Originally Published: Feb 14, 2022
Last Edited:
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! I'm sorry for the unplanned 6 month hiatus. Fortunately I've been working with my brand new beta reader NotPerkey to get back in the swing of things, and he's been doing a great job kicking my butt into gear.
I would realistically expect a chapter per month right now, but because of the wait, I plan on publishing as soon as I finish new content. I'm so excited to be back and continue working on A Fuhrer's Play!
Thank you all for reading!
Chapter 27
Security
Sunday, October 6, 1918
Roy had ridden trains regularly since he had started studying with Master Hawkeye. He was familiar and comfortable with third class civilian cars and occasionally (usually when traveling with his aunt) a second class compartment. Being in the Military had also brought him even more occasions to travel by rail. On Military Trains he'd been free to make use of the Ranking Officers' compartment since he'd become a State Alchemist. He'd also never balked at sitting in the Petty Officers' car if it gave him access to his team.
Roy wasn't a stranger to the finer things of life either. He'd grown up with money, and the girls at the bar had insisted he have a proper understanding of fashion and luxuries. He was just flexible on when he participated in such a lifestyle, and he'd never seen an occasion to fork out the extra cenz to book a first class car while traveling before.
As the host opened the door for them, he quickly took in the space. It was narrow and rectangular on account of the size allotted by the shape of the train car, but Roy was surprised at how much had been squeezed into the compartment.
Directly to his right was what looked like a closet with a door set into a diagonal wall. A peek through the cracked open door showed a marble sink and toilet. Following the right wall, under a wide, curtained window, there was a small table bolted into the wall and floor. A dark green, velvet ottoman was tucked between the table and the bathroom, and a matching armchair was situated on the other side before the partisan.
To the left was a liquor cabinet, the glass doors making the contents apparent. Between it and the partisan was a white couch with backrest cushions matching the green velvet of the ottoman and armchair. A pair of mirrors were on each side of the closed partisan door, which had a fogged over window set into the sliding door. The walls were a polished walnut, the trimming decorated with gold leafing, adding to the comfortable, opulent feel of the cozy, first class suit.
"All food and drinks are complimentary with your ride. If you'd like lunch in your car, or some tea or coffee, please send word to the dining car. For now, is there anything else I can get you to make your travels more comfortable?" The pleasant, middle aged host asked, a kindly smile under his graying mustache.
"Ma'am, permission to search the car before you settle?" The larger of the two body guards asked in an undertone.
Riza shifted her bag onto her shoulder, a tired shadow to her eyes. "Go ahead." Both guards proceeded to step into the compartment, the smaller one beginning to check the front half while the larger opened the partisan door, revealing a double or queen sized bed on the other side.
"Sir, would you like something to read? I don't recall you bringing a book for our trip," Riza asked. His focus turned to her and he noted the gentle warning in her gaze.
"Ah, yes, that's an excellent idea, Major. Do you have anything I could read during the ride?" Roy asked, turning his attention back to the host.
"Of course, Sir. I'll have a small selection brought to your compartment shortly. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"
"That will be all for now," Riza offered with a gracious nod, "Thank you."
"Of course, Ma'am," the host returned her nod and slipped to the left of the compartment and down the narrow hall.
"One of the guards will be stationed inside, the other will take up position out here. I was planning on trying to get a nap. I'm a bit hungover and I don't want to deal with them right now," Riza explained in a curt whisper.
Roy instantly began cranking through the information, his eyes shifting to the open partisan door and the guard fixing the bedding after checking under the covers. Wait- Riza was hungover? His gaze flashed back to her as questions popped to the tip of his tongue. He held them back, covering his anxiety with a calm façade. Now wasn't the time. They were being watched.
"All clear, Ma'am," the smaller guard announced, stepping back out of the cabin and taking up position in the hall.
"Thank you, Torres. Thank you, Huston," she offered simply, stepping inside and moving past the larger guard as he sat on the couch, taking up the cushion closest to the partisan. Riza easily stepped through the doorway, grabbing the handle and sliding the door closed. Her silhouette was visible through the glass as she reached a hand for her nape then shook her hair loose of it's clip before ducking out of sight.
Roy stepped into the compartment, glancing up to find a shelf for luggage. Lifting his suitcase onto it, he settled on the couch next to the liquor cabinet. He crossed his legs, eyeing the scars on his palms as the train lightly jolted, pulling into motion. Exhaling, his focus turned to the rain sliding down the window pane as they pulled away from the station.
Riza was hungover? Sure, she'd been pretty tipsy last night when he'd come to visit, but was it enough to get hungover on? Or had she had more wine after he left?
Troubled, his mouth twisted into an absent frown. His haunted thoughts from his sleepless night returned, leaving him under his own figurative storm cloud.
She claimed she was alright, that last night was 'forgiven and forgotten.' Still, she'd seemed off during the car ride to the station- though her supposed hangover or her conversation with Grumman could have led to that. Still, Riza had too much of a history hiding her true feelings from him. Again, his fault, but that didn't change the current situation.
She was hungover and she was on edge. If she'd had more to drink after his last night fumblings, she likely hadn't forgiven and forgotten as she claimed. What if she was trying to disarm his worries to spare his feelings? What if he'd actually really hurt her? Or, dare he say, assaulted her?
He shifted uncomfortably, her distressed expression from the night before flooding back to his mind.
He couldn't sit on this. Not when he'd been up all night with the same worries. The problem now was getting her alone to talk.
He glanced over at the larger man on the opposite side of the couch. The veins on the back of his tan hands flexed as he clasped them together, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"Huston, right?" Roy broached, keeping his voice light.
His dark eyes swiveled towards Roy, his brows rising in surprise. To be fair, Roy had been expecting a quiet journey without small talk, and clearly Huston had had the same thoughts.
"Yes, Sir," he nodded, his voice a soft timber despite his Armstrong-like bulk.
"Roy Mustang. Pleasure to meet you," Roy smiled, offering his hand.
Huston's surprise dissipated quickly as he reached to accept the handshake. "I am aware, Sir."
