First Published: December 8, 2022
Last Edited:
A/N: Happy Holidays lovely people of the internet! I'm super glad I can give you a chapter for the holidays this year. Thank you all for the support and being so understanding when I don't publish quickly.
As an update, I am publishing A Fuhrer's Play on AO3 now. If you prefer the format of the other website, you are welcomed to check it out over there under the same title and pen name. I (obviously) will be continuing to publish here on FF as well.
As always, thank you so much for the comments, favorites, and follows!
ATTENTION: FF . net has updated their email policy to automatically disable email updates every 6 months. *Glares at FF* Which is a horrible move, just so you know. If you follow/favorite stories and rely on email updates to read new chapters, go to your account settings and update under Email Opt-In. I am so sorry about this and will be looking to give feedback to FF about this.
Chapter 31
Denial
Friday, October 11, 1918
"What?" Riza uttered under her breath, her lower eyelid twitching.
"I appreciate you telling me your plans, Major, but I still have a responsibility to ensure your safety," Vulcan explained evenly.
They stood outside the Staff Office, the hall relatively deserted as everyone was out to lunch. Even without an audience, it still wasn't her place to argue with him, her promise to her grandfather hanging over her like a shadow.
Still.
"That's not what…" she began, struggling to keep her temper under control. Hayate at her heel began a quiet growl, growing defensive with her hostility.
"I won't be accompanying you," he glanced warely down at Hayate before quickly shifting his attention back to her. "And you will be free to travel alone with the General. There will just be- agents in your vicinity, in case you're in any danger."
Her mouth thinned as she tucked her chin, flexing her hands so they didn't ball up into fists. "I'll be disguised my entire trip. Exactly how are they supposed to know if I'm in danger if they're not accompanying me?"
"Well, you did agree to provide me details of your trips. I'll need a list of places you expect to be. Which trains you plan on taking. Who you're visiting. Where you intend to stay the night. The guards don't really need to know who you are as long as they can ensure your surroundings are secure."
Her jaw clenched at that, but she was out of arguments. "I'll get you an itinerary this afternoon," she ground out.
Vulcan nodded, "Thank you, Major. I appreciate…"
She didn't loiter to allow him to finish, instead turning on him and stalking back into the empty Staff Office, Hayate at her heels.
Had she been naïve believing he'd allow her this small concession? With constant guards in her shadow, day and night, couldn't she have a weekend alone with Roy? Couldn't she seek medical counsel without strangers prying into her affairs?
She scoffed as she yanked Roy's door open without knocking. Her abrupt entrance drew his eyes, making him falter halfway through his phone call as he met her wrathful gaze.
After a second, his eyes flickered back to the phone before he continued, "Sorry, Dr. Marcoh. I missed that last bit."
Huffing under her breath, Riza started to pace as he continued his conversation. Hayate took up a guard position by the door as she let her hand drop to the holster at her hip, finger tapping the leather as she scowled.
"Right, of course. Oh, and to give you a heads up, after the attack last week, we've been advised to wear disguises while traveling." At the mention of disguises, she rolled her eyes. "Right. We'll see you then. Thank you." Hanging up, he instantly turned his attention to her. "What's wrong?"
"I told Vulcan," she bit out, still pacing.
"And...?"
"He wants an itinerary. Not only that, he's going to send my grandfather's guards after us."
Roy's brow furrowed, a soft frown on his lips. "That's not what we agreed to on Monday. Did he say why?"
"So they can 'ensure our surroundings are secure'," she repeated, lacing her voice with sarcasm as she used air quotes.
Roy was quiet for a moment, his lack of response halting her angry pace as she looked at him. "We'll be difficult to pick out of a crowd," he finally conceded.
Anger flooded her, burning her face and shoulders as she tensed. "Don't tell me you're going to allow this! He promised we could travel alone."
"All they'll know is where we'll be and when. They'll probably keep low and let us do our own thing. They may not even figure out who we are."
Still internally fuming, she continued to pace. "You can't be serious. He promised we could travel alone! I give him an inch and he takes a mile. This is a complete invasion of privacy."
Roy interjected with an authoritative, "Major." She halted, back to him. "I technically don't have the authority to challenge him. You'll have to go to Grumman if you really want to fight this."
Riza's fists tightened, her jaw clenching.
"Now, do you need to visit the range to cool off? I can't have you throwing a tantrum when everyone comes back from lunch. You're an example to your subordinates."
"Tantrum!" Riza snapped, whirling on him. Hearing herself, she cut off, blood draining from her face. He gave her a significant look, putting his glasses on as he reached for the phone again. "Excuse me, Sir. I'll..."
"Sit while I call for this reservation. Then we can write out that itinerary for Vulcan," he instructed, turning his attention to the phonebook on his desk and spinning the rotary.
With the fight leaving her, Riza moved over to the couch, sitting down before the chessboard. She stared numbly at the pieces as Roy's voice washed over her, ignoring his words but soaking in his familiar timber.
With her more relaxed posture, Hayate dropped out of his guard and padded over to her. Jumping onto the couch beside her, he rested his head on her lap, puppy dog eyes looking up at her in almost a pout. Belatedly, she dug her fingers into his fur, seeking comfort.
