The Game of Three Generals
by Lady Norbert
A/N: My readers/reviewers are so nice! You really are! Thank you for all the lovely feedback on the first chapter. Time to check in with my admittedly favorite pairing...they've got some news for you guys.
Chapter Two: Orthogonal Movement
Orthogonal Movement: When a piece moves in a straight line along a series of spaces connected by shared sides.
"Checking in, Your Excellency." Roy always does his best to sound cheerful whenever he calls the Fuhrer. Luckily, this is usually not difficult; things have been quiet since their return from Central.
"What's the news in Ishval, my boy?"
"Very little. The glass factory is expected to be finished by the end of next month; we're hoping you'll still come and tour it as planned."
"Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I will be delighted. Is everyone looking forward to the ball?"
"Oh, yes, sir. It'll be a rare treat for the men."
"Fine, fine. How's my granddaughter?"
"She's well." Roy grimaces, because he said the words with just the slightest bit of hesitation, but that was enough for Grumman to catch.
"What's wrong?" he demands. "I heard that pause. Has something happened to Riza?"
"No, no, of course not. Nothing like that. She's a little under the weather, that's all," the General admits. "Catalina's taken her to see Dr. Marcoh; I think it's just a touch of the flu. She's sometimes been dizzy and nauseated." Truthfully, Roy's been wondering if it's just stress. As much as she gets on his case not to overdo it, she takes too much on herself and has been very worried about a lot of things, not least him and her grandfather.
"Hmm." Grumman sounds just the tiniest bit suspicious. "Have her call me this evening, all right? I'll feel better once I've spoken to her myself."
"Of course, Your Excellency."
"Fine. Now, tell me what else is going on."
In all honesty, Roy enjoys his daily check-ins with Grumman. Setting aside the fact that he's married to the Fuhrer's granddaughter, he's always been fond of the good-natured curmudgeon who mentored him for so long. He wishes the situation were less tense, wishes that he didn't need to encode half of his commentary. But the check-ins themselves are no hardship. They keep their tones light and conversational, even when the words are heavy and fraught with meaning. Today, at least, this is no challenge; there is little to say.
"Fullmetal went home," Grumman reports, "but I expect him to return soon. He says he's bringing his wife for the ball and wants to come back to Central a few days early. Something about Riza taking her shopping for a gown."
"Riza will enjoy that, I think. Have you met Winry? She's a lovely girl, you'll like her."
"I haven't, but I look forward to it. I have a meeting, General, let's wrap this up. Remember to tell Riza to call me."
"Of course, sir. Have a good afternoon."
Riza and Rebecca come back to the command center about an hour after Roy's telephone conference with the Fuhrer. They keep looking at each other in a way that makes him uneasy; there's a secret here, but the looks they're exchanging aren't of the sneaky smug variety. They're more of a stunned and uncertain kind. Every time he tries to ask what happened, though, Riza cuts him off with something work-related.
The security detail is working out perfectly, although he's grateful that there really hasn't been anything from which Riza has needed to be protected since they returned to Ishval. The men of their Ishvalan unit have been very understanding of the situation, if a little envious of Douglas's forthcoming commendation, though they acknowledge he earned it. Douglas himself amuses Roy; he's not part of the official security detail, but he's become enough of a part of their group that he might as well be sometimes. He and Riza have not divulged the truth of his relationship to Hughes, feeling that it's not their secret to tell, but the others seem to have accepted him anyway. He almost certainly helped to save Riza's life, and even outside of that, he's just a good guy. They all like him.
Breda, playing with the chess metaphor, has dubbed the detail all the queen's men, which Rebecca doesn't wholly appreciate. She's not a man, she protests. Fortunately, it's been agreed that in their own home, at least, Riza is sufficiently guarded by Roy, and the crew is content to live in the barracks at the command center. He's grateful for that, for what he expects are rather obvious reasons. The whole group descends on the little house frequently anyway, for dinner or cards or conversation, but that's not official duty; that's just family.
Tonight, though, when Havoc says something to that effect, Rebecca immediately shakes her head at him.
"They need some alone time," Roy hears her mutter, and he wonders what that's supposed to mean. Not that he's complaining.