Roy shrugged disarmingly, "Never hurts to give a proper introduction." Their hands pulled apart, curiosity hinted in Huston's expression. "So, how long have you been in the Fuhrer's retinue?"
"I've been working with Grumman for a little more than twelve years. Personal security."
Twelve years? "When did Grumman start employing his own security?"
"Shortly after his appointment as head of the Eastern Forces. It's actually a normal precaution taken by men of your rank. You might want to consider expanding your own retinue, especially since Major Hawkeye is her own target."
Which made sense, but he could see Riza feeling slighted if he employed other guards. That and their illicit relationship would be more at risk of discovery with round the clock security.
"I'll keep that in mind," Roy conceded, letting the matter drop for now. "So, have you been assigned to Major Hawkeye detail before?"
Huston hummed, reaching back to scratch the nape of his neck before flicking his dark auburn ponytail behind his back. "Probably about a dozen times. Usually as a transport guard. Vulcan has been assigned as her personal bodyguard since Grumman's inauguration. Grumman doesn't seem too concerned about her safety most of the time because he trusts you to have her back, but with the threats…." he cut off, quickly clearing his throat. "Ehem, with your promotion, he's wanted more guards on her. Since you're both more likely to attract unwanted attention now."
Roy's jaw tensed, Huston grimacing briefly before his expression eased into a mask. Threats? Towards him or Riza? If Huston had almost let something slip, he wasn't going to talk to Roy about it now. Roy would have to go to Grumman and ask. As soon as possible.
Roy intentionally loosened his jaw, a chill in his voice as he proposed, "How about we pretend that didn't just happen."
"Sir."
Shrugging off his own tension, Roy continued as nonchalantly as he could, "Look, I need to have a confidential conversation with Major Hawkeye. I was hoping to convince you to step out for a bit."
Huston glanced over Roy, his expression flat. After a moment of consideration, he asked, "Do you have your alchemic gloves with you?"
The reminder of the coarse cloth in his pockets sent his hand into one, rubbing the flint material habitually. "Yes."
"And I assume she has a pistol with her?"
"She does," Roy nodded.
Huston rose to his feet, tugging his suit coat flat with the motion. "I'll check back in fifteen minutes."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Huston nodded before stepping past Roy, pulling the door open. The shorter blond on the other side glanced up at him, a murmured question leaving his lips before the door was shut.
Roy exhaled a tense breath. That had worked out easier than he'd planned, but left him with an additional worry. Whatever threat there was, he and Riza needed to know about it too.
Pushing the fret aside for later investigation, Roy stood up in a smooth motion. He tugged at his collar as he took the two steps to the partisan, rapping softly on the glass with one knuckle.
There was a slight rustling of paper on the other side and Roy gently slid the door open. Riza had curled up on her side on top of the white duvet, her shoes on the floor and an extra pillow against her stomach. Her whiskey eyes were wide, an open book laying beside her where she'd abandoned it, her hand now halfway through pulling out a Glock from her bag.
As she met his gaze, she froze for a moment before her brows wrinkled. "General, what are you…?"
"I got Huston to agree to give us a few minutes alone," he explained, pushing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe.
She glanced over him before easing her pistol back into her bag, pushing herself up to a sitting position. "What is it, Sir?"
"Riza," he paused, composing his nerves. "We need to talk about last night."
Her poker face was up instantly, her shoulder tightening. She quickly looked away, picking up her book (one that Gracia had loaned her) and flipping through pages. "What about it?"
Exhaling slowly, he sat at the foot of the bed, gently resting his hand on her bare ankle. She met his gaze again over the top of her book, but didn't pull away.
"You said you were hungover."
"I had a lot of wine last night," she dismissed, gaze dropping back to the pages.
Roy hooked a finger over the crease of the book, gently pulling it down. She didn't fight him, and he easily slipped it from her grasp. Closing it softly, he set it down between them as he lightly prodded, "Sure, I'm just worried that you might have had more after I left."
She didn't respond, her masterful 'no funny business' glare being his only reply.
"Look, Riza, I get it if you don't want to talk about it, it's an uncomfortable subject, but I need to. When it happened, you shut me out, and I want to make sure you're alright."
She looked away, digging a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck. "I'm trying to forget it. It doesn't need to be remembered. Every couple has had slip ups during intimacy, I'm sure of it."
"That doesn't mean I didn't hurt you," he breathed, rubbing her ankle lightly.
She shook her head, a troubled furrow to her brows as she avoided his gaze. "Yes, I drank more after you left, but that's because I... The whole incident… You made the smart decision, Sir. As much as I pride myself in making those 'smart decisions' at work or in the field, I wouldn't have last night."
"Ri…"
"Thank you," she interjected, turning her face towards him again, her eyes earnest. "I lose my head when it comes to you, and I was inebriated. Just- next time…"
"There won't be a next time," he rushed, squeezing her ankle in a protective gesture. Funny, when the person he had to protect her from was himself.
She gave him a stink eye, her eyes narrowing in a glare and her lips pursing into a thin line. Cowed, he eased his grip on her. "Next time," she repeated more slowly as she shifted from her hip to her rump, "Don't shove your fingers in. That more than anything is what shut me down last night."
"But- I thought you liked…"
"As foreplay, sure," she sighed with a brief roll of her eyes. She quickly gentled her expression, reaching down to take his hand and entwine their fingers. "But I could tell you were panicking. You did the first thing you could think of to make things right. More importantly you listened when I told you to stop. I was disappointed you were out of me, but at that point I would have preferred if you just let me ride it out. The lack of communication and the hasty…" she squeezed his hand as she searched for words, a troubled furrow to her brow. "It just felt wrong. I don't blame you, but I felt dirty after it happened. So I showered and then I drank."
Her words sent a pain through his chest, his stomach dropping uncomfortably. He looked down at their hands, absently running his thumb over her knuckles. The chugging rhythm of the train and the patter of rain on the window filled the silence, his words sticking in the back of his throat.