She was mortified by her brief temper. First her crying meltdown at Armstrong's last night, now this? Yes, she was frustrated with Vulcan sending others to snoop on her while she went out of town, but she knew, logically, that it was a wise call. And Roy was right too. The likelihood of any distant guards properly identifying them would be low.
Fatigue washed over her as she absently rubbed at her breasts, the sore tissue bothering her. The sound of the phone clicking drew her attention back over to Roy as he collected a pen and some scratch paper. Rounding the desk, he joined her, sitting comfortably close and carefully pushing the chessboard out of the way.
"I've scheduled a first class cabin on the 0830 train tomorrow," Roy started, writing it down and bullet-pointing the note on the paper. Exhausted, she didn't quite have the heart to challenge him about the expense of first class. "Other than visiting Marcoh while we're there, I didn't have any plans for us. I just booked us a room at Kia's Inn, which is near Memorial Square. We have tickets for the 0910 train the next morning."
"Everything else is up in the air?" she asked tiredly.
"Well, not that I don't love Ishval, but you're not feeling well, and I don't want to overbook you if you're just going to want to rest most of the day. That being said, if you do feel up to some extra activities, I'm certain we can find something. Dinner or site seeing. As you pointed out, we haven't had the opportunity to explore Ishval as civilians before."
Sighing, she rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She could feel the subtle movements of his muscles as he continued to write, but after a moment he paused. "Not feeling well?"
"I wasted too much energy on my- 'tantrum'," she confessed, her voice tightening.
"I- hope I didn't cross a line there. It's just..."
"No. I've called you out on your bullshit before. It's only fair for you to return the favor," she murmured, looking up at him.
He twisted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Try to get some rest. There's still half an hour before lunch is over."
She nodded mutely, resting her head on his shoulder again. She frowned as nausea creeped up the back of her throat, twisting her stomach.
Saturday, October 12, 1918
"Two weekends out of town in a row. Here I thought you were the homebody," Rebecca teased, carefully pinning Riza's wig into a bun.
Riza smiled through her discomfort, her breasts throbbing painfully in her bra. She tried to push down any thoughts about her physical state. She was going to be fine. Even if Marcoh couldn't identify what she was sick with, she had Roy for support, and she knew she had more people who would be there for her if she needed them.
"You're going because he fucks good, right?" Rebecca grinned wickedly at her through the mirror. "You should give me more details. Or maybe he and Jean should share. Give each other ideas."
Riza rolled her eyes, tucking a loose strand of faux hair into her bun. "If our bedroom lifes become too similar, you'll stop finding mine interesting. Maybe they should…"
"Nevermind!" Rebecca interrupted, tossing her hands up in the air. "Mustang can keep his secrets, but I certainly hope he keeps you satisfied. You deserve it."
Riza's cheeks warmed, the mirror revealing her subtle blush. Trying to change the topic, she asked, "Are you sure you're alright watching Hayate? I'm certain Fuery…"
Rebecca waved her off, packing away Riza's makeup and adding it to her day bag. "Kain has plans with Sheska today. I'm fine. Besides, Jean's visiting his parents this weekend, so I need someone to keep me company."
"You could go out with Maria," Riza suggested, triple checking her Glocks were in her bag and her Desert Eagle was secure in her thigh holster.
"She'd ask why you aren't there," Rebecca pointed out.
"Tell her the truth," Riza shrugged, collecting her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder before leading the way out into the living room.
"You want me to tell her you're going on a romantic get away with your honey bun, General Flame Dick?"
"Flame Dick?" Riza repeated, looking back at her with a raised brow.
"Oh, that came out harsher than I meant it. How about Flame Daddy?" Rebecca amended casually.
"Rebecca!" Riza chided as she crouched down in front of Hayate, giving him some farewell rubs.
"Flame Fuck? Fire fucker! That's the one!" Rebecca grinned, snapping as she came up with the name.
A knock came at the door as Riza shook her head, dismayed. Few people would be knocking this early in the morning, so she confidently stood up, crossing to the door. "Behave, Rebecca. He's still your Commanding Officer," she chastised as she opened the door.
Turning, she froze, taken aback by- well, his height. She was so used to Roy's figure and standing next to him that she'd anticipated eyelevel, only to find she was staring at his chin.
Slowly she lifted her gaze, taking in the warmer skin tone and rounded eyes of James. He blinked, then smiled down at her. It was still his smile. Still his stubble lined jaw. Still his midnight irises. But by some miracle, he almost looked- caucasian.
"Roy?" she asked waveringly.
He removed his fedora, exposing his hair. He'd taken her advice and had dyed it an espresso brown, parted to the side with fashionable waves. Holding the hat to his chest, he took her hand, kissing her knuckles softly.
"Calling me by your boss's name again? My, my, Elizabeth, what am I going to do with you?" he rumbled, his teasing instantly making her stomach flutter.
Behind her, Rebecca gave a whistle of appreciation, joining them near the door. "I hardly recognize your boyfriend, Elizabeth. Damn," she added, running her eyes up and down his frame.
Roy's flirtatious smile instantly dropped, his eyes shifting to Rebecca with an edge of discomfort. Scowling, Riza laced her fingers with Roy's, partially stepping between them. "Please don't," she murmured, glancing at Rebecca.
Rebecca raised her hands innocently. "I look, but don't touch." Still, her gaze stayed on Roy, her eyes dropping dangerously low and much too close to his crotch. "Damn, you're fine. If neither of us were taken…" she trailed off in a whisper.
