A/N: Sorry for the horrible cliffhanger. I tried not to keep you in suspense for too long. My apologies for the shortness of this chapter, and my everlasting thanks for your continued feedback. Happy February everyone!

Chapter Eleven - Protection

Roy Mustang was quite certain the scene before him would haunt him until the end of his days. Even years later, he would still recall in fresh detail the way the General's fingers looked clenched around the trigger, calloused and cracked like pale shoe leather. He would remember the tiny shiver in Riza's alabaster throat and the hitched cadence of her breath. The folds of the blue gown spread out around her looked like the petals of an upside-down flower. She didn't move a muscle when he stepped into the room. She held her chin high, and her hands still, but her eyes . . . he could still see the bolt of terror that flashed through them even when he closed his own.

"Now," Hakuro was calm. "Be a good boy and close the door."

He obeyed the man with the gun. Everything swam. The world was off-kilter.

He took what felt like a tottering, drunken step forward. "What are you—"

"That's close enough, Mustang," the General admonished softly and pressed the gun harder against her temple.

She looked panicked, but not for herself. "Colonel, just go."

"Are you crazy!?" he yelped. "He's got a gun on you!"

"I think she knows that Colonel," Hakuro said patiently, like he was speaking to someone with pitiable brain capacity. "For someone who loves her as much as you do, you really give her very little credit. And as to your request, Sweetheart, I'm afraid that I cannot allow the Colonel to run off now that he has joined our discussion. In fact, I think nobody ought to move an inch."

Roy and Riza stared at each other. The world shrank the size of fear reflecting on fear.

Was this how life was to end? After all of her fruitless struggling, here was the final act, and she had nothing to show for it. She hadn't seen it coming. There was no time to prepare. Every breath barely filled her mouth, and the blood sang in her ears. She didn't want to die, but she would accept it calmly, as she accepted all things she could not fight against. At point blank range, it probably wouldn't even hurt she reassured herself methodically. But she hadn't counted on Roy being there watching her when the light went out. All she could see, think, or feel was the presence of him, rooted to the spot and looking at her like his whole world was collapsing upon itself. She knew that look because she had worn it herself in Ishbal when she had seen him in his tent with the pistol. And then she understood the full horror of love.

If it came to her end, there was no hope of consolation for him. Hakuro would murder them both, whether he pulled the trigger twice or not.

She wanted to scream.

"What do you want from her?" Roy demanded without taking his eyes from hers.

"As I was already telling her before you decided to barge in, I want her pregnancy terminated," Hakuro said. "Oh yes, I know about this child that is supposedly mine. I'm not saying I believe such complete and utter nonsense, but nonetheless, I will not suffer these accusations. Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out about Grumman's spies tailing me?"

Neither of them could speak.

He continued, "You are planning to bring up charges, and I can tell you right now that is not going to happen. This pregnancy will end."

Roy had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from attacking the man. "You can't just force her to do that!"

"I think you'll find that I can." Hakuro held up the heretofore unnoticed object in his other hand, and Roy recognized it as one of the pill bottles he had seen on Hawkeye's sink. "It's still early enough for this be quick and easy, and it just so happens that she has the means to do it right here in her apartment. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was like she was planning to do it anyway. Unfortunately, she seems to have lost all common sense within the span of ten minutes. She's been quite intransigent, so I'm rather glad you showed up."

"Now then, Riza," he held out the bottle beneath her nose until she took it from him. "I have leverage you will be interested in. I'm sure you'd like your boyfriend to keep his face, so perhaps you will reconsider my offer."

"If you really cared about saving your own ass, you wouldn't do it," she growled with surprisingly ferocity, but her fingers were clenching and unclenching around the bottle.

"I've done all kinds of things that some would consider less than kosher, and I think you know that better than anyone," Hakuro purred. "It's easy to change the details about a dead man. Everyone knows the stories about suicidal Roy Mustang. Hell, I'd kill the both of you if I must, and in your case, Beautiful, that would be a shame, but it doesn't have to be that way if you just take the damn pills. Or maybe I'll have to force them down your throat."

Anger flared up in Roy , fierce and stinging. "Do that, and I swear I'll kill you."

Hakuro didn't look at all concerned by the threat. "Those are some fine words coming from an unarmed man. Tell me, Colonel, what's it like to know that I've had what you want?" His hand dropped to her bare shoulder, and he traced a finger along her collarbone, making her visibly flinch. "Doesn't it just burn you up that she'd rather have me?"