"I'm so sorry," he finally scratched out. "I never wanted you to feel like that. But," he lifted his gaze, meeting her beautiful, chestnut eyes, "I need to know: did I assault you?"
Her eyes widened, color draining from her face. "Roy," she breathed. She gently pushed her pillow and book out of the way so she could crawl over to him and cup his face in both hands. "Oh, no. A thousand times, no."
He gasped, a cool, alleviating tingle running down his spine and into every limb, leaving behind a grateful warmth in its wake. He cupped her neck, pulling her close to press a deep, tender kiss to her lips. She returned it, but pulled away quicker than he would have liked, just to start dusting kisses across his face.
Overwhelmed, he inhaled shakily, relieved tears threatening his eyes as he moved his arms around her waist, "God, I was so scared I'd… It haunted me all night."
Finally ceasing her shower of affection, she moved to sit beside him. She coiled her arms around his middle, nestled against his side as she pressed a kiss to his neck. "You know I trust you completely. And you've done nothing to jeopardize that."
A disbelieving chuckle rose out of his throat as he buried his face into her hair. Her scent was off, vanilla instead of lavender, but underneath that, it was still her. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer. "I don't deserve you, my Queen. But I'm so grateful I have you."
She pressed her cheek against his, sighing gently against his ear and curling her fingers into the back of his shirt, "Well, I don't deserve you either, my King."
He gave a troubled hum, squeezing her as her warmth seeped into him. He didn't want to dwell on that line of thought right now. The knowledge that neither of them deserved this little grain of happiness with each other worried him enough.
"So, are we alright?"
"Yeah," he matched her whisper, pulling back to look at her. Her bangs had fallen into her eyes, and he absently brushed them back. "We'll be fine. I should go though. Huston will be checking in on us any minute."
A disappointed smile curved her lips, her head canting to the side. "I wish you could hold me. It sounds like neither of us slept well, and I missed you."
He chortled, gently pecking her lips before he pulled from her arms, standing up. "I bet you did."
She smirked, shaking her head, "General."
He lifted a finger to his lips, playfully shushing her. "Hush, you can tell me exactly how you missed me later- when my head's between your thighs."
Her eyes widened, a pink tint flooding her face. "Ro…!"
Behind him, the compartment door opened.
"Thank you for your time, Major. I'll let you get back to your book," he announced evenly. At the same time, he offered her a wink, grabbing her door and sliding it closed as her expression hardened into a perturbed scowl.
"Ah, good timing," Huston commented behind him.
Stifling his good humor, Roy took up the armchair to his right, crossing his legs as he settled. "Yes, I would say so."
Sitting on the end of her bed, Riza slid her book back into her bag. Not that she'd read much during the ride.
After Roy's unexpected visit, she'd read a pair of short chapters on ovulation and fertilization. Despite the book's engaging way of making unprotected sex leading to pregnancy sound humorously scientific and academic, Riza had quickly been swept up by fatigue. The pillows, bed, and chugging rhythm of the train quickly pulled her into the lulls of sleep. If Torres hadn't knocked to inform her they were almost to East City, she'd certainly still be dozing away.
Yawning, she fastened her bag closed before pulling her hair into a twist at her nape and clipping it into place. As she bent over to tighten the little buckles around her ankles, the train began to slow, the squeaking of the breaks filling the air. Glancing out of the window, the familiar East City platform slid by. Stifling another yawn, she hooked her bag over her shoulder and slid the door open.
Huston and Torres had cleared the compartment, but Roy was still there, reaching up to take his bag from the shelf above the couch. He glanced her way, a soft smile touching his mouth, a gentle adoration in his eyes.
Despite herself, a flutter rose up in her stomach. He gave her that look so naturally, it left her in no doubt he meant it. There was no bluff, no deception, no mask. It was the same smile she'd learned to love as a youth, and she saw it so rarely these days.
With her focus on him, she pushed herself up to her feet, taking a pair of steps forward before the train jolted to a stop. Off balance with her groggy, twitterpated, high heeled stance, inertia shoved her forward, churning her stomach. Roy quickly turned, dropping his bag to catch her by the hips and prevent her from crashing into him. Head spinning and stomach writhing, she clutched onto his sleeves.
"Major?" Roy asked, his grip familiar and warm.
Righting herself, she pulled back, quickly tugging her sweater down, smoothing the wrinkles. "Excuse me, General. It's my shoes. It's hard to keep my balance," she managed to keep her voice firm despite the queasiness settling over her, refusing to fade after the jolt.
The skepticism in Roy's eyes did not dissipate, "Right. Just be a little more careful, Major," he advised, picking up his suitcase from the ground and leading the way out of the compartment.
Huston stood just outside the open door, eyeing them as they exited. "Are you alright, Ma'am?"
She nodded briskly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. Where's Torres?"
Huston gestured down the hall towards the exit. "Securing your disembarkment."
Nodding, Riza stepped down the hall, leading the two men. "Are you assigned to escort me home?" she asked, glancing back to find Roy directly behind her and Huston following him.
"No, Ma'am. We have orders to take the first train back to Central, which I believe leaves in fifteen minutes," Huston explained as they came upon Torres, standing at ease besides the conductor as passengers from the connecting car took the steps down to the platform.
"Do you have time to escort us back to my car? I'm parked right in front of the station," Roy proposed, making Riza's jaw tighten- or was that the nausea? Either way, why was Roy inviting them? A gesture of good will?
"If you would feel more comfortable with that, we'd be glad to offer our services," Huston replied, a pleased lilt to his voice.
Torres stepped between Riza and the passengers trying to exit, causing a slight round of protests from those wanting to get off. "Hey, what's the big idea?" And "First class can wait to exit like the rest of us!"
Then an older woman's voice broke in: "Harold, isn't that the Fuhrer's granddaughter?"
"Ayy! And it's the Flame Alchemist!"
Riza's cheeks heated as she hastily climbed down the steps behind Huston, Roy making pleasant appeasements to the crowd. "Excuse us, folks. We'll be out of your way momentarily."
