffed lamb breast with lemon, oregano, and feta cheese crumbles. The dessert is a hazelnut torte with chocolate ganache."
"Excellent! Whenever you're ready to begin," Grumman invited.
And suddenly, with an efficiency to be envious of, the staff stepped up, serving first her grandfather, then her, then Roy. She hesitated when Jefferson offered her a choice between chardonnay and merlot. To decline entirely would leave questions as Grumman knew her fondness for wine all too well. Mentally limiting herself to three sips, she chose the chardonnay.
As a plate with two prosciutto wraps was set before her, Grumman asked, "So, what brings you to Central so short notice? And together," he teased, cutting into his prosciutto with the edge of his fork and taking a bite.
"I was worried about how Gracia and Elicia Hughes handled the situation at my birthday party and wanted to personally check in on them. Major Hawkeye heard about my somewhat hasty plans and volunteered to join me. It helps that one of Madame Christmas's girls offered to watch my aunt for the weekend," Roy answered smoothly.
Riza lifted her fork to her mouth, taking a bite. A shiver ran up her spine with bursts of flavors. The prosciutto was a perfect, salty compliment to the smoother than usual ricotta. She had to hold back a little moan of delight, her cheeks and ears heating at the thought of Roy making her moan the same way.
"That's good of you. I worry about them. I worry about all those who have had a family member die in the line of duty…. Riza, dear, are you alright?" Grumman asked, drawing her attention.
Swallowing hastily, she glanced embarrassedly at Roy before answering, "Yes, I'm perfectly fine. It's just- really good."
Grumman laughed, turning to one of the footmen, "Would you please let the chef know the prosciutto is so good it made her blush."
Riza pursed her lips, looking at Roy. There was a strange light to his obsidian irises as he watched her. Lifting his fork to his lips, she glimpsed his tongue as he slowly took it into his mouth.
Heat flushed through her as she did her absolute best to not physically react to his- eating? Teasing? Flirting? She wasn't sure, but the sight had her all hot and bothered.
She shifted her focus to her wine, picking up the stem and having more than a sip. Her mind began to panic as the delightful apple and vanilla taste hinted to the alcohol. She closed her eyes, covering her mouth as she took a moment. A silence followed for a stretch before Roy concernedly asked, "Major?"
"Excuse me. I forgot how- excellent the meals were here. I'm afraid I'm not emotionally prepared to have such a riveting experience over food."
Grumman laughed to her left and despite herself, a bubble of giggles burst from her own chest too. "You need to emotionally prepare for delicious food? My dear, just enjoy!" She smiled shyly, setting her wine aside again and returning to her ricotta wraps. "So, Mustang, how's your new position treating you?"
Roy chuckled lightly, "Well, I don't know how you managed to fit in all of those chess matches, Sir. I've been swamped by paperwork and meetings since my first day. If my Team wasn't so hard working, I'd certainly be drowning in it. What was your secret?"
"My secret? I wasn't full rank! Admittedly you've been sent more paperwork than I ever was in your position. Again, it goes back to how gutted the Military brass is after the Promised Day. There were twice the number of full rank Generals and the Military Board used to hold twelve to fourteen members, rather than its current five. Bradley screwed us over, that's for damn sure."
"What about promoting more men? There's a surplus of Academy graduates and enlisted men. You promoted nearly 300 officers after the completion of the Ishval Restoration."
"Promotion favoritism," Riza reminded, setting her fork down as she finished the last of her prosciutto wraps ahead of Grumman and Roy.
"She's right. I'm already in hot water for promoting you three whole ranks. I have to let that cool down before pushing again," Grumman admitted.
"If General Mustang's workload is so heavy, surely he, Armstrong, and Hakuro have lessened the Military Council's workload as well."
"It has. Which is why I'm only in hot water, and not in the fire, so to speak," Grumman winked at her, taking his last bite before setting his fork down.
"Well, I'm glad my overworked signature is making life less difficult for you," Roy chuckled, finishing his own plate.
"That's why I'm letting you stay the night without notice!" Grumman gave a toothy grin, "I mean, of course I'll let Riza stay any day she wants; but you, you're just an upstart from the East. At least that's what the rumors say."
The staff moved in, clearing away used plates and utensils, and delivering bowls of orange colored bisque, little basil leaves decorating the center with a small swirl of cream.
"Thank you, Grandfather. For letting General Mustang stay so short notice," she smirked, picking up her soup spoon. Of course she knew he was just kidding, he'd drop everything to help her out. If she wanted to, she just needed to flutter her eyelashes and ask pretty please. Well- on everything except the personal security issue. Maybe she should actually try doing just that.