Cheeks heating, Riza turned back to Roy, who'd stiffened under Rebecca's examination, "Let's go. She's not getting her mind out of the gutter any time soon."
"Have fun fucking this weekend!" Rebecca teased, giving them a finger-wiggling wave.
Roy suddenly stepped forward, braking from Riza. "Captain Catalina," he snapped, his tone low and authoritative, "I'll remind you that I brought you onto my team to remove you from sexual harassment in the work place. I have never spoken to you like that, and I expect you to stop immediately. Am I understood, Captain?"
The humor had vanished from her as her face turned an ashened white, her eyes growing wide. "Yes, Sir."
After another heartbeat, Roy visibly relaxed, stepping back to grab Riza's hand again, replacing his hat on his head. "Have a good weekend, Captain," he offered civilly, pulling Riza with him as he left.
"Sir?" Riza murmured, struggling to keep up with his fast pace as the door closed behind them. He usually didn't react that harshley, even to Rebecca's inappropriate antics.
He exhaled, slowing for her as they reached the stairs. "Sorry, I- just couldn't take it anymore."
Clutching tighter to his hand, she quickly reassured, "No, she needed to hear that. But- are you alright?"
He stopped a step lower than her as he turned to face her, trouble whirling behind his gaze. "I'll be fine. Others have done worse. Let's just go have a nice weekend."
Still worried, she followed him as he continued down the stairs, her mind returning to why they were going to Ishval in the first place. "As nice as we can," she relented. He glanced back at her with a worried grimace, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.
Though she hadn't thought the first class cabin was necessary, about halfway through their journey she began to appreciate it. Particularly when she found herself kneeling over the private toilet, forcing out what remained of her breakfast.
Gasping for breath, she flushed before rolling onto her hip, squished between the toilet and the wall. Her legs stuck out of the tiny water closet's door, and beyond the cramped space she could see Roy forcing the stubborn windows open.
A draft reached Riza, brushing the sweat on her forehead as she closed her eyes, trying to recuperate. She could hear Roy move around the cabin, rifling through a bag before approaching her. "Do you need help getting up?"
Moaning weakly, she opened her eyes again to find his unusually tall figure standing at her feet. He had her toothbrush and a tube of paste in hand, his brow furrowed in worry as he crouched down to her level. "I can do it," she mumbled. Shifting, she closed the toilet lid to push herself onto the seat. "Sorry about the smell," she murmured, accepting the items from him.
"It's fine. It was stuffy in here anyways," he shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Do you want to lie down? I can hold you while you rest."
Standing slowly, she brushed a faux strand of hair out of her face as she moved to the small sink. "I don't want to mess up my wig by laying down," she murmured while squeezing some toothpaste onto her brush. She started to scrub the residual bile from her mouth, Roy shifting behind her before his footsteps padded away.
After she dried her hands and face, she turned to find him on the couch, sitting anxiously at the edge of his seat. As she met his eyes, he quickly shifted, leaning back in a false show of casualness.
Silently she returned her hygiene items to her bag. "It's okay for you to be worried. You don't have to put a brave face on for me," she reassured, glancing over at him.
He grimaced, shifting awkwardly. "I just- I don't want to worry you more by- being worried myself," he explained uneasily.
She sat beside him, leaning against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her frame, tugging her closer as a warmth spread between them. Worn from her illness, she closed her eyes, slipping her shoes off and pulling her legs up onto the cushions. "I'm not worried. I have you. Besides, it might just be food poisoning or something," she mumbled, nestling in more against his torso.
He was quiet for a long moment, the creaking and chugging of the train filling the space between them, a soft breeze reaching them from the open window. Suddenly, Roy shifted, standing up. Disgruntled, she was forced to sit up now that he wasn't available to snuggle, watching as he snatched a throw blanket from the armchair under the window before he began digging through her bag.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, accepting the blanket as he passed it to her absently.
"I thought I saw... Here," he declared, pulling out a familiar book.
"Ulden?" she asked as he moved to rejoin her, pulling her against him as they settled into a snuggle again.
"I want to read to you," he explained, reaching around her to spread the blanket over them.
Warmth flooded her as she snuggled closer, "Would you really? You won't get bored, will you?"
He chuckled softly. "After all those visits to your mother's grave? These poems are my old friends," he reassured, reclining against the armrest as he gently pulled her with him. Their legs tangled on the cushions as she wrapped her arms around his waist, nestling against his shoulder. Her breasts ached as they pressed against him, but with some slight adjustments she settled comfortably in his arms.
In the low rumble of the train, he began reading to her. She had long treasured these words, but usually she had read and he had listened. Now she found him mimicking the tempo and timber which she'd recited them all those years ago. With the familiar rhythm, she closed her eyes, whispering along as he read her favorites. A reverent ring filled the air. A pleasant piece of their childhood recreated in the confines of their private cabin, removed from war and politics and alchemy.
She could hear his voice crack the longer he read, and when he began clearing his throat, she lifted a hand to his, trying to push the book down. "That's enough," she breathed, kissing his jaw.
"I'd like to keep going," he murmured, shifting slightly.
"You don't need to."
He smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before continuing. She relaxed against him again as he kept at it until they reached their destination. A pleasant voice cracked over the speaker, cutting Roy off. "Now arriving at Ishval Station. There will be a forty-five minute layover before this train heads back to East City. If you wish to continue on to Xing, please visit the customs office on the platform."