On the platform, the acrid scent of engine exhaust filled the air with the rumble of bodies and voices. The taste of bile clung to the back of Riza's throat as she stayed near Huston, a few gawkers pointing in her direction as they passed.
Torres joined them with Roy, giving a troubled frown at the crowd. "I wish we had a full detail. This is too public."
Huston nodded, "Then we should move. Besides, we're on a time crunch anywa…"
"Good afternoon and welcome back to East City," a cheery voice interrupted.
Riza wasn't the only one to bristle at the unexpected intrusion by the tall, slender blond. Her hand was halfway plunged into her bag before she recognized him out of uniform.
"Vulcan!" Torres grinned, releasing the grip of the pistol under his jacket. "Damn, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Huston's beefy hand lightly punched Vulcan's shoulder as he stepped forward. "Miss you on the Fuhrer's rotation. It's good to see you. Here to escort Griffin Two?"
Riza sighed at being relegated to the status of a package needing delivery. Her nausea wasn't helping, a tight bundle loitering at the back of her throat. She glanced at Roy, only to find his focus on the bodyguards, a calculating frown curving his mouth as they greeted each other as old friends.
"As ordered," Vulcan nodded. "I was also instructed to get your tickets for your ride back. Sounds like you're needed asap." Vulcan procured two tickets from his suit coat, passing them out.
"Yeah, Bennett and Kelly are both out from injuries, and Ashton's mom died on Thursday," Torres explained with a troubled frown.
"Damn."
Riza glanced over her shoulder, a prickle running up her spine. The unsettled churning in her stomach and heat flushing through her flesh made her dismiss the sensation of someone watching her. There were lots of people watching her. She was a celebrity of sorts, standing around a train station in the middle of the afternoon.
Still, she spoke up, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but we should be on our way."
"Of course, Major!" Huston jumped, moving to cover her exposed left side.
"Now boarding the three o'clock to Central!" A passing platform master called out over the crowd.
There was a pause, Torres wordlessly opening his mouth and glancing between Vulcan and Riza.
"I've got them. Get on your train," Vulcan reassured.
"Are you sure, I'm parked just on the curb," Roy protested.
Riza missed the peculiarity as something jostled her from behind. Huston grumbled for someone to back off as her nausea soared.
Disjointed from her surroundings, a clammy heat flushed through her body again. The sensation of a chasm grew and rippled in the space between her and Roy, the ground threatening to pitch her into its abyss. Staggering, she clutched Roy's forearm, drawing his attention.
"Major?"
"I'm- not feeling well," she mumbled.
"Major, get down!" Vulcan barked. His arms suddenly wrapped around her torso over her arms, pulling her against his chest. He twisted her sharply, her ankles crossing as he pulled them both down to a crouch.
Bang.
Vulcan jerked above her. "Fuck!" he hissed against her ear before suddenly dropping her weight.
She landed roughly on her bum, giving her the chance to pull back her head, looking up to find his face contorted in pain.
There was a ringing in her ears, screams from the crowd, and the closer shouting of men, Roy's timber familiar among them.
Roy.
She swung her head about, but Vulcan took up so much of her vision she could see little else. "On your feet," he urged gruffly.
There was a distinctive snap, heat flooding the air suddenly in a hot breeze.
She scrambled, trying to get her feet under her and fumbling with her purse. She was behind. In a fight. Roy was fighting.
Vulcan caught her, wincing as he hoisted her back to her feet before shoving her a few steps back. "Go!"
"General Mustang!" she cried out before her eyes focused on Roy.
Roy was bending down, picking up a revolver on the pavement with a gloved hand. She noted he held it carefully, only touching the leather grip. Before him, Huston held a red faced, middle aged man in a wrist lock as Torres pulled out a pair of handcuffs. A couple of MPs were pushing their way through the crowd, rushing to respond to the incident.
She'd- missed it. The whole fight?
Dazed, she looked back to Vulcan, saliva flooding her mouth.
"Major, we need to get you to safety. They'll handle this. Come with me," he ordered, lifting a hand to his right bicep and squeezing it.
Was that blood on his jacket?
He was right, she did need to leave. She was a hindrance during the incident- and she still was.
Colors suddenly saturated as her head spun, heat flooding her limbs.
Vulcan stepped closer, wincing as he lifted his free hand to her shoulder. "Major Hawke…"
Then she puked on his shoes.
Bent over, guts retching, she had a horrible moment of clarity. He was just trying to protect her, and here she was, emptying her breakfast on his nice, black oxfords.
Gasping for breath, she caught a hold of his suit coat, still bent over and trembling. "I-I'm s-sorry, Lieutenant."
"Oh," Vulcan uttered, his voice high-pitched from surprise. "Th-that's… Ehem, that's alright."
"Major!" Roy called out, his footsteps rushing over.
Riza squeezed her eyes shut, dread flooding her. It was bad enough she'd been useless during the fight. Now she'd thrown up on Vulcan's shoes in front of Roy! Why today? She hadn't been sick like this in several years.
"Major, are you alright?" Roy demanded, his arm wrapping under her, supporting some of her weight.
Vulcan passed her off to Roy and she didn't protest as she clung to him instead, his familiar scent a comfort after the last few moments. "Excuse me, I need a minute," the Lieutenant whispered hoarsely.
"Of course. Wait, Lieutenant, are you injured?" Roy barked, squeezing Riza closer against his side.
"Uh- yes, Sir. He tagged me."
Riza forced her eyes open, looking up at Vulcan as he revealed his bloodied arm, a circular rip in the soaked fabric.
"Let Huston and Torres handle the MPs. You need to get medical treatment."
"We need to remove Major Hawkeye from the scene. Get her somewhere secure," Vulcan countered, his expression hardening.
"Yes, yes," Roy dismissed, carefully passing the revolver to an approaching MP. "Come with us, I'll get you both out of here."
Vulcan glanced down at his shoes like the vomit had turned to glue. In a heartbeat, Riza spoke up, her voice raspy, "I'll replace them. Just take them off and throw them out."