"Well, what the rumors say are true, but from what I've heard, I'm very popular with the common Amestrian right now," Roy flashed his own smirk.
Grumman gave a gruff chortle as Riza lifted her spoon to her lips, tasting the pumpkin. She hesitated, looking down at her bowl as she swallowed. "This is Grandmother's recipe?" she asked, looking over at Grumman.
"Yes, dear. She used to make it frequently in the late autumn," he nodded, tasting his own.
"It's very good," Roy added, glancing at her and back at Grumman.
Riza shifted in her chair, looking down at the bowl. Emotions swirled in her chest, draining her. After all that had happened earlier in the day, she wasn't certain she could handle the bisque right now.
"Do you not like it?" Grumman asked, disappointment clear in his voice.
"No, I do," she rushed, looking up at him. "It's just- Mother used to make it too. I don't think I've had this since she was alive."
"Oh, Riza… I'm sorry to upset you. I just meant to include you in a bit of a family tradition," he reached out, taking her available hand, his wrinkled fingers cool to the touch. "If it's too much, I'm certain the kitchen can heat up something else. We had a lovely clam chowder during lunch."
"Shellfish, Sir," Roy inserted quickly, but Riza was already shaking her head.
"No, I like this. It just blindsided me and- it's already been a long day," Riza explained, but the staff were already whispering behind her.
"…Beef and barley from yesterday?"
"It's too heavy, and it doesn't match the meal."
Riza's mouth twitched, wishing she hadn't said anything. She squeezed her grandfather's hand before pulling back, announcing in a firm voice, "I'll eat this."
Her words silenced the men behind her as she took another spoonful, finally looking at Roy. She silently begged him to start a conversation about anything- just not soup or her mother. His eyes sparked in recognition as he turned towards Grumman. "Sir, did you get the chance to follow the national chess finals in August?"
Chess? She resisted the urge to facepalm as Grumman eagerly answered, "I was invited as a guest of honor!" Sure, she could pull her own weight in a chess match and could win or draw against Roy one out of three matches, but she'd never had the obsession these two men had for the game.
At least the focus was off of her as she quietly ate her mother's/grandmother's bisque. Their conversation went in one ear and out the other as they discussed obtuse strategies and an apparently fascinating game between people she'd never heard of. (Riza had seen the magazine published on the event loitering around Roy's desk since early September, but she'd never perused it.)
As the bowls were cleared away and a delightful piece of lamb with a side of seasoned rice replaced it, her grandfather cleared his throat. "I believe we've left Riza out of the conversation a bit too long. Riza, dear, how is your foot healing?"
Riza paused, halfway through picking up her fork. She met his gaze, mind swirling to catch up. "My foot?"
"Yes, your foot. Lieutenant Vulcan informed me that you injured your foot the night of General Mustang's birthday party," Grumman reminded, easily shredding the perfectly cooked lamb and scooping it up with some rice.
"Oh! My foot. Dr. Marcoh healed it that night, and it hasn't been a nuisance since," Riza rushed.
Grumman nodded, taking his fork load and chewing. Riza shifted, glancing towards Roy, who's expression had grown grim. Soberly, she cut into her lamb, taking a bite. The scrumptious taste of the lemon and oregano flavoring was dampened by the mood.
"I don't know if you're aware, but Christine was good friends with my darling wife," Grumman informed lightly.
Roy looked up from his plate, clearly surprised. "I- didn't."
"When Chris was in her early twenties, she used to model for Sarah's fashion line. They grew close during her employment."
"So that's how they met! Ms. Mustang mentioned it, but didn't tell me how they knew each other," Riza commented.
Grumman chuckled softly, "Well, Fredrick set her up with the job. They were sweet on each other. Of course, that was before Fred died."
"Sweet on each other?" Roy asked.
At the same time Riza said, "Ah, yes, my mysterious Uncle Fredrick." They both cut off, catching each other's gaze across the table. "Excuse me, Sir," Riza offered mildly.
"That's perfectly fine, Major. Excuse me."
Grumman chuckled softly, "Christine wasn't always running her Bar. Before she decided to get into the prostitution field, she was an ordinary, be it very pretty, young lady.
"She and Fredrick met at Eastern U. He was in an extended law program through the Academy to become a Military Magistrate. Anyways, they dated for about nine months and he was planning to propose to her when he died."
"Well, that's a depressing story," Riza determined bitterly, stabbing her lamb with more gusto than needed.
"It's worse because both of her parents passed away within a year of Fredrick's death," Grumman added. "Poor girl lost her lover and her parents within such a short time. Sarah did her best to support Chris through it all, and she sort of became an adopted daughter of ours. Though, our relationship has fallen to a more professional one since Sarah's death."