Riza lifted her head from his shoulder, her muscles humming from the repetitive motion of the train's journey. Roy stood quietly, passing her the book before collecting his suitcase from the overhead rack and his fedora from a coat hook.
She moved a little slower, pulling her shoes back on before carefully tucking her mother's book back into her bag. Now upright after leaning against him so long, her head spun, dizzy as a brief wave of nausea settled over her.
Roy paused, frowning as he offered her a hand up, "Are you alright?"
As the sensation passed, she nodded, taking his hand and letting him help her to her feet. "Probably real motion sickness. I'm fine," she reassured with a smile, entwining her fingers with his.
He nodded and they made their way off the train together.
The heat of the desert greeted them like an open oven, nearly suffocating after their month in East City. Riza glanced towards Roy, taking in his lightweight button up, suspenders and khaki slacks. She hadn't paid much attention to the outfit before, but he'd clearly planned for the heat.
Glancing down at her own clothes, she was grateful Rebecca had had the sensibility to consider their destination when choosing the outfit for her. The loose, baby blue blouse and white, flowy, mid calf length skirt kept her tolerably cool, even if her wig was already becoming uncomfortably hot.
Roy squeezed her hand, pulling her back to their surroundings as he stepped forward, weaving them through the hustle and bustle of the platform. She grimaced, realizing she'd allowed herself to be distracted. Her gaze shifted to the crowd, assessing their surroundings attentively.
Through the Restoration Project, Roy had made it a point to rebuild Ishval so it was more independent than before the War. Making the region a trade center had been the easiest way to make them self-sufficient. Now Xingese, Amestrians, and Ishvalans flocked here, intermingled on the platform, many of them waiting for the porters to unload their trade goods from the luggage cars.
They stepped off the platform and onto the sand dusted, cobbled streets. Unlike most of Amestris, automobiles hadn't gained a lot of traction in the region and the roads were mainly for foot traffic and the occasional cyclist. There were hardly any cars and the ones that were there were mostly used by the lingering military presence.
Along the street were market stalls, vaguely reminding Riza of Mr. Bishara's flower cart in Harsten all those years ago. Colorful tarps shaded merchants and shoppers alike from the assault of the desert sun. Flags bearing the symbol of Ishvala hung from open windows, fluttering in the arid breeze.
She saw no signs of disguised guards. No alert eyes looking for them or for threats. In fact, the crowd mixed and swirled around them, and they were just another current in the river of visitors here to shop and enjoy the riches of the desert. They were now a part of the life and energy in the streets that Roy had fought so hard to cultivate.
Looking at him now, she could clearly see his pride and joy to find his efforts successful. She smiled at seeing him so pleased. His joy was her joy. She could only imagine how frequent that expression would become after they molded Amestris into a better country. Not a military state, but free, under a proper democracy with enriched livelihoods for its citizens. It was just months away. Her grandfather's retirement would likely be Roy's opening, and then they could begin their real work in earnest.
A whiff of familiar herbs and spices reached her nose. With her stomach devoid of food, the warm smell lured her, sharp hunger suddenly digging into her ribs accompanied by another weak wave of nausea. Squeezing Roy's hand, she drew his attention. "Can we get lunch?" she asked over the cacophony of the crowd, nodding towards a hole in the wall with a sign reading 'Malaika's Olive' and a depiction of a plate filled with steaming food. He nodded and she didn't hesitate to pull him there.
Inside was dimly lit, thick curtains decorating the walls and ceiling as the heavy scent of foreign cooking permeated the room. The current patrons filled the space with a low hum, the lingering mood fueling pleasant conversations.
Silently, they moved to a corner booth, Roy letting her have the seat facing out, his back to the room. Setting her bag on the seat next to her, she reached inside absently, making sure the metal handle of one of her guns was within easy access. Not that she felt unsafe. After their three years delved into Ishvalan culture, Riza felt more at home here than in Amestris. She was still responsible for Roy's protection, though, and some duties never rested.
As Roy picked up one of the menus on the table, he drew her attention, a troubled light behind his eyes and his jaw tight. "Is something wrong?" she murmured under the soft clattering of utensils and dishes.
His gaze swiveled to her, his expression clearing. "No. Everything is fine," he reassured gently.
She hesitated, something still off about him. She debated whether to push him on it or not. Trusting he wouldn't keep anything important from her, she chose to let him keep his thoughts to himself, picking up a menu.
After a few moments, something unexpectedly bumped her foot. Looking back up, she found Roy shooting her an affectionate smile. "How are you feeling, Love?"
She blinked, evaluating herself with the question. "Well, I'm properly famished after the train ride," she smiled lightly, trying to soften the implications of her appetite. "I think I'll still try to eat light though. No need to make things worse."
He nodded as some movement in her peripheral pulled her attention away from him. A plump young woman stepped up to their table, her bronze skin and white hair placing her as a local. "Welcome to the Olive! I'm Pulia. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked with a warm smile.
"Do you have ice?" Riza asked lightly.
"Lucky for you, we do! We mainly have local drinks though. I can suggest something if you tell me what you're looking for."
"Could I get an iced karkadeh, please?" Riza asked, almost able to taste the cranberry-like tea on her tongue.