"Yes, Ma'am." Vulcan still grimaced though as he peeled his shoes off, carefully picking them up and taking them to the nearest trash can.
As he did, Roy gave orders to the MP. "Those two men work for the Fuhrer. You take instructions from them, understood? Get that man imprisoned and inform the Investigations Department."
"Yes, Sir!"
In a quieter voice, he whispered to Riza, "Let's get you out of here." As he turned her, guiding her away, he softly added, "How are you feeling?"
She swallowed past the disgusting taste in her mouth. "The nausea's gone," was all she was comfortable admitting. Her limbs felt like weighted bags of sand and she was exhausted. She also wanted a shower to wash off the sheen of sweat and the lingering, sickly sensation in her bones.
Vulcan caught up to them on Riza's free side, gently placing a hand on her mid back. "We need to go somewhere discreet. I doubt either of you want to be followed home."
"Do you have a place in mind?" Roy asked as they climbed down the stairs outside the station. Thankfully the rain had stopped in East City, though puddles still lingered on the concrete.
"You'd be welcomed at my apartment. I can drive us there."
Roy shifted his grip on Riza, digging his keys out of his pocket as they reached his car. "Good idea, Lieutenant. Major, I'm going to have you lay down in the back seat."
"I can stay seated, Sir," Riza protested, looking up at him as he unlocked the back passenger door, then passed the keys to Vulcan.
Roy absently slipped her bag from her arm, tossing it on the car's floor before pulling his suit coat off. "You're unwell, Major. Besides, laying down is a literal example of keeping a low profile."
She grimaced as he handed her his suit coat, hastily rolled into a pillow shape. "Yes, Sir," she conceded, taking the jacket and climbing in the back. Laying down on the leather bench, she tucked his jacket under her head, grateful it smelled like him.
Vulcan climbed in, sitting in front of her as he started the engine.
"General Mustang!"
Riza lifted her head, looking down at her feet where Roy still stood with the door open. The sound of running feet revealed Torres, puffing lightly. "You left your bag, Sir."
Roy's expression schooled into hard lines. "Thank you," Roy offered, his expression schooled into hard lines.
He took the bag and quickly tucked it next to Riza's on the floor as Torres gave a half nod and salute, opening the passenger door to poke his head in. "When you report in, let the Fuhrer know we'll be delayed."
Vulcan nodded sharply, "Was already planning on it."
Torres nodded again, glancing back at Riza. "You alright, Ma'am?"
"It was just motion sickness. I'm fine." The excuse came easily, and she was fairly confident that was the case. The residual hangover and getting jostled around on the train were likely culprits, but there was a possibility of food poisoning too. She'd see if she kept throwing up or not.
Torres nodded, satisfied. He pulled away as Roy closed Riza's door before climbing in himself. Torres vanished from view, turning back in the direction of the station as Vulcan smoothly pulled out of the parking spot and onto the road.
Roy glanced back at her, his eyes examining her sharply before he quickly looked ahead. A silence filled the car, the bumps in the road doing Riza little favors. She closed her eyes tightly, pressing her face into Roy's jacket as she focused on her breathing.
A hiss came from ahead of her, followed by Roy's challenge, "You're shrugging off a bullet wound, Lieutenant."
"It can wait until we're somewhere secure," Vulcan countered.
There was a pause before Roy asked, "How bad?"
"Through and through, just muscle tissue. I have first aid supplies at my place."
The rumble of the car and rhythm of the road became rout, and Riza exhaled a sigh of relief, her stomach settling again. Relaxing, she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to risk further upset. As much as he loved her, she doubted Roy would let her get away with throwing up in his car without helping to clean it up.
"Huston mentioned there's been threats," Roy murmured, his voice soft and low, like he meant to keep it from her.
Vulcan was quiet for a moment before uttering, "We weren't supposed to say..."
"And he didn't," Roy clarified. Another pause was followed by Roy's sigh, "I'll just talk to Grumman then."
"I'm not trying to be difficult, Sir. There have been threats. Just nothing time or location specific. And I don't think this attacker was behind them, or even associated with them."
"What do you mean?"
"Profiling. This man's attack was amateur at best. Pulling a revolver out ten feet away from your heavily guarded target in the middle of a busy train station? He just seemed like an angry protester to me. Someone who doesn't like Grumman's administration, or someone who believes in the conspiracy theory that Hawkeye killed Bradley to promote you or her grandfather to Fuhrer. I'm not saying that he wasn't dangerous, but he's not a trained killer."
"That's a conspiracy theory?" Roy asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
Opening her eyes, Riza snorted in disbelief. "There's no way I could have killed him. He was too agile and ruthless."
Vulcan tilted his head to speak over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the road, "Your abilities are easily exaggerated by those who don't properly understand gunmanship. But that's not the point."
"No, the point is there are assassins after me, and my grandfather couldn't bother to tell me."
The car grew quiet again, and Vulcan faced forward, focused on the road. Roy looked between them, his expression gentling as he met her gaze. He was worried, and perhaps a touch angry, but not at her. When he too looked away, Riza closed her eyes again, waiting out the rest of the car ride.
Once Vulcan parked and turned off the car, Riza slowly sat up. Despite her care, her head still spun briefly. Once it cleared though, a small "oh," left her throat.
"Major?" Vulcan asked, passing the keys back to Roy.
"Didn't you used to live here, Major?" Roy asked absently, both men opening their doors.
"Yes," Riza answered slowly, "It's also the apartment complex that misplaced my contract last month."
"They misplaced your contract?" Vulcan asked, climbing out of the car.
"That's why I'm living with Rebecca right now," Riza explained as Roy opened her door for her, offering her a hand out. She didn't think twice before taking it, climbing to her feet and into the fresh air.
"Ah, that makes more sense," Vulcan lilted, closing his door.
"What do you mean?" Riza asked, absently still holding Roy's hand as he reached in to grab her bag.
"Well, the Fuhrer's office arranged my housing, and I was told I lived in the same building as you- for security after work hours," Vulcan shrugged, beginning to round the car.