That thought made Riza cringe, imagining her grandfather trading sexual favors with Madame Christmas was not something she cared to imagine. Roy caught her eye though, silently shaking his head a mere fraction.
If he knew where her mind had gone, then- did that mean Grumman and Chris worked together in the information business? With his position and power, it made sense for him to have informants.
"My point is, I was unhappy to hear of her injury. I was wondering how she's healing."
Roy broke eye contact, looking at Grumman again. "She's living with me through her recovery. She's still struggling to breathe and any physical exertion takes a toll on her. Some of the girls from the Bar are staying with her when I'm at work, and they're complaining about Chris's withdrawal mood swings, though I haven't noticed the same behavior. I think she feels like she doesn't have a right to complain since I managed to quit smoking."
Grumman chortled, setting his fork and knife down. "Stubborn woman. Does she have any plans to try to stay off of them?"
"I've suggested it," Roy shrugged as Riza set her own knife and fork down, her stomach settling at comfortably full.
"How did Christine take that?"
Roy glanced briefly at Riza before looking at his vanished rice and disproportionate amount of uneaten lamb. "She hastily changed the topic."
To something about her? That was the best Riza could figure as Roy took a quick bite of his meat.
"Perhaps I can send some encouragement myself. You said she's living with you?" Roy nodded as he chewed. "I might call some time. On the phone, of course. I don't have the time to travel as freely as I'd like. Riza, you should visit her and give her your encouragement too."
"I'm not very good at encouragement, Father," she dismissed, brushing her fingers evasively on her cloth napkin. She froze, realization crashing down on her. "Excuse me," the words strangled in the back of her throat. Her cheeks felt funny and she wasn't sure if she was blushing or if the color had drained from her face. "Excuse me, I meant 'Grandfather'."
Roy quietly set his utensils down as he finished his lamb, trying not to disturb the awkward silence as it settled over them. The staff stepped in, switching out their finished plates and setting down triangle slices of ganache covered cake. After they finished topping off wine and water glasses, they quickly stepped out of the dining room, leaving the three of them completely alone for the first time.
Riza glanced at the door as it swung closed, then around the room, making sure there weren't any bodyguards hiding in corners. "I'm trying to decide if that was a compliment or not," Grumman finally mused, her gaze returning to him to find a thoughtful and troubled crinkle to his brow as he stared at his desert.
Riza's lips parted as she took a shallow breath. "For you. For you, it was." He looked up at her, his expression relaxing. "Why did the Staff leave?"
He sat back in his chair, elbows on his armrests as he settled. "I asked for some privacy while we ate dessert. I had a guard detail search the room for bugs just before you arrived. Without leaving the manor, this is as private as our conversation can be. I was worried that something pressing brought you here so short notice. I wanted to give you an opportunity to speak freely."
She paused, glancing at Roy, then at her plate. She hadn't completely decided what she wanted to tell him, yet. Though, surprisingly the conversation and meal had helped her relax after the stress of admitting to Roy and Gracia her concerns about her period.
That thought immediately spiked her anxiety, and she swiftly struck that off the list. After Grumman had so heavy-handedly suggested she have children as soon as possible, she wasn't going to give him a hope of that possibility until she knew without a doubt.
Nervously, she grabbed her wine, sipping the soothing chardonnay again, letting it settle her nerves. "There's nothing pressing to be told. Though I think we both have our fair share of secrets that could use some airing out."
Grumman nodded, picking up his fork and cutting into his torte. "True."
"If you would prefer, I can step out," Roy offered, scooting his chair back and reaching for his suitcase.
"Oh, there's no need for that. I'm perfectly fine with you being here, General. Unless Riza would prefer you to step out?"
Riza shook her head, "I already told you, Grandfather: I don't keep secrets from General Mustang," she glanced at Roy, then back at him, "Unless I'm ordered to."
"Ah! So you want me to go first. That's fair."
Roy glanced between them, easing his suitcase down again. "Ordered?"
"My darling granddaughter is uncomfortable that I asked- ordered her not to tell you about my declining health."
"Declining health?" Roy repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Well, I am getting along in years. Next month will be my 85th birthday. I'll officially be the oldest Fuhrer to hold the office. You should both be getting an invitation to the celebration, by the way."
"Grandfather," Riza scolded, setting her wine down with a forceful click. "I'm very glad you've lived such a long and fulfilling life, but I would like details about your illness. I don't like worrying that I might lose you. That one day I'll see a newspaper and see your passing announced on the front page, or turn on a radio and hear you've died."
He blinked, growing sober. "Riza, if it was that terrible I would have told you. And I promise, if I were to pass, you would be the first to be notified about it." Riza pursed her lips, looking down at her untouched dessert. "Fine, I'll give you details, and hopefully you can put your worries to rest.