"You son of a bitch!"

Roy was rage. Everything fell apart in rapid succession.

He moved for Hakuro in the same instant that the other man spun and turned the gun on him. Hawkeye saw both motions and screamed. And then the phone rang.

Everyone jumped. In the two seconds that both men were caught off guard, Riza made her move. She lunged for Hakuro and threw all of her weight into him, knocking him to the ground. All the air left his lungs with a sickening "oof." Before he could get his bearings, she had hiked her dress up, snatched her own gun from the ever-present holster on her thigh, and pointed it at him in one fluid motion. The General stared at her speechlessly. She hovered over him breathing hard but holding the gun steady. The phone kept ringing.

"Drop the gun," she whispered.

He did as she asked.

"Now." She narrowed her eyes. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't pull this trigger."

She watched his Adam's apple scurry along his throat like it was searching for a way out. The phone's shrill cries for attention finally ceased, and Roy was standing behind her. She didn't have to turn her head to know that. She had Hakuro pinned. Hakuro who had always held the upper hand with her. Hakuro who had made her submit to his whims. Hakuro who had been kind to her sometimes . . . her hands were shaking.

"I don't have to," he said. "You're a sharpshooter, but you're not a killer. You want everyone to think you don't care about anything, but I know who you are. You are besotted with a barely conceived child that has yet to take its first breath."

She couldn't respond. She could only stare coldly and pray that it would be enough to keep him from continuing to pick her scabs.

"Could you tell that child that you murdered the father?"

That hit her like a slap in the mouth. It wasn't fair when he said things like that.

"You . . . you don't know anything about me!" She grabbed the collar of his nicely pressed shirt and shook, but nothing would soothe the sudden burst of pain. "You made me . . . I didn't want . . . I told you to stop. I told you to stop!"

Roy couldn't bear her anguish any longer. "Hawkeye, you don't have to do this."

But she'd thrown up her walls. Not even he was allowed in. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Sir," she said flatly.

If her words hurt, he didn't show it. "I'm saying we should arrest him. Bring him to the court to deal with. Don't let him get to you."

"Yes, I'd say the boy has the right idea." Hakuro groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Let's not do anything we might regret."

Even as he said the words, Roy punched him just above his left temple. Hakuro doubled over howling with pain. Riza gave him a bewildered look, but he only shrugged.

"I don't regret that."

Hakuro pressed a hand to his head and glared darkly at him. "I will personally see to your destruction one day, Mustang."

Roy looked at him like he was little more than a disgusting substance he'd found on his boot. "Those are fine words coming from an unarmed man."

"If you think that your petty accusations frighten me, you are sadly deluded," Hakuro ground out. "Unless I'm mistaken, you are the one who has struck a superior officer. You are the one who was seen kissing your Lieutenant on the balcony at the ball tonight. And let's not forget, she is the one who has me at gun point now. It's all highly suspicious."

"We weren't—"

Roy was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Ah yes, and here is yet another mistake you have made," Hakuro smiled,. "Assuming that I would come here without backup. Enter."

The door opened, and two officers that Roy recognized as Hakuro's usual underlings stepped into the room, guns drawn. They took in the scene with wide eyes. Hawkeye lowered her gun and backed away from the General, but his men still watched her warily.

"We heard screams, General," the man who had entered first said.

Then the second, more portly man spoke. "We'd have been here sooner, but the woman who lives next to Lieutenant Hawkeye was asking questions about the noises."

"Quite alright." Hakuro stood up and brushed himself off. "I think we are done here ."

He shot a look at Hawkeye, as if he was daring her to say otherwise. She didn't say anything. It occurred to the Colonel how out of place she looked still wearing the silky blue gown. She was too absurdly beautiful for her part in this scene. A moment ago, she had Hakuro pinned to the ground, but she didn't look capable of such a thing now. She didn't look like a killer. She never had. Hakuro was right about that part.

The General followed his underlings out but stopped in the doorway. "Oh and by the way, I know what you're keeping on her back, and the secret is starting to burn my tongue. Think about that, and think about those pills. I'd really hate for this to get ugly."

And with that, the door slammed shut. Silence reigned for a beat, until the phone started ringing again.

Roy looked at her. "Are you going to . . .?"

But she shook her head. She'd gotten to her feet, but now she was staring at the ground as if, perhaps, it had been a more comfortable place. He decided to answer her phone on the off-chance the call was important. Obviously somebody wanted to speak with her.