Roy gently pulled his hand from hers, passing her bag over. She didn't react beyond nodding politely, taking a step apart from him as Vulcan reached their side of the car, getting a better view of them.
"I was instructed to keep a low profile outside of work hours, and when I realized you didn't actually live here, I adjusted."
"Adjusted how?" she asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Vulcan shrugged nonchalantly, turning towards the building. Over his shoulder he beckoned for them to follow, his voice still light, "We can talk about it later. I'm certain you want to clean up after what just happened. You're welcome to use my bathroom."
His invitation instantly reminded her of the unpleasant taste in her mouth, sweat under her clothes, and exhaustion in her limbs. Reluctant acceptance sent her following in Vulcan's wake, Roy closing the car door behind her.
The thundering and sloshing of water in the shower came distantly through the closed bathroom door. Once they'd arrived, Vulcan had offered Riza everything from a fresh toothbrush to a clean towel so she could wash up. Now, he set a barstool next to his kitchen sink, climbing onto it and carefully peeling off his button up shirt.
Roy approached the topless Lieutenant with Vulcan's med kit in hand as he rifled through it, pulling out some gauze, petroleum jelly, and bandages.
"Does she usually have motion sickness?" Vulcan asked as he set his ruined shirt on the counter. Despite his casual tone, Vulcan's bare muscles still twitched, like he was nervous about something. Nervous about what, Roy wasn't sure. Residual adrenaline?
Roy chose not to react, instead turning on the faucet to let the water warm up. "No. She did get rather jostled when the train stopped, but I wonder if she's actually sick. She tends to downplay when she is," Roy explained, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.
Vulcan's eyes dropped to the motion, instantly flitting away. "Those are some nice cufflinks, Sir."
"Thanks. My fiancée gave them to me for my birthday," Roy offered casually as he began to rinse Vulcan's wound with a clean washrag. The water ran red down into the sink, and Roy did his best to keep it contained to the basin.
"Fiancée?" Vulcan echoed, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"Elizabeth. She's a nice, if shy, woman. She understands my position in the military might endanger her, so we keep our relationship private."
Vulcan grew quiet as Roy turned the water off, carefully drying his arm with a clean towel. "And Hawkeye?" Vulcan whispered.
Roy furrowed his brow, pausing to meet Vulcan's gaze. "What about her?"
"You two just seem- uncommonly close," Vulcan shrugged.
Roy dropped his focus to the tin of jelly, scooping some on his fingers. "She's been my loyal adjunct for a long time- and my friend since before either of us joined the Military," Roy admitted, carefully dabbing petroleum jelly around both sides of the wound. Before Vulcan could prod more, he diverted the topic away from dangerous territory, "You should still get this checked out. I'm not comfortable enough with medical alchemy to close it up and I don't want you to get an infection."
"After I contact the Fuhrer," Vulcan dismissed as Roy gently padded gauze to both sides of the wound.
"We. I need to talk to him too, and I doubt Hawkeye would be happy if we excluded her," Roy reminded him steadily. "Hold your arm out."
Vulcan did as instructed and Roy grabbed a strip of bandage, beginning to carefully wrap both gauzes into place. Vulcan waited patiently, watching him work.
As he did, Roy's skin prickled, an energy behind the Lieutenant's gaze he hadn't been anticipating. Roy would have expected tolerance for the bandaging, or suspicion due to Roy evading the accusation of his close relationship with Riza. Instead, it was- piercing? And heated? As Roy tried to read it without challenging him, he was reminded of Annette's longing stares from across the bar while he'd pointedly ignored her advances.
Startled by the connection, Roy glanced up to meet Vulcan's gaze. The Lieutenant swiftly averted his eyes, a subtle blush coloring the tops of his cheeks.
Oh.
Oh.
Roy tied the bandage before taking a step back, wiping his hands on a towel. "There, you should be good until you can get that checked out," Roy diverted, busying himself by returning items to Vulcan's med kit.
Slipping off the barstool, Vulcan grabbed his shirt from the counter, keeping his head down. "Thank you, Sir. I'm going to change."
Roy glanced over his shoulder as the Lieutenant moved to his room. Once Vulcan closed the door behind him, Roy sniffed uncomfortably, brushing his nose before hastily rolling his sleeves back down.
He was fine. He had had men give him lustful looks before, and Vulcan hadn't tried to do anything to him. It was fine. He would just- keep a little bit more distance in the future.
Leaving the kit on the counter, Roy carried the stool back to the bar before he began examining the kitchen/living room with slow steps, trying to distract himself.
The kitchen was small, a bar with stools instead of a table and relatively free of clutter. There were no dirty dishes near the sink, nor décor save for a few potted plants on the counter.
Despite the cleanliness of the kitchen, the living room was the opposite: There was a couch with a blanket strewn thoughtlessly across it, the armchair had a uniform jerkin hanging from it's back, and the coffee table was cluttered with used coffee mugs and open newspapers.
The corners and windowsill were home to a variety of plants: succulents, ferns, a bonsai tree, and a miniature rose bush to list a few.
The wall behind the couch held a few framed photographs, which drew Roy's attention. As Roy moved closer, he accidentally stepped on a stray sock. Ignoring it, he turned his attention to the wall.
An older, sepia colored photo had a group of five kids with dirt smudged faces and muddy clothes. With closer inspection he recognized a child version of Breda and Vulcan next to each other, Breda looking pleased with himself as he tousled a grinning Vulcan's hair.
The next sepia photo looked like a family portrait, a mother sitting in the center armchair with a father, child Vulcan, and two curly haired sisters posed around her. Vulcan looked like the middle of the kids, his hand on his younger sister's shoulder and his expression stoic for the picture.
The third picture was in color and made Roy pause. A dark haired soldier in a Warrant Officer's dress uniform had his arm around Vulcan's waist. Vulcan, dressed in a tuxedo, hovered over his companion's ear, mouth wide with a grin and giving the impression he was whispering in the soldier's ear. The photo felt- private, romantic, and happy. A special, shining memory preserved in ink.
And based off of this unknown man, Roy was definitely Vulcan's type.