Pulia blinked, scarlet eyes wide in surprise. "Um, yes. Absolutely. And for you, sir?"
"A jallab, please," Roy requested in a low tone.
She smiled again, recovering. "I take it you've been to Ishval a few times before. Are you here for the market?"
Riza shook her head, trying to keep her smile pleasant. "We're here to visit a friend today."
"Pax vobis," she offered with a humble bow of her head.
"Et pax vobis," Riza returned warmly, Roy echoing the traditional greeting a little quieter than he usually would.
"Do you need some more time with the menus, or are you ready to order?"
"Do you have some garlic toum?" Riza asked, not having paid the menu propper attention while she'd been looking at it.
"Yes, we do."
"Could I get that with some pita and a small side of shredded chicken?"
"Absolutely. And for you?" she shot Roy a smile.
"Could I have lamb tagine over lemon rice?" Roy requested, shooting her a false smile over the top of his menu.
"Of course! I'll be back with your drinks in a few minutes," Pulia promised before bustling away.
In her absence, Roy silently stacked their menus on the edge of the table before he propped his chin on his palm, his free hand drumming fingers on the table as he stared at the neighboring patrons. That troubled furrow had returned to his brow, a slight frown bending his mouth downward.
Concerned, Riza shifted in her seat, crossing her ankles as she observed him. He'd already denied her worry a few minutes before, and she had a feeling he'd do so again if prodded. "If-" she started quietly, "I feel up to it, is there something you'd like to do while we're here?"
His gaze flickered to her, and she could tell she'd successfully distracted him from whatever had been troubling him. He considered for a moment before dropping his hand, reaching for her across the table. She took it and he started rubbing her knuckles as he murmured, "Our inn is off of Memorial Square. I'd like to pay my respects."
She nodded, not surprised by the idea.
"We could also visit a mosque."
"Oh?" she voiced, quirking a brow. During their time in Ishval, they'd both attended many religious services, but they'd never discussed how either felt about doing so. If Roy wanted to go voluntarily, did that mean he'd connected with the faith while here? She wouldn't blame him, there was a beauty to Ishvala and his people, but she hadn't expected it, especially with alchemists' reputation of being areligious.
"Oh?" he repeated questioningly, meeting her gaze.
"I'm just- surprised," she conceded as Pulia returned, placing their drinks before them and quickly bustling away to attend to the surge of guests arriving for what must be the lunch rush. Pulling her iced tea closer with her free hand, Riza absently ran a finger around the rim, considering how to best ask. "Did you... Are you interested in converting?"
"Oh," he breathed, eyes shifting thoughtfully. "No, I'd never thought of it. I just- guess I just wanted to experience something familiar that we can't really do at home," he explained. She nodded, taking a sip of her drink as a pause bubbled between them. "Are- you wanting to convert?"
"No," she answered gently. "I admire the religion and the culture it sprung, but I struggle to accept that a loving deity would put children in the kind of home I was raised in. Or the Elrics. Or Nina Tucker. Or- all those poor children who died during..."
He squeezed her hand and she knew she didn't have to explain further. They both fell silent after that, hands still clasped and both of them now left with troubled thoughts.
Their food came out shortly after. They ate quietly, settled the bill and left.
Back on the street, Riza hooked her arm around his elbow, staying close as they rejoined the crowd. "Do you want to visit the clinic, or see if we can drop our things off at the inn first?" Roy asked, bending down to speak against her ear so she could hear him properly.
"I should keep my bag with me. Besides, I don't want to keep Dr. Marcoh waiting."
He nodded, silently directing them off the main thoroughfare and down some clammer side streets. One benefit of helping with the Restoration was they both knew the odds and ends of the entire city. A shortcut here, a detour there, and they were halfway across the city in no time.
Dr. Marcoh's clinic was at the end of a side street. As they made their way down the lane an older Ishvalan woman with her hair pulled back in a kerchief looked up from her sweeping to watch them pass.
It would be unusual for foreigners to come down here when there was a new hospital in the center of the city. Why would strangers come here instead of there? Still, the sight of her didn't have Riza worried about a curious local, but about the promised guards meant to be watching her today. There was still no sign of guards though, and the woman didn't stop them, watching them with warry curiosity as they approached Marcoh's clinic.
The door was open, a thick tarp hanging in the doorway to keep out bugs and dust. Roy gently pulled it aside for her, the surprisingly cool air inside washing over her as she entered. The sandstone walls stood bare and a few comfortable chairs sat along the waiting-room-like entrance.
A young child sat in a corner, playing with a top on the hard stone ground, his white hair hanging into his eyes as he bit his lower lip in concentration. An older child, probably in his early teens, sat slouched with his ankles crossed and hands in his pockets, watching the kid. The teenager looked up at them as they entered, jumping to his feet.
"This is a local clinic! Not meant for tourists. If you need medical care, there's a hospital..."
"We're friends of Dr. Marcoh. He should be expecting us," Roy explained, gently interrupting him.
The boy paused, evaluating them for a long moment. "I'll let him know. Chidi, stay there," he snapped at the little boy before moving down the hall and through a door.
Taking that as permission, Riza gently sat down by the door, crossing her ankles. She tucked them under her seat intentionally, hoping the boys wouldn't notice the lump of her holster underneath her skirt.
