The Game of Three Generals
by Lady Norbert
A/N: Now we come to the chapter that I don't want to write. This one, and the next several, have me very nervous because, as I keep saying to my husband, "They're gonna hate me!" (He has no sympathy, by the way. Every time I say that, he laughs and says, "Hey, it's your own fault.")
All I can do is reiterate what I said at the beginning of the story - please trust me. I'll even repeat my promise from earlier and say that no, really, the baby is okay. I am not going to do anything to the baby.
Also, no, that's not a real baby advice book Roy's been reading. But I think it should be!
Chapter Seven: King's Temple
King's Temple: The squares which are one step diagonally forward from the King, well known to be that piece's biggest weak point.
"So is she showing yet?"
Roy laughs at his grandfather-in-law. "Yes, if you can believe that. It's kind of cute."
"She's at what, now? Eight weeks?"
"Almost nine, to be precise."
"That's a little early, isn't it? My wife didn't start showing until well into the fifth month."
Roy pulls out his already-well-worn copy of Look What You Did to Me: What Every Expectant Father Needs to Know. Falman had sent it to him from Briggs, with a note swearing up and down that the book was a lifesaver. "Well, from what I've been reading, it's a little unusual but not too much. Some women show earlier than others. Between ourselves, Your Excellency, her appetite is what surprises me the most; she's hungry more often than not."
"You'll find she's more energetic in the middle part of the pregnancy, too." Fuhrer Grumman sounds terribly amused. Roy wonders if that means what he thinks it means, but can't bring himself to ask. He'll peruse that part of the book later.
"We did see the write-up in the paper," he says instead, "where you announced your pending great-grandfatherhood. Riza cut it out and put it in the baby book."
"She has a baby book already?"
"Mm. Rebecca bought it for her."
"Have they gone shopping for maternity clothes yet?"
"Not yet; it's on the list for the next time we're in Central."
"Well, let's arrange that, shall we? Suppose you come for the weekend."
"I think she would like that."
She does, when he tells her over lunch. "Just us?"
"Just us." Roy smiles. "I figured the rest of your detail could use a weekend off-duty, especially the ones with a wedding to plan."
"It's really becoming obvious that Becky's been wanting to get married," she confides. "The other day she brought out this carton of wedding magazines dating back at least five years."
"They make magazines for weddings?"
"You have no idea."
"Well, about this trip to Central," he says, "I think, given the recent announcement and all, we should probably travel under fake names - maybe even disguise ourselves."
"You want me to wear my hair down and put on glasses again?" Riza smirks.
"It does seem to deflect attention," he points out. "I could borrow a pair of dark glasses from Miles, and slick my hair back under a hat. We don't have to be dramatic about it, just low-key. I don't want anyone outside of our friends to know that we're on a particular train, just in case anybody - Acheron or otherwise - gets any ideas."
"Is this going to be part of our new normal?" she asks in a slightly defeated tone.
"I'm hoping not. In the short-term, though, yes."
"I'll ask Mason to get us the tickets," she says. "He's not part of our regular security detail, so it might not attract anyone's attention if he buys them."
They travel under the alias of King, and he calls her Elizabeth in front of people in that same old playful tone he used to use, and not much of anybody pays any attention to them whatsoever. Still, they both breathe easier when the train pulls safely into Central Station on Friday morning. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong greets them - not effusive, not dangerously affectionate, but with the quiet dignity that he can so often make people forget he possesses.
"It's nice to see you, Lieutenant Colonel," Riza greets him.
"And you, Colonel. You have that charming maternal glow!"
"Do I?" She smiles, and Roy is amused by how very nearly self-conscious she seems about it.
"His Excellency is very happy that you've come for a visit," Armstrong continues. "My orders are to take you both to the executive mansion, and then to Central Command. It's my understanding that he's largely cleared his schedule for the day."
"I hope no one accuses him of slacking," the Fuhrer's granddaughter comments, casting a sly glance at her husband.
Armstrong drives them to the Fuhrer's mansion, where Anderson, the chief of staff, fusses a bit about making sure Riza will be comfortable. He's a sweet fellow, really. They return to the car, leaving their bags at the house, and head for the command building, where an unfamiliar face meets them on the steps.
"Ah." Armstrong salutes. "Major General Mustang and Colonel Mustang, allow me to introduce Brigadier General Piper. General Piper, may I present the Fuhrer Auxiliary and the First Granddaughter."
"It's an honor to meet you both," he says with apparent delight. The newly-appointed Brigadier is tall and wiry, perhaps fortyish although he could pass for younger. "I have been asked by Fuhrer Grumman to let you know that he'll be happy to take lunch with you both in the mess; he has an audience with the Cretan ambassador immediately afterward, but then hopes to have a private meeting with you in his office, General Mustang."
Sure enough, Grumman meets them in the mess several minutes later, all smiles at the sight of Riza's slightly distended belly. "You look radiant, darling. You're in good health?"
"Usually." She smiles weakly. "Right now, I'm starving. What's good to eat?"