The shower turned off in the bathroom, and Roy glanced at the door. At the same moment, Vulcan opened his bedroom door, his long stride carrying him out. He'd changed into a completely new outfit, notably wearing shoes again.
"Oh, sorry General. I haven't had company this week and I've gotten behind on cleaning," Vulcan rushed, snatching the blanket off of the couch and hastily folding it.
"No problem. I'm not exactly tidy myself," Roy shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets.
"Have a seat, Sir. Please. Would you like some tea? Coffee? Whiskey?" Vulcan's nervous energy led him to leave the blanket on the couch's armrest before cleaning off the coffee table, folding newspaper back together and into a pile then carrying five abandoned mugs to the sink in one trip.
Roy watched him steadily as he rounded the couch, sitting down. He sank into the fluffy cushions, leaning back as he crossed his legs. "I'll pass, thank you."
Vulcan plugged the sink before leaving the water running. "Are you sure? It's no problem for me. I don't…"
"Lieutenant," Roy interrupted. "You just took a bullet. Calm down and take a seat."
Vulcan hesitated before turning off the sink and making his way to the armchair. He sat down, his slender frame stiff in the chair as he fidgeted. They sat in silence for a long string of moments, a soft click coming from the bathroom as Riza moved about.
"I'm sorry…"
"You have quite…" they both started at the same moment. Roy trailed off as Vulcan's mouth clamped shut. After a pause, Roy continued, "You have quite a few plants. It's good you were able to bring them here and get settled so quickly."
Vulcan gave a strained smile, "I had some help." Roy nodded before looking down at his knee, absently pinching the pleat in his pant leg. "Sir, I apologize if I…" Roy looked up, and Vulcan trailed off.
"Lieutenant?"
"I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable. I just…"
Before Vulcan could stumble his way through more, the bathroom door clicked open, drawing both of their attention. Riza stepped out wearing a different outfit than earlier today or yesterday. The lavender button up, cardigan, and flowy skirt were familiar to him, and he was left to assume it was one of her favorite outfits.
No wonder her bag was so bulky. How much was it actually carrying?
She had the end of her wet hair gathered in a towel as she scrunched it dry. She smoothly moved to sit beside Roy, sinking into the couch before softly suggesting, "Shall we call him?"
Vulcan moved to grab his phone from an end table, placing it on top of the newspapers. As he spun the rotary, Roy shifted his focus to Riza beside him. "Feeling better, Major?"
She lowered the towel into her lap, sighing softly as Vulcan gave his clearance code over the phone, "I'm exhausted," she admitted in a low whisper. "No more nausea, but I- I might have come down with something."
"Stomach flu?"
"Food poisoning. I don't know. It might just be motion sickness and travel exhaustion."
"If you need medical leave, you can have it," he reminded, resisting the urge to take her hand.
Across the table, Vulcan gestured for their attention. "I've got the Fuhrer on the line," he whispered, holding the handset out so they could all hear.
A second later, a familiar voice cracked through, "Grumman here. Report."
"Fuhrer Grumman, Sir. Second Lieutenant Vulcan here with General Mustang and Major Hawkeye. I'm calling to report a code silver."
Something clattered on the other end of the line. "What? Is she safe? Riza, are you…"
Riza gently took the handset from Vulcan, raising it to her ear. "I'm here."
"Riza!" Grumman's anxious voice still reached Roy clearly as he rushed, "Are you alright? What happened? A code silver. That's a gunman attack. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she exhaled, holding the phone further from her face and Grumman's panicked tone. "Vulcan took the bullet. Mustang, Huston, and Torres took care of the assailant."
Grumman paused for a moment and when he continued, his voice was much calmer. "And Vulcan, is he alright?"
Riza glanced at Vulcan as she answered, "He's insisting he's fine. The bullet went through his bicep. They've already dressed the wound."
"Good," Grumman breathed.
"Do you need a moment?" she asked, her tired features gentling.
"I- I'm fine, dear. Could you pass me to Vulcan? I'd like his report."
Riza obliged, returning the phone to Vulcan, who brought it up to his face. "Sir. I reported to East City Station as ordered at 1445. After procuring fare for Torres and Huston, the train arrived with Griffin Two and her party.
"Major Hawkeye had drawn the attention of other passengers, making it easy for me to locate and join the party. As I was exchanging tickets with Huston and Torres, a man, (5'8", brown hair, blue eyes, approximately 45 years old) attempted to grab Major Hawkeye's shirt.
"Huston was the closest to the assailant and attempted to intercept. I noticed the man reach for a holster at his hip. I grabbed the Major and put myself between her and the assailant. The man's shot went through my right bicep, instead of the Major.
"I tried removing the Major from the scene, but there were- complications. Thankfully Huston, Torres, and Mustang had quickly disarmed and apprehended the assailant, and the threat had passed. Mustang and I escorted Major Hawkeye from the scene and we have her at my residence. As for the assailant, Huston and Torres had him in custody with the assistance of MPs on the scene."
The man could write official reports with his tongue- not unlike a certain Major he knew. Roy glanced over at Riza, expecting to find her stoic mask but instead she was giving Vulcan a grateful expression. It took a moment before Roy recalled the omitted information in the report: 'Complications' rather than 'she vomited on my shoes.'
"Thank you, Vulcan. Is Mustang still there?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Pass me over."
Roy accepted the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Here, Sir."
"Anything to add to Vulcan's report? How did you handle the villain?"
Roy scowled, briefly thinking over the events. He'd acted more than he thought. Someone had tried to shoot his Queen and after almost losing Chris little more than a week before, he wasn't going to stand idly by and let them have her.
Admittedly, Roy had been avoiding reflections of what had happened at the station. Fear, anger, and confusion had mixed with the phantom scent of burning corpses and artillery fire.
"My back was to the assailant," Roy began, his mouth tasting of ash. "When I realized there was a threat, Huston was attempting to grapple the gun away from the perpetrator as he fired. I took out my ignition glove and burned his armed hand."