Roy sat beside her, shooting little 'Chidi' a smile. The boy stared at them with wide, scarlet eyes. Unnerved by his stare, Riza dropped her gaze to her hands, clutching her skirt as she tried to think of something, anything other than the War and her many young victims. There were few options other than their surroundings.
Marcoh had wanted to run an independent clinic to keep prices low and accessible to recovering refugees and those less fortunate. Riza wasn't sure how he managed the work. Yes, she and Roy had helped these people recover their homeland, but Marcoh actively assisted the most destitute, helpless, and in need. Even when the Restoration was considered complete, he stayed, serving his penance.
Were they being selfish pursuing Roy's dream of becoming Fuhrer? Shouldn't they drop all ambitions and serve these people likewise?
A soft, distressed sound escaped the back of her throat, nerves and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy crawling inside her. Closing her eyes, she focused on her breath, trying to work her way through the stress.
A gentle, warm hand rested on her forearm, Roy's touch reassuring her without the need for words. They'd done what they could for Ishval. Their plans for Amestris had a farther reach than humanitarian work ever could. To change an entire nation would help these people longer than the span of their short lives.
Quick footsteps drew closer as a door clicked shut. Opening her eyes again, she found the older boy had returned. "Dr. Marcoh wants me to take you to a room," he announced, an eager-to-please energy stringing him taught.
Roy stood smoothly, offering her a hand up. She accepted it gracefully and they followed the boy down the narrow hall, hand in hand. He opened a door into an exam room, letting them in as he spoke up, "Dr. Marcoh said he'll be here soon! He's just finishing a few notes, so he should be quick."
"Thank you," Roy offered warmly as Riza looked at the exam table, debating if she had to sit on it. The door closed behind them and Roy gave a gentle squeeze of her hand. She looked up to find concern in his expression. "Are you nauseated?" he asked, setting his bag down to brush a strand of brown hair behind her ear.
She shook her head, admitting in a low whisper, "Seeing that boy's shock- unhinged me."
He nodded, a haunt understanding behind his midnight gaze.
They'd both killed too many children during the War, though she had a feeling she'd killed more than him. Children usually stayed away from the frontlines, which had been Roy's specialty. As a sniper, she'd been instructed to pick off every Ishvalan she saw in her scope.
Unfortunately children weren't always good at hiding; and she had a keen eye.
He gently guided her over to the two chairs on the side of the room and they both sat. He absently rubbed her knuckles and after a few long moments, he began, "Marcoh might find it strange if I stay while you talk. Should I step out?"
She frowned at that, tightening her hold on his hand. "We could claim you need to stay for security," Riza suggested.
He squeezed her hand in response, an amused smile on his face. "If it was for security, then I could be posted outside the door."
She hummed, not fond of the idea of him leaving, but also uncertain if she wanted Marcoh to question his presence. Before she could decide, a light knock came from the door. Their hands instantly sprung apart as the door opened, revealing a familiar, scarred face.
Dr. Marcoh wore a thawb like most of the locals, but the white lab coat over the cream robe still distinguished him as a Doctor. He closed the door behind him, warry eyes looking over both of them as Roy stood, taking off his fedora and offering his hand to shake.
"Good afternoon, Doctor. It's good to see you."
The suspicion cleared from Marcoh's expression, but he continued his critical examination as he shook his hand. "General," he acknowledged as Riza stood, approaching them more reservedly. A thoughtful furrow crossed his damaged brow as his attention shifted to her, taking her in. "Well, I certainly don't recognize you," he commented as Riza shook his hand, Marcoh allowing her a more feminine shake. "But I suppose that's the point, isn't it? How was the train ride?"
"Nothing too exciting," Roy shrugged as they all found their seats, Marcoh moving over to the counter and pulling out the stool there.
"No one seemed to recognize us, even though my bodyguard informed me that we'd be tailed by some guards today," Riza added.
Marcoh leaned in his stool, clasping his hands in his lap. "He was that younger fellow, right? The tall blond who was fretting over your injured foot."
Riza's cheeks heated at the memory. "Yes, that's him."
"He had little confidence in alchemic healing," Marcoh almost scoffed, but quickly switched to asking, "How's your foot been?"
"It was tender for maybe a day and it's been fine since," Riza reassured.
Marcoh nodded knowingly before turning his attention to Roy. "And how's Madam Christmas doing? I haven't heard anything since I left that night."
Roy smiled, balancing his hat on his crossed knees, "She's healing well. She's actually started going back to the Bar this week, and her stamina is increasing every day."
"That's good to hear. Sorry I didn't feel confident in transmuting the wound..."
Roy waved him off, shaking his head, "I understand, and I'd rather her heal naturally than have something go wrong in the alchemy."
"I should have expected you to understand. I tend to over explain for those without fundamental alchemical knowledge. Anyways, I know you didn't come all this way just to chat. What can I help you with, Major? The General told me you had some medical concerns?"
Riza hesitated, her hands clasped in her lap as she clung to trying to appear more poised than she felt. "I've been- experiencing some symptoms over the last week that have affected my daily routine. I'm not too fond of my overeager bodyguard learning I'm ill, and hoped to belay his suspicions by coming to you under the guise of visiting."
"Well, I hope you know I value Doctor/Patient confidentiality. He won't learn anything from me."
"That was never a worry, Doctor," she reassured gently.