"My doctors have identified it as an autoimmune disease. My symptoms are excessive fatigue, joint pain, and frequent fevers. There aren't a lot of treatments available and it slows me down enough to interfere with my responsibilities. They are worried that if I were to become ill with something else, like influenza, that my body won't be able to fight it very well, but it's hardly a death sentence on a casual day."
Riza shifted in her seat, looking up at him again. "Thank you," she whispered.
Grumman set aside his fork, shaking his head softly. "I expect your discretion concerning this matter, Mustang. Only a select few of my staff and medical professionals know, and I am not willing to let this leak to power hungry military brass."
"Of course not, Sir. I would never."
Grumman huffed, relaxing again. "No, I don't believe you would. I suppose you could use some support with this as well, my dear. But please, don't speak of this to anyone else."
"I won't," Riza reassured, her voice soft. He hadn't mentioned the timeline for his expected retirement. She supposed she could allow him that secret. Being able to talk with Roy about her worries would be plenty for now. "Thank you for telling me, Grandfather. I'm sorry for pushing like that."
He waved her off absently. "Speaking of which, I'm not sure I can stay up much longer. I tried to hide it, but my fatigue came crashing in during the bisque. I might…"
"Grandfather," she interrupted him as he moved to stand up. He paused, looking at her. "I have some news for you. You'll want to hear it."
He sat down again, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, my dear?"
"Not pressing, but good news. I hesitated to tell you because…" her cheeks began heating as her mouth threatened to ramble, trailing off once she realized what she was doing. She cleared her throat. Resisting the urge to look at Roy, she picked up her wine, taking a long pull on the nectar.
"Riza," Grumman began gently. "If you're not ready, it can wait. I'm sure a phone call or…"
"I can't tell you over the phone, and I likely won't be back in Central until your birthday. But I want to tell you. I'll regret it if I don't," she determined, looking up at him.
He quietly folded his hands, resting them over his abdomen, elbows supported by his armrests. Patient and paternal to the core. Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she parted her lips, inhaling shallowly.
A knock came at the double doors behind him.
His cheek twitched as the door opened. A Colonel in her mid forties stepped in, hair up in a salt and pepper bun. She moved to Grumman's left, standing at attention between him and Roy. "Fuhrer Grumman, Sir," she began, boots clicking together.
Grumman relaxed in his seat, giving Riza an apologetic grimace. "Colonel Simmons. This is my granddaughter, Major Hawkeye, and General Mustang"
"Sir. Ma'am," Simmons offered quickly with a respectful nod for each of them. She stepped forward, bending down to whisper in Grumman's ear.
Grumman sighed as she stepped back, returning to attention in his shadow. "Excuse me, but duty calls. Please, enjoy dessert without me. Jefferson will help you to your rooms."
Grumman pushed himself up to his feet, Roy rising respectfully and straightening his vest as Grumman stepped out with Simmons. Riza took another sip as the door closed behind them, allowing Roy to glance her way.
Sighing, she set down her wine again. Rubbing her temples, she rested her elbows on the table. "I took too long," she whispered.
"It's a big secret to share," he offered understandingly. "If I had had to tell Chris rather than her just finding out, I probably would have struggled too."
"Yeah, well Chris isn't running a country," she grumbled, scooting out and grabbing her bag. "I'm done if you are."
"Sure. Sweets usually make me feel like I'm in trouble," he shrugged, looking at his untouched plate before bending down, picking up his suitcase. She knew. That's why she didn't want to make him feel obligated to loitered for her. She moved towards the double door, Roy catching up to her. "One second," he whispered. Turning towards him, he caught her off guard by giving her a kiss on the edge of her mouth. "I'm sorry. I planned for today to be a lot different than it turned out. A lot more romantic."
She smiled weakly, "It's alright. I'm glad we came here. Talking with Gracia really was what I needed, and…" she sighed, looking at the double doors with regret, "I'll get the chance to tell him eventually."
"At the wedding," Roy snickered, pecking her cheek again. "I wish I could hold you tonight. I was really looking forward to that."
With her free hand, she smoothed down the buttons of his vest, pressing enough to feel his muscles underneath. "So was I," she breathed, looking up to meet his obsidian irises.
He groaned playfully, tossing his head back, "That's not fair! I'm keeping my hands to myself," he added in a whisper.
"But not your lips," she teased, swaying her hips intentionally as she moved to the door, reaching for a handle.
He sprung forward, grabbing it for her. "Major," he offered formally as he pulled the door open for her.
"Thank you, Sir," she smiled graciously, stepping through.
Jefferson stood a few yards down the hall, smiling warmly as they emerged. "Ma'am. Sir. It's a bit late, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in a tour?"