He'd burned the actual hand. When he'd used the disarming trick with Vanessa, he'd aimed for the gun. That's what he should have done with this attacker, but he hadn't thought- only reacted.
"General?"
Roy blinked, bringing himself back to the moment. "Disarmed, Huston got a decent hold on him and Torres proceeded to handcuff him. The fray probably lasted less than a minute in all. We left the perpetrator with the MPs and the other guards."
"Right. It sounds like you gentlemen handled the situation expertly. You have my thanks for keeping her safe," Grumman offered smoothly. Roy glanced at Riza, her lips pursing in a scowl. "For now…"
"Sir," Roy interrupted, shifting his attention back to the phone. "If I may?"
"General," the Fuhrer conceded.
Roy's stomach twisted, and he steeled himself, shoulders squaring. "Sir, it's come to my attention that there have been 'threats', which have led to your posting of Lieutenant Vulcan in East City. Your men have refused to give me more information, likely because of your orders. After this event, I must insist that Major Hawkeye be properly informed of such blackmail."
"She should have had Vulcan with her," Grumman breathed acidly. "I ordered her to…"
An angry heat flooded Roy's shoulders and back. "A woman of Riza Hawkeye's abilities would be justified in taking offense to such orders!" Roy snapped, the following silence quickly reminding him of his place. "Sir," he added placatingly.
"Go ahead, Mustang. It's clear you have something on your mind," Grumman prompted, his voice chilled.
Roy hesitated with Grumman's tone. He'd rarely crossed Grumman, and doing so now wasn't something he wanted to do. Swallowing, he braced himself, glancing at Riza beside him. "Sir, you once asked me how to best interact with Major Hawkeye. I have advice, if you still want to hear it."
Riza's brow furrowed at that, but she didn't interrupt, her expression stoic as she let him negotiate for her.
Grumman exhaled across the line before wearily relenting, "Go ahead, General."
"Major Hawkeye doesn't do well with orders that she can't extrapolate the intended purpose of. After previous discussions on her past performances, she has confessed such reluctance comes from her time in Ishval and the pointless killings she was ordered to do at that time. I understand there are situations in which a commanding officer can't give clarification to a subordinate, but Major Hawkeye is an excellent officer who exemplifies every desirable quality in a soldier. She is worth the effort when it is possible. I am certain she would have adhered more to your orders and allowed Vulcan and the others to assist her more willingly if she had been made aware of her circumstances."
Grumman sighed and the sound of it instantly brought last night's discussion on Grumman's declining health to mind. Roy's hand tightened on the handset. "Surely this isn't a surprise to you. Direct relatives of heads of state are often targeted by those with malicious intent."
"A surprise? No. However it wasn't at the forefront of my mind because I wasn't aware there were active threats."
Another long pause was followed by Grumman's soft murmur, "I can send you the details, but I want you to focus on taking care of my granddaughter right now."
"Delays will only make her more obstinate," Roy warned lowly, glancing towards her. Riza's brow twitched, briefly interrupting her stoic mask.
"Would you please pass me back to her?"
Roy offered the handset to Riza and she accepted. "Grandfather."
"Riza," he broached, his tone more kindly and gentle, making it harder for Roy to hear. "I know the posted guards are uncomfortable for you, but you need to understand: I'm doing this for you. There have been- threats."
"I've become aware of that," Riza pointed out evenly.
"Yes," Grumman sighed, "Yes, you have. I should have told you before. I've been receiving attempts at blackmail. Letters threatening to take what's most precious to me and all that- hinting that they mean you. I have experts trying to track down the source and eliminate it. I can expedite copies of the letters to you."
Riza pursed her lips, "General Mustang may want them, but I expect your experts will make more progress with them than I could. What have they been trying to get from you?"
There was a prolonged pause before he answered, "There have been people who don't approve of my administration. Whoever it is isn't a fan of the Restoration project, or my attempts of brokering peace with Drachma. Someone who benefited from Bradley's war initiatives, likely."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you were in Ishval. Because you weren't taking spontaneous trips to Central."
She grimaced, clutching at the towel in her lap. "Fair, but I still would prefer to be informed next time."
"If you promise to keep Vulcan closer, I can make sure that happens."
There was a slight hesitation before she agreed, "I can do that."
"Good. I'll still send copies of the blackmail to you. For now, I'll let Mustang and Vulcan take care of things on your end. I need to try to get a hold of Torres or Huston."
"Yes, Sir."
"Stay safe, my dear," Grumman offered lightly before the line went dead.
Riza gently hung up the phone with a click. "How would you like to proceed, Ma'am?" Vulcan asked.
Riza shifted before standing up. "I'd like to go home. General, would you take me?"
Roy rose instantly. "Of course. Vulcan, can you get yourself to a doctor?
"Yes, Sir, and please don't leave Major Hawkeye unaccompanied tonight. Especially when she's not well. I'd hate for an actual professional to try to assassinate you tonight, Ma'am."
"That would be inconvenient," Riza murmured, her façade darkening.
"I'll make sure she's secure and looked after," Roy promised. That he would ensure he was the one personally protecting her was no question in his mind.
"Thank you. And thank you for bandaging me up, Sir."
Roy nodded as he followed Riza while she returned her towel to the bathroom and grabbed her bag. "Make sure you see a doctor tonight, Lieutenant. That's an order."
"You're not exactly in my chain of command, Sir, but I'll go to the hospital within the hour."
"Good," Roy nodded, grabbing the door for Riza. Once out in the hall, Roy softly shut it behind them, whispering in Riza's ear, "Where's home?"
She grimaced as she was faced with the choice. "I want to be with you tonight."
He nodded, "I won't let you out of my sight."
She met his gaze, decision entering her eyes. "I want to go home." The affection she added to the word caused a pleasant warmth to rise in his chest. Before he could revel in it too long, she added, "But I also want Becca to bring Hayate over."
The mention of Catalina made the bubble in his chest pop and shrivel. He wasn't sure he had the patience to tolerate Rebecca Catalina today- but he couldn't deny Riza. "Alright," he whispered.