Marcoh gave a scarred smile, swiveling slightly on his stool to pick up a clipboard and pen for notes. "I assume Mustang is familiar with your symptoms, but would you like to consult with me in private?" he asked lightly.
"You're correct, and I don't mind if he stays" Riza answered, glad she had a neutral reason to keep Roy in the room.
"If that changes, let us know. I'm certain the General would step out if that's what you'd prefer." Beside her, Roy nodded in agreement, shooting her a supportive glance. "So, what are some of these symptoms that have been bothering you?"
Resisting the urge to rub her hands nervously, she considered for a moment where to begin. "It probably started on Sunday, during the attack."
"Were you injured? The news didn't say..."
Riza shook her head quickly. "No, I wasn't, but I- threw up."
"After?"
"During," she corrected, her face warm from embarrassment. "I was actually unable to respond to the attack because of the nausea and vertigo. At the time I blamed it on motion sickness, but I was exhausted before and after. I threw up again when I woke up the following morning."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Roy frown slightly, probably trying to piece things together from his perspective. "How often have you vomited since?" Marcoh asked gently.
"At least once a day," she confessed, thinking back over the week and trying to count. "Twice on Monday, three times on Tuesday, and once every day since."
"Have you thrown up today?"
"On the train," Roy whispered, his hands clasped in his lap, thumbs pressed together until they turned white. Riza nodded in agreement.
"Has there been a pattern? A certain time of day, or right after eating?" Marcoh asked, making some quick notes on his clipboard.
"Not after. Eating actually seems to settle my stomach most of the time. Now that I think of it, the nausea is usually worse the longer I go between meals. And, I mentioned this to the General, but I find it strange that I've been so famished. The vomiting hasn't affected my appetite at all."
"She's also spent a lot of time around myself and the Team, and no one else appears to have come down with the same sickness," Roy added for her.
"So it's probably not contagious," she agreed, hands shifting to pull down the hem of her shirt."
"Has there been any blood, or anything looking like black coffee-grounds in your vomit?" Marcoh asked, still quickly writing.
"No."
Marcoh nodded, looking up at them again. "Are there more symptoms you've been having?"
"Frequent nausea and some terrible fatigue. I'm lucky to make it past lunch without feeling ready to drop. Even when I sleep soundly, I still feel tired prematurely."
Making another note, he asked, "Do you have any other symptoms?"
"Those are the main ones," she began, hesitating as her mind went back to her irrational anger and weeping over the last few days. "I don't know if it's related, but I've been having some mood swings."
Marcoh paused, looking up at her in mild surprise. "What kind of mood swings?"
"Maybe exaggerated emotions is a better description. Things that would usually cause me mild upset or frustration have made me break down crying or- even throw a tantrum."
"That's- very unusual," Marcoh murmured, brow puzzling. "Is there anything else going on right now? Not to be insensitive, but are you menstruating?"
Shaking her head, she confessed, "I am having some breast tenderness, though."
Setting his clipboard aside, he stood, gesturing to the table. "Would you please climb up here? I'd like to do a bit of a physical exam."
She stood, transferring to the table and scooting back so she was properly seated. With Marcoh's quiet prompting, she layed down, hands fidgeting awkwardly until they settled at her side. Staring up at the sandstone ceiling, she was grateful there weren't any bright lights shining directly in her eyes, especially where she was already uncomfortable.
"I'm going to press around your abdomen. Let me know if anything hurts," Marcoh warned before gently prodding at her belly.
Every few moments he'd ask her in a murmur if anything hurt, and she'd shake her head or breathe a soft "no," in answer. Once done with her abdomen, he shifted to her throat and asked her to swallow a few times.
"You can sit up, Major," he instructed, pulling back and returning to his stool, collecting his clipboard again. She did as told, reaching for her wig and trying to make sure it was still properly in place. "How often are you nauseated, Major?"
"Most of the day, sometimes worse than others. We ate before coming here, so I actually feel alright for the moment."
Marcoh nodded again, glancing at Roy with a thoughtful furrow on his brow. "Major, I'd like to ask a few more personal questions moving forward, and I suggest the General step out unless you specifically want him here."
At the thought of Roy's absence, her anxiety spiked, an instinctive grimace twitching at the edges of her mouth. Clearing her face quickly, she looked towards Roy, recognizing his own restrained concern in the slight pinch of his brows and his tight jaw.
"I think we'd both prefer it if he stayed. Besides, I'll be giving him a report anyways."
"But you could choose the when and how of that conversation, Major. I really would advise..."
"I want him here, Doctor," Riza interrupted, her voice more firm.
Marcoh paused, taking her in for a moment. "Right. Have you had an increase in nightmares this past week? Pertaining to the attack last weekend, or the War, or any sort of trauma."
She frowned slightly, "I had some nightmares Monday morning, but don't remember any others this week."
"Have you had an increase in anxiety? Cold sweets, ringing ears, a sense of paranoia?"
"Other than trying to keep my bodyguard and the Team from finding out I'm sick? No."
"When was the first day of your last menstrual cycle?"
A silence gripped her throat. The clock on the wall, previously unnoticed, ticked at a quiet thunder. The Doctor's pen scratched against the clipboard in a whisper. Her heartbeat drummed against her veins as she calculated how best to respond, considering which lie would keep Roy the safest.
Marcoh's pen stopped. "Major?"