"I'm told the roast beef is supposed to be good today."
They sit down, and Riza eats...everything. Roy watches her with a look of bafflement. "I thought you hated mustard."
"I do, usually. But today it just smells so good," she replies, slathering it onto her sandwich. She adds a few apple slices to the beef and starts eating. Roy glances at Grumman, who merely shakes his head. Well, Look What You Did to Me does have a whole chapter on the odd dining choices of a pregnant woman; he makes a mental note to review it again.
They talk about nothing much, given their unsecured surroundings - mostly baby natter and a bit about Havoc and Rebecca's wedding plans. Riza finishes Roy's slice of pie, topping it with olives; he shudders, but tries not to let her see.
"Well, if you two will excuse me, I've got my meeting with the ambassador from Creta," says Grumman, rising. "I'll see you in my office at half past three, my boy; I'm sure Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong would be more than happy to keep Riza company while we're meeting. Not that I don't want you there, my dear, but it's likely to be frightfully dull and I wouldn't want you to doze off in one of those awful chairs."
"It's fine, Grandfather. I'll see you at dinner."
They salute him, which he waves off, and once he's out of sight they look at each other. "Central's having good weather," says Roy, thinking. "Could I interest my wife in a stroll over the grounds?"
"Probably. She kind of enjoys walking with you."
They wander around the grounds, losing track of time. Roy finds it halfway amusing to know that they're treading the same paths they once took as Colonel and Lieutenant; he wonders, had someone told him then what his life would be like now, whether he would have believed them. He doubts he would have dared. They come across a few officers here and there whom they remember from those days, and pleasantries are exchanged and polite congratulations offered. It's a good day.
At least, it's a good day until Riza turns faintly green.
"Roy," she mumbles, "I think...ugh..."
"Sick again?" His arm is around her waist in a second, his free hand catching hers. "Come on...the latrine's this way."
"You can't come in the ladies' room," she protests feebly.
"Who's going to court-martial me for helping my sick and expectant wife? You can't go alone."
She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes, and it sounds like a snorting dragon. "Fine."
They get maybe six paces and Roy figures out that this isn't going to work too well, so he scoops her up. He tries very hard not to jostle her while he hurries her to the restroom, but it's not exactly easy and she's quite agitated by the time they get there. She's still nauseated enough to hunch over the toilet; he's crammed into the stall with her, pulling back her hair and holding her head and trying to say soothing things.
Between heaves, she mutters at him. "Thanks..."
"You're the one doing all the work with my kid, this is the least I can do."
"You know...you're right."
"You could at least pretend to argue!"
The worst of the nausea passes, and Riza gives him a blearily affectionate look. "What...what time is it? Are you going to be late?"
"Oh, damn." He pulls out his watch. "Yeah, probably. But he's your grandfather, he'd be the last person to complain when I explain why."
"True..."
"Will you be all right now?"
"I think so."
He helps her to stand, and they manage to get out of the stall and over to the sink, where she washes her face with cold water and rinses out her mouth. "Let's go find Armstrong," Roy says, "so I know you're in good hands while I'm in the meeting."
Riza opens her mouth to say something, but abruptly, they're both thrown off balance by a tremor that seems to shake the entire building. She catches the sink for support, and Roy instinctively wraps both arms around her.
Once things stop trembling, they look at each other. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know!"
"Come on...let's get out of here."
As they exit the restroom, they hear a siren echoing through the corridors, and running feet tell them that whatever has happened is serious. They exchange glances again, and Roy knows that they're both thinking the same thing: Acheron has struck at last.
He detains a passing soldier, who shudders to a halt and salutes. "What's going on, Sergeant?"
"Explosion, sir!"
"Where?"
The young officer shoots a frightened glance at Riza, evidently recognizing her, and gulps. "I'm...I'm not sure, sir, ma'am. I'm sorry."
"Thanks. Go on." The soldier nods and scuttles down the hall. "Come on...let's go find your grandfather."
"Roy, what if-"
"Come on," he says again, one arm locking itself around her shoulders.
They make their way through two more halls, their progress slowed by the movement of others around them and by the need to dodge debris where one object or another has fallen and broken. As they turn another corner, a voice cries out, "General Mustang!"
They turn. Armstrong is rushing toward them, his face the picture of anxiety. "I've found them!" he shouts over his shoulder at someone they can't see. "Relay that message - I've secured the First Granddaughter and the Fuhrer Auxiliary!" He looks like he might physically pick them up, in fact.
"What are you talking about, Armstrong? What do you mean, secured us?"
"We have to get you to a safe location. My orders are to move you both to the Crisis Room."
"Why? What's happened? Where's the Fuhrer?"
Armstrong's lip trembles, and suddenly he wraps them both in an unexpectedly gentle embrace. "I'm so sorry..."
"Why?" Riza demands, pulling back as best she can. Her voice is high-pitched and uncharacteristically alarmed.
"The Fuhrer was last seen entering his office...which was the origin point of the blast!"