Riza's smile faltered, "I'm sorry, but I'm honestly ready to retire. Though, if you're interested, Sir, I'm certain you'd be welcome to do it without me," she added to Roy.
"I'd love to- another time. That four and a half hour train ride earlier took it out of me," Roy commiserated, shaking his head.
"I completely understand. I'll show you to your rooms then. Master Grumman thought Miss Hawkeye would prefer to be roomed close to you, General, so we put you two next to each other."
Riza blinked, suspicion growing in her chest with Jefferson's casual tone. "Why would he think that?"
"I assumed it was because you're General Mustang's bodyguard. Not that the manor has been attacked since the Bradleys were in residence," Jefferson explained as they began moving down the hallway, headed towards the family's wing.
"Someone attacked the Bradleys?" Roy asked, looking at her.
"An individual overpowered the guards and attacked Fuhrer Bradley with his wife and son in the room. Of course Master Bradley fended the assailant off with ease, but the assailant escaped by jumping through the window from the second floor!"
"Greed," Riza whispered. She hadn't been on duty that night, but she'd been involved in the aftershocks through the Fuhrer's security detail.
"Sounds like I'll be your bodyguard in an emergency, Major. If I hear gunfire, I'll be right there," Roy chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. She glanced up at him, his eyes not matching his teasing voice and smile. They were- suggestive and imploring.
Admittedly she wasn't certain what he was trying to communicate, and she let her confusion show. "I'll make sure to keep a gun under my pillow then," she replied, "Though the likelihood of either of us being attacked is minimal, since we came unexpectedly. Such an attack is usually planned months in advance."
Roy's playful smile slipped, "Right. That's very true."
'What is it?' she mouthed, glancing towards Jefferson, making sure he wasn't looking.
Roy furtively glanced toward their chaperon, tilting his head. With his free hand, he pantomimed walking with two fingers, then lightly tapped the pads of his fingers together, like he wanted to clap.
He wanted to… walk and use alchemy? Confused, she shook her head as she furrowed her brow.
"This hall ahead is reserved for the family of the Fuhrer. Since Master Grumman took Fuhrership, he's insisted that only Miss Hawkeye stay down here. I'd take it as an honor, General," Jefferson interrupted.
The hall was familiar and Riza knew for herself that the second door on the left was hers. "Thank you Jefferson, I know my way from here," she offered.
"Of course, Ma'am. I believe one of the girls is drawing a bath for you," he added as they passed her door, leaving her to loiter.
Grabbing the handle, she smiled at them, "Thank you. Goodnight, General."
Roy turned back to look at her. He grimaced, clearly distressed their silent conversation was being left unresolved. "Goodnight, Major." Turning back around, he followed Jefferson to the next room over on the same side of the hall as hers.
Pushing her way into her suite, she slipped her hand into her purse, grabbing the handle of a Glock. The space was familiar from the times that she'd stayed with Grumman for political functions. The room was partially lit by a few lamps: one by the vanity outside of the bathroom, another on a nightstand next to the bed. They illuminated the comfortable creams and browns of the room and décor, the couch, bed and armchairs bearing a generous amount of pillows. The rug covering the floor was thick and lush, inviting bare feet to sink in and relax. The large, arched windows on the far wall let in some moonlight through the sheer curtains, fluttering slightly with a pleasantly cool draft from an open pane. The waxing gibbous moon was framed by the delicate arch of the window above the curtain rods.
The bathroom door was open, the sound of running water warning her that the maid was still there. Moving into the room, she closed the door behind her, crossing over to the bed. She pulled out her first Glock, slipping it under the pillows. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the second gun, leaving her bag on top of the covers.
Moving over to the vanity, she set the weapon down before perching on the small, cushioned bench. Looking into the mirror, she carefully began pulling pins from her hair, removing the cloche from her crown.
The water turned off inside the bath, a woman's absent humming coming clearly without the other noise drowning her out. Riza ran her fingers through her loose hair, checking for any more hairpins, her strands staticky from the rough treatment of the wig and hat throughout the day.
The humming drew closer before the young woman finally stepped out of the bathroom, jumping at the sight of Riza. "Oh! Ma'am! I'm sorry. I thought I had more time to…"
Meeting her eyes, Riza recognized Lucille, her blonde hair up in a small bun. "You're fine. Dessert was cut short due to some of Grumman's responsibilities," Riza soothed, focusing more on her reflection as she grabbed the damp cloth waiting on the desk for her.
Lucille rushed to the window, drawing the heavy curtains closed. "Is there anything I can bring you, Ma'am? Tea? The evening paper?"