He held the receiver to his ear, cleared his throat, and spoke in what he hoped was a level, controlled tone. "Riza's Hawkeye's residence, can I help you?"

Riza watched his face as he listened to the voice on the line. "Oh, sorry Maes. There were some complications . . . no, it's resolved now." His eyes flicked over to meet hers. "But hey, um, I think I'm going to stick around here for a little bit. You can go on home without me, and I'll get my own cab later."

There was a pause. More speaking on the other end of the phone. She wandered over to the living area of her apartment and sank into the single sofa that dominated the space. It was an ancient heirloom from John Hawkeye's estate that was well-past its prime, but the wear and tear on the springs had made it soft and familiar, like an old pair of gloves she couldn't bring herself to part with. Even now, it still smelled like her grandfather, or perhaps it was just her imagination being sentimental.

She leaned back, pressed her stocking clad feet against cheaply made coffee table beside it, and stretched her legs until she felt the joints in her knees pop satisfyingly. And people said combat boots were torture. She wiggled her toes, now free of the horrid pair of heels she had endured all evening, and focused on the dull, spreading ache as a way to ignore Roy's eyes on her as he talked on the phone. Anything to pretend this wasn't happening.

"Everything's fine," he insisted into the receiver. "Don't worry about it."

Except everything wasn't. It was never alright, and she never had anyone who would have petted her hair and taken away the fear. She was always looking for the father who left her, even before his physical death. Roy didn't understand that sort of loneliness. Roy was too close to everything to feel the ache of standing on the outside.

"Yes . . . Thank you."

He hung up the phone, and she heard him enter the living area. "That was Hughes. Phone call earlier was him too."

She wrapped her arms around herself and gave him a trancelike nod. He seemed uncertain as to how he should proceed.

"Hawkeye?"

"I couldn't do it." She stared at her toes and tried to fight her way past shame. "Even when he threatened to kill you, I couldn't hurt . . . I'm so sorry."

"Riza." A sharp hook jerked her first name from within him. It buzzed on his tongue and lingered because he had no other words.

She'd been threatened at gunpoint, and this was all she could say? How very Lieutenant Hawkeye of her.

He plunked down on the sofa beside her. "You may have just saved my life. You don't need to apologize for that."

"But I—"

He cut in. "There wasn't a choice. I wouldn't have wanted to you to abort a child because of me. How can you hold yourself responsible for that?"

She shrugged and stared at her toes. He fought the impulse to pull her closer. He couldn't give her very many things, but he could give her the space she needed. They both gazed at her feet for awhile as she thought.

"I didn't know I could be so scared," she finally whispered. "I didn't even want to be a mother before. I still don't, so why do I feel this way?"

Because Love was her purpose. He'd never forgotten her words that day in Isis. "You were thinking of names."

She nodded and made a choking sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Thor is still the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"Yeah, it kinda is."

"I wish . . ." She sniffed, and her entire body shuddered. "I wish my mother was alive."

The stress of the past few hours finally broke against her carefully constructed barriers, and she dissolved. He'd been wishing he could just take her hand, and suddenly his arms were full. It was completely unexpected, and yet it wasn't. He held her, stunned, as she began to quiver ever so slightly. She didn't make a sound, but the hot dampness on his shirt left little room for doubt. Losing and becoming a mother all at once had torn away something bright and precious, and it would never be reclaimed.

This was the funeral. This was her mourning. At last.

She poured more silent sobs into his chest. He cradled her, speechless with grief, like a child with a broken doll. She was breaking, breaking, broken, and the world would end if she could not be fixed.

She nearly cried herself sick. She clenched his shirt in her fists, and when the tears ran out they became wrenching hiccups. Every gasp raced through his nerves and seemed to whisper in the back of his skull. Mother. Child. Death. Life. Pain. Purpose. Everything always happened at the same time.

Her breathing slowed. He knew she was unwilling to look at him after what she'd just done. He knew they were never to speak of her crying in front of him again. It didn't matter to him as long as she stayed. He stroked her back and felt each breath become softer and deeper.

He sat that way for a long time, marveling at how firm and yet how surprisingly light she was. She wasn't a feathery waif of a woman, but she was delicate in a way that transcended the whipcord muscles beneath her skin. She was slender and soft and she didn't want him to want to protect her. But he did. Sometimes it was hell on earth to suppress the urge.