They head home, and Roy goes out to the garden. Winter is drawing to an end, which leaves him rejoicing because there are very few potatoes left. He's looking forward to some summer vegetables. He digs, with Black Hayate at his side, and wonders what's happening. He knows his wife; he knows she won't tell him until she's ready; but that doesn't stop him from wondering.
"It can't be anything too serious," he tells the dog, who looks at him intelligently. "If it were really serious, she would have told me right away. Or Marcoh would have called."
A touch of the flu, he's sure that's all it is. She hasn't been sick long; a week, maybe. He thinks about it. They've been back in Ishval for a couple of weeks, and it definitely didn't start until after they returned. If he'd had his way, she would have seen the doctor immediately, but she was sure it would blow over in a matter of a day or so. When it didn't, he pulled rank and ordered her to have a physical, and he would have threatened to get her grandfather to order it if she hadn't complied. He's surprised she humored him as well as she did; she didn't even seem angry, which makes him wonder if she really is sick.
But no, it can't be anything terribly serious. She's still doing her work as diligently as ever. Her mood is generally good, or stoic at worst. Most of the time she really does seem to be all right, in fact. She's dizzy at intervals throughout the day, but the worst of the nausea only seems to hit her in the...
The basket of potatoes falls into the dirt, and Roy almost follows it. He's doubled over from the impact of realization.
Mornings.
When Roy comes back to the house, he enters the kitchen and finds her sitting at the table, gazing absently into the depths of a cup of tea. She has changed out of her uniform; her hair is loose, the hawk's wing fringe almost covering one eye. He's heard it said that women in her condition often have some kind of glow about them, and he wonders if that's true or not. He's finding it hard to tell, maybe because that's just how he sees her all the time.
"Riza." She looks up, and he - for possibly the first time in over ten years - can't read the expression in her eyes. It's utterly unfamiliar, and it surprises him that anything about her can be unfamiliar after so long.
"Yes, dear?" she asks, somewhat sardonically. Pet names are unusual between them, and never sound quite right. Their real names usually suffice; once in a while he even slips and calls her Lieutenant, and it always sounds much more like an endearment than anything else ever could.
"Are you-"
"Yes, dear." It's less sardonic this time.
"Marcoh's sure of it?"
"I'm what you might call 'a little bit pregnant,' if there is such a thing." Riza smirks. "As near as Marcoh can figure, this all started around the first or second night we were at my grandfather's."
"Ah." Roy almost feels embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So just under a month?"
"Approximately."
He moves to her side, hunkering down so they're at eye level. "And you're okay? It's not too much of a strain, after... after everything you've been through?"
"Marcoh says I'm strong enough. A few days being thrown around in the desert isn't enough to wear me down for good, General." She smiles, and this time there's nothing in it but a nervous sort of hope. "Everything's progressing normally."
"I just..." He gives a short, bewildered bark. "Really?"
"Really."
They look at each other and laugh for a minute, sort of crazy and scared and excited and dazed. And then he's kissing her, almost before he realizes that he is. He's kissing her, because this is his wife and she's just told him she's having his baby and he doesn't really know any more appropriate way to respond. He's kissing her, because even after having loved her for more than half his life he's astonished to find that he can still love her more.
A little while later, he remembers that she's supposed to call her grandfather.
He sits and listens, with a silly smile on his lips, as she informs the Fuhrer of Amestris that he's going to become a great-grandfather later in the year. He hears, faintly, the whoop on the other end of the line, and he laughs again because he understands.
"Yes, sir," Riza is saying. "Yes, sir. That's all it was...no, Grandfather, I'm fine. Yes, really. Dr. Marcoh says everything's normal. Yes. What? Oh, all right. Mm-hmm. Sure, if you want. Thursday. We'll see you then, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir. I love you too. Goodbye."
"It's rather sweet the way you've grown so attached to him in such a short time," Roy teases her once she hangs up.
"Well, if you'll recall, it didn't take me very long to get attached to you, either," she retorts. "And we all know how well that worked out."
He reaches out and puts a tentative hand on her stomach, imagining that he can already feel life quivering in there, and she covers his hand with her own. "Yes... I guess we do."