"I actually didn't get to eat dessert. Could you have the kitchen send a plate to me?" Riza requested, wiping off the thick layer of makeup that Rebecca had decorated her face with that morning. "And send them my compliments. It was a lovely meal."
"Of course," she chirped cheerily as she crossed to the bed. Riza watched her through the mirror as she turned down the duvet, moving her bag to a neighboring armchair. "Would you like your clothes for tomorrow ironed? The Fuhrer also wanted me to remind you all the clothes in the closet have been tailored specifically for you."
Setting the damp cloth aside, Riza picked up its dry match, patting her skin dry. "Let's worry about that in the morning. When does Grumman take his breakfast?"
"On weekends it's at 8:30," she informed warmly, picking up a pillow to fluff it. She paused as she saw the pistol underneath.
"Leave that there. If someone could come by at 7:30 to wake me up, I'd appreciate it. And, please, no other interruptions unless it's an emergency." Riza instructed as she bent down, loosening a shoe buckle from around her ankle and slipping the heel off.
"Yes, Ma'am. Good night," she offered, smoothing the pillow back over the gun before moving to leave.
"Good night," Riza returned softly, glancing her way. Lucille gave a curtsy and closed the door behind her. Riza sighed, slipping off her other shoe and rising from the stool. Leaving her pistol, hat, and Gracia's hairpins on the vanity, she moved into the bathroom.
She glanced over the tan travertine tile on the floor and walls, a small chandelier refracting its light across the mirrors. The shower stall had frosted glass walls for privacy, and in the far corner was a large, square bathtub made from the same stone as the tile. Stairs lead up to the rim, bubbles creating a dome floated on top of the steaming water. Close to a dozen candles sat, lit, on the edge of the tub, and an open bottle of red wine stood at a corner next to a poured glass.
She paused at the tempting sight of the bath, the day washing over her with a wave of exhaustion. If it was a smaller bath she would slip into its haven in a heartbeat. Her lack of energy warned against falling asleep in the tub though. It wouldn't do for her to drown in her grandfather's bathtub. Stepping across the fluffy bath rug, she picked up the wine glass, sniffing the heady grape aroma with a soft smile.
She'd held back on the wine at dinner because she hadn't wanted to slip up with Roy there, but now? There was no reason to abstain, and her grandfather's staff had always had an excellent taste in wine.
Sipping the red nectar, she crossed to the walk-in closet. Flicking the light on, she looked over the clothing inside. Two sets of regular uniform and one set of dress uniform were vastly outnumbered by the well designed blouses, skirts, shoes, and dresses displayed in the closet. Casual wear, semi formal, formal… It was ridiculous how much the contents must cost, but unlike Rebecca's similar sized closet, she wouldn't have to scrutinize every piece of clothing to determine if it would cover her back or not.
Taking a long pull on her wine, she moved to the dresser, opening the top drawer to find a large selection of bras. They were hardly lingerie, but they were more feminine than her usual black ones. Checking the drawer underneath, she was met by a drawer of panties, again more feminine than her plain, cotton small clothes at home. Lace and little bows and cute designs on silky materials.
Taking a bold draw on her drink, arousal began to pool in her underwear as she imagined Roy seeing her in some of these. Choosing a pink bra with a little bow between the cups, she draped it over her arm, finding a matching pair of panties. Tasting her wine again, she softly began to hum as she moved to the next drawer, finding what she was looking for.
She pulled out the silky, eggplant purple pajamas, hemmed in white with a row of white buttons. She paused, feeling the material and seriously considering taking them back home. She fully expected a new pair would be waiting for her when she came back next month... This had been where she'd snagged her current blue set.
Leaving the decision for tomorrow, she pushed her way out of the closet, leaving the clothes on the counter. She'd shower after her dessert and head to bed then. Distractedly, she lifted her wine to her lips again, acknowledging her rosy cheeks in the mirror as she finished the glass.
She was drinking too fast, her head spinning pleasantly as she set the glass down, toying with the stem. She should wait before having anymore- except she wanted more.
A slight thump came from her room. Her ears pricked as her hair stood on end. Abandoning her glass on the counter, she snuck over to the door, cursing herself for leaving her pistol on the vanity. The vanity was just on the other side of the wall from her. If she moved dexterously enough, she could snatch it and aim before anyone else could.
She took a moment to take a deep breath, her body tingling from the alcohol. Why had she let herself relax here? She hadn't even locked the door, waiting for her cake to arrive.
Swallowing hard, she braced herself. Slipping out the door, she snatched her Glock from the vanity. She crouched behind the furniture for cover in the same motion, eyes flashing across the room… But there was no one. Was she hearing things? Blinking, she looked again, trying to focus past the buzz. Something was off…
There was a door behind her headboard!