Hakuro had said her first name like he owned the word, and he hated the fact that the shape of it didn't quite fit in his own mouth. Hakuro could say 'Riza' without stopping to taste the syllables. Like the sigil on her back that would forever speak of her father's veiled cruelty, General Hakuro also owned a part of her that was ingrained much deeper than skin. It was evinced in the name he called easily to his lips and the fingers he'd carelessly placed on her neck. All her life her skin had never been her own.

But he'd seen the steel in her bones tonight. She hadn't come to terms with any of what had happened to her. That was clear enough. But she wasn't about to be possessed. Not by Hakuro. And not by him.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Sir."

And she didn't. He didn't want to. But he couldn't stand there while she suffered. There had to be a middle ground. She'd already promised to be there when he reached the top. She'd promised to give herself, and he was a patient man, but there were more questions he had to ask. What would they be if they ever were a couple? Though he might gain the right to touch her, he didn't think that'd ever be enough. He wanted more than the body, and he didn't know how close she would let him get to what was deeper than the skin. When could her business become his own?

Sometimes he wanted a place for himself within her. Just a nook near her heart where he could curl up and be safe and remembered. Even if he was a monster, what was still human in him could move to this sheltered place inside her, and be protected from the blood and the nightmares and the hate of Ishbal. There he could be good and whole again, if only for her, and nothing would make him leave. There he could look at the world through her unashamed eyes, sample a wisp of her dreams, and pit himself against anything inside her that would hurt her.

Later, he didn't know how much later, he woke in darkness on an empty couch. His mouth tasted sour with sleep, all of his joints felt stiff from the cramped position he'd forced his body into, and the empty space beside him was still warm.

Silver light from the street outside slipped through the blinds and striped across the floor. A distant car horn sounded, and he could hear the soft patter of rain drumming on the windows. How blessedly wonderful to be inside and warm on such a night. In Riza's apartment. He could smell her all around him, but he didn't have the slightest notion what had become of the woman herself. They must have fallen asleep together, but where had she gone? She couldn't have gotten up very long ago.

Movement in the kitchen attracted his notice. Carefully, because he didn't want to be awake and he didn't want to move, he squinted around. If he tilted his head a fraction of an inch, he could see into the kitchen where she was standing at the sink. She was a pale outline in the darkness, moving so soundlessly she could have been a ghost. She didn't know she had an audience. He took his time watching her.

She'd changed out of her dress and donned some kind of indistinguishable pajamas. He could only make out the edges of her features, the perfect slope of her nose, the hard-edge of her jaw, the sensual almost-pout her lips made when nobody was watching. Her skin, her hair, the spark of moonlight in her eyes, he could have stared at her for hours, and it was a happy twist of fate that she believed he was still sound asleep.

There was a soft rattling noise. She was unscrewing the cap on a bottle of pills and trying to be quiet about it. Her hand flicked out to turn on the faucet, and then there was the shushing of water streaming over the drain. He half-expected to see her take one and put it in her mouth, half-wondered if he should stop her if she did, but then she tipped the bottle over and dumped its contents into the sink. She shook out every last pill, set the bottle aside and picked up another.

When she poured the second bottle down the drain, he understood what she was doing. He didn't need to see the labels on the bottles to know which pills they were. He could see the tight frown of concentration on her face.

At last, she turned off the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash. It was done. She stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, staring off at something he couldn't see. Her thoughts were mysterious and far away, but he saw the hand that whispered across her abdomen for a moment. It was brief. She remembered herself almost at once, but the protectiveness in the gesture was unmistakable.

Then she was padding soundlessly into the room where he lay, pretending with all his might to be asleep. He watched her through half-slit eyes, hoping against hope . . .

She stood with her hands on her hips for awhile, having some sort of internal debate with herself. He felt her eyes on him, and he focused every thought on making his breath smooth and even. He didn't dare open his eyes wider to see if she was buying it.

There was pressure on the couch. He almost forgot to keep up his ruse of deep and easy breathing when she settled back down beside him. He felt the fabric of her pajamas on the inside of one of his wrists. It was fleecy. He liked it. Then she was reaching over his head, and he heard the clink of her placing something metal on the little end table beside the couch. Of course, he thought affectionately. Riza in her fuzzy pajamas has to sleep with a loaded handgun beside her.

Ritual completed, she sighed contentedly and snuggled herself into the place she'd been before she got up. Her scent floated up to him, and in his half-dreamy state, he smiled to himself.