She was here for medical advice, and she trusted Marcoh. It wasn't like he was some stranger who'd go to the tabloids with sensitive information. "I'm- not sure," she mumbled, resisting the urge to glance at Roy.
"Do you not keep track, or are you irregular?" he asked, keeping his tone professional.
"I'm usually really consistent, but this month has been abnormal," she admitted.
"Would you please elaborate?"
Her hands fidgeted, and she quickly clasped them in her lap, willing them to be still. "I had a regular period in early September. That one started on the 2nd. Then I had some light bleeding or heavy spotting on the 26th and 27th, accompanied by some more breast tenderness."
"You said you're usually regular. What's the length of your normal cycle?"
"28 to 29 days. Back when I was younger I was often irregular, but I think that was because of malnutrition."
Marcoh grew quiet, his pen constantly moving and a thoughtful furrow to his brow. In the intermedium, she glanced at Roy, his eyes on the ground, elbow propped on his leg and his hand covering his mouth.
"Have you been sexually active since the beginning of September?"
There it was. She hadn't consciously been waiting for the question, but as he asked it, she knew that had been the inevitable course of their conversation. Swallowing hard, she struggled to form the single syllable, her throat strangling her quiet, "Yes."
Marcoh met her eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "Sorry, did you say 'yes', Major?"
She nodded, her heart banging wildly in her chest.
Marcoh set his clipboard aside, not turning away from her as he did. "Well, Major, good news, I'm pretty sure I know what's going on. When you first listed your symptoms, I thought you might have developed a more extreme form of anxiety resulting from the attack last weekend. It's possible, even for seasoned soldiers, to experience new forms of PTSD when exposed to new trauma, but I don't think that's the case."
She soaked that in, considering the possibility for herself. Though she'd never visited a psychiatrist, she had no doubts that she, like Roy and many other soldiers, struggled with PTSD. And yes, she was uneasy about how she'd been unable to respond to the attack, but thoughts of it hadn't triggered her nausea or vomiting, so she nodded in agreement.
"Major," he said delicately, "I think it's much more likely you're experiencing your first symptoms of pregnancy."
It wasn't an epiphany. Nor did it hit like a punch to the gut. Instead, it slowly settled over her like a dark, heavy cloak. An encompassing, oppressing, incessant weight making her shoulders lower and her back physically ache.
She shook her head numbly. "Y-you don't know that."
Marcoh seemed unphased, even if there was a kindness to his eyes. "You've never struck me as a careless woman, Major; but even when using protection, there can be accidents."
"You don't know that!" she repeated, hardly aware of what he'd said as blood rushed to her head, making her mind swim and her hands tremble.
Marcoh didn't refute her further, a sympathetic twist to his scarred features. A silence settled over the room and Riza became far too aware of her unsteady breaths. Bending forward, she covered her face in her hands, the world tossing and turning around her as her blood thundered against her ears.
As reality settled over here, she slowly regained control of her body. Calming her breath, she kept her face covered, not yet ready to meet his visible pity again.
After a few long moments, Marcoh softly continued, "With these dates you're about six weeks along, which is around the time most women begin to experience morning sickness and hormonal changes."
"Six weeks?" she uttered, lifting her face from her hands. "But it's only been..."
"The beginning of a woman's last period is what we medically consider the first week of pregnancy. Conception usually takes place in week three, around the time a woman ovulates. It depends on the couple though. Conception could happen at any time in a woman's cycle."
She grew mute, dread bubbling up in her stomach as she dropped her gaze to the floor. To her left, Roy's presence burned in her mind and she found herself unable to look at him.
Oh god, she'd failed him. She'd known and chose to blatantly ignore the fact that she was his greatest weakness. He was months away from becoming Fuhrer, and here she was, pregnant.
What if the baby looked like him? Nevermind that, there were so many rumors about them that everyone who realized or learned she was pregnant would assume he was the father. Surely even Marcoh thought so, especially with Roy in the room now.
Here, when a new Amestris was just within reach, and they'd lose it all because she was weak. Because she'd given in to his advances. Because she couldn't deny her selfish desires any longer.
"I know this is quite a shock, but I would like to discuss your options moving forward," Marcoh started gently. "If you're even interested in keeping it, I'd suggest you find a local OB/Gyn sooner rather than later. The first trimester is when you're most at risk of having a miscarriage, and you should be working closely with a specialist."
"My aunt works with one for all the bar girls. We could arrange for after hours appointments outside of a regular doctor's office if you want to keep this from Vulcan longer," Roy offered in a low rumble. "If- that's what you want."
Longer. Whether she told him or not, Vulcan would find out eventually. They all would. "When will I start showing?" she asked, looking back at Marcoh anxiously.
"It- depends on the woman. Sometimes it even varies from pregnancy to pregnancy," Marcoh apologized with a grimace. "If you want to terminate the pregnancy, I urge you to do so sooner rather than later. The longer you wait, the more you're at risk for complications."
Terminate. An abortion. A pit grew in her stomach as the choice became not just a hypothetical, but an actual reality.
"I- wouldn't want to do one now, maybe after you've had the chance to sleep on it, but an alchemic abortion would be safer than a traditional one. It would also have less of a likelihood of causing permanent infertility. But please, if you do terminate, go through a doctor. I'm certain Madam Christmas's girls have done a thing or two, but I'd hate for something unnecessary to happen to you."