Straightening to her full height, she tilted her head as the familiar, blue electricity of a transmutation ran along the hinges of the door. A second later the door opened away from the headboard, revealing Roy on the other side. He looked down at the headboard, then around her room, his eyes stopping on her.
"Well, this explains why I couldn't open the door into your room," he patted the headboard absently, looking left and right along her wall.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, finally lowering her gun.
"Coming to visit you. Unless you don't want me to."
"Roy!"
"Yea or nay, Love? Before I transmute another door," he prompted, gripping the doorframe on both sides and leaning into her room.
The wetness in her underwear from the wine drew her attention as she gaped at him. "I-I… I have staff dropping off cake any minute now."
His brows furrowed. "Cake?"
"I wanted dessert."
He hummed, glancing absently over her figure. A knock came from her door, drawing both of their eyes. Roy quickly glanced back at her. "I'll be back in five. With a better placed door," he added, before closing the transmuted door. An instant later, electricity ran across the surface of the door until it morphed back into a flat wall. He'd been slow and methodical with the transmutation, leaving the surface unmarred.
Disoriented, she crossed over to her door, gun still in hand. She opened it cautiously, peeking out. Finding a rolling table with a plate cover on top, she couldn't see anyone accompanying it. Poking her head out, she looked both ways, finding nothing.
Pulling the table inside, she closed the door and locked it (not that that would hinder any of the staff with the key). Leaving it behind her, she crossed over to the wall adjoining Roy's room. She knocked on it, waiting for a long moment for a reply. Two feet to her left came another knock. She moved over, grabbing the armchair there and carrying it aside. Knocking again, she stepped back, waiting.
His transmutation was once again slow, the door morphing into the wall, matching the room's dark brown, wooden accents. As the door completed, she stepped back, turning her back on him. She slowly walked over to the vanity, her hips swaying naturally as she watched him open the door through the mirror. His reflection showed his eyes dropping to the sway of her hips, his expression neutral.
"That was fast," he commented, taking a single step into her room.
"They just left the table outside my door," she dismissed, setting her Glock on the vanity again and absently untying the bow at her neck. The collar loosened, opening to show her fading hickey from earlier that week, but the gap wasn't wide enough to expose any cleavage. The lack there of made her frown, running her palms down the front of her blouse, her heightened senses picking up the feel of the beads on her bra.
He closed the door into the other room, leaning casually on the doorframe. "Well, don't let me stop you from enjoying your cake. I just came in here to check on you."
She spun to face him, indignation flaring in her cheeks. "You sneak in here to 'just check on me'? What does that even mean? Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be here?"
His lip twitched with a smirk that he quickly tried to banish. Damn, he looked sinful. His vest, shoes, tie, and belt were gone, his shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a few buttons loosed at his neck. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, hair messy, his scruff highlighting his sharp jawline, and since when were his socks sexy? "Well, it was a long and tiring day. I wanted to make sure you were feeling alright."
"I'm -hic- fine," she rushed, taking a step towards him.
His brow furrowed, concern replacing his casual teasing. Pushing off of the doorframe, he crossed to her, using his height to loom over her. He leaned in, sniffing lightly. "Are you drunk?"
"No," she denied petulantly, taking a step back towards the bathroom.
"You smell like alcohol," he pressed, pursuing her.
"That doesn't mean I'm drunk. I'm tipsy. The staff left me with a bottle of wine," she explained, retreating through the doorway of the bathroom. "I've just had my first glass."
"After the wine you had at dinner?" he challenged, the door frame currently acting as a barrier between them. "Tell me, my Queen, I've been dying to know for years: What kind of drunk are you?"
"I don't let myself get drunk, Sir," she denied, shaking her head as she placed a hand on the doorframe, leaning into it with her elbow locked.
"Not with other people, I know that. Are you a cranky drunk? A happy drunk? A sad drunk?" he asked, leaning closer and threatening the dividing line of the bathroom doorway.
"Roy," she warned, her heart racing in her chest.
His eyes searched her face, loitering on her lips. "I have a theory, my Love, and I'm desperate to know."
The draw to his lips was nearly overwhelming. Her body flushed with heat, her heart clenching. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, unable to pull back and put more distance between them.
His eyes lifted to hers, an intelligent and aroused light to his charcoal irises. "Are you telling me to leave?" he breathed.
She couldn't speak, a quiet whine rising up in the back of her throat as she shook her head ever so slightly in denial. He inhaled, then stepped across the doorway. Her blood erupted in a confused heat as she shook her head more vehemently, his arm wrapping around her waist before she could step away. His touch set a fire in her skin as he pulled her flush with his hips, his free hand lifting her chin as he brought their mouths together. She moaned against him, her head spinning as she clawed at his shirt, unbuttoning it with a desperate lack of restraint.
He growled, his length stiffening against her pelvis as he pulled her shirt from her waistband, sliding his hand underneath and across her lower back. He bit at her lower lip, pulling away from her mouth as his teeth drug across her skin. Finally breaking apart, he hastily trailed kisses across her cheek and throat, ending at the hinge of her jaw.
"You're a horney drunk, aren't you, Riza Mustang," he whispered huskily against her ear.
"Yes," she gasped, her body tingling like she'd already orgasmed.
He pulled back, catching both of her wrists and putting a good two feet between their bodies. He met her eyes, an intensity to them she hadn't seen in a long time. "Major, I need you to think with your head right now."
The authority in his voice rippled arousal through her, liquid gushing between her legs, soaking her lacy intimates. Despite that, she did her best to ignore her body, meeting his gaze levelly. "Yes, Sir."
"Do you really want to do this here? You're not going to regret it in the morning?"
"I…" her body screamed in approval, begging to feel his hands, his kisses, his cock.
Her head. She had orders to think with her head. But her head was fuzzy and her thoughts unclear. Her mind pulled up multiple memories of drunkenly touching herself after three or so glasses of wine in the bathtub behind her.
"I need you," she confessed. "I've touched myself so many times here, wishing it was you. Please," she begged, trying to close the distance between them.
"Shit. You've… here?" he hissed.
She nodded, breaking her wrists free of his grip, running her hand across the lapels of his shirt and rubbing his exposed abs and v. "In the tub. And the bed," she confessed, her breath shallow and voice high pitched. "I did it almost every time I've stayed here. I imagined you were Fuhrer and I was your- mistress or something," she shook her head, bothered that at the time she hadn't thought they would ever really happen.
"Wife," he inserted gruffly. "Wife, Riza Mustang." He grabbed the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head. She moved her arms to follow, the humidity in the air making her skin prickle. As he dropped the silky material, his eyes focused on the scarlet bra he'd given her. She'd worn it, expecting they'd have a romantic evening at a hotel somewhere in East City. "Damn, you look good. I knew you would."
"I wore it for you," she breathed, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders as she stepped flush with his torso, her hands sliding down to toy with his waistband, a smile playing at the edge of her mouth with the feel of his erection.
"Well, I bought it for you," he whispered, his hands finding her hips and sliding back around her, teasing the thin zipper over the curve of her rear.
A knock came at the door, making her jump, pushing away from him. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hand, trying to settle her racing heart. "The door," Roy hissed, turning to move back into the room.
She hastily caught his wrist, pulling him to a stop. "Don't go. I want you here."
Pain rippled across his expression as he glanced into the other room. "I can't be here, you said that yourself."
"Hide in my closet. Wait for them to leave," she insisted, moving to grab the fluffy bathrobe hanging from a hook, pulling it on over her exposed torso.
"The door I made," Roy reminded her more insistently.
"I don't think we have enough time to get rid of it. Whoever it is, I won't let them in. I gave specific instructions that I wasn't to be bothered."
He exhaled heavily, stepping back to her and pulling the collar of her robe more snug. "Keep this tight. Like this you can't see the hickey," he breathed, pecking her lips.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, a slight wave of dizziness reminding her of her inebriated state. She tied her robe, pinching the collar closed where he held it. "Now hide."
He bent down, snatching his shirt from the floor before ducking into the closet. Exhaling shakily, she left the bathroom, stepping past her dessert and unlocking the door again.
Grumman stood there, still fully dressed in his dress uniform. He gave her a warm smile, "Riza dear! I'm sorry for dinner being interrupted. I was wondering if you wanted to continue our conversation."
"Oh..." she uttered, her stomach plummeting. Inebriated as she was, her mouth stumbled on her words, "I'm not- dressed."
"I- see that. I can wait for you," he offered placatingly. She shifted uncomfortably, pulling her robe closed tighter. "It just sounded like it was important to you."
Her head swam, thinking of Roy half naked in her closet and the door bridging their two suites. This was not the way she wanted him to find out. "Now's a bad time," she murmured, resisting the urge to duck her head, shame coursing through her.
"I see. Of course. Will I see you at breakfast?"
"Yes," she answered numbly, gripping the door, her fingertips digging into the grains of the wood.
He nodded, "I'll see you in the morning, then. Goodnight," he offered, turning to move down the hall.
"I- I love you," she called after him, her voice weak.
He stopped in his tracks, standing a little taller. He turned back to smile affectionately at her. "I love you too."
She nodded, easing her door closed. As the latch clicked, she pressed her forehead against the wood, thumbing the bolt and locking the door again.