First Published: Sept 21, 2023

Last Edited:

Chapter 32

A Bed to Lie In

Saturday, October 12, 1918

"Y-you don't know that," Riza shook her head, her voice hollow with denial.

Of course she'd deny it. She wasn't ready for this. Roy could only imagine how much worse her reaction would have been if he'd shared his realization with her the other night. At least this had the credibility of coming from a doctor.

Marcoh kindly continued, "You've never struck me as a careless woman, Major; but even when using protection, there can be accidents."

Guilt writhed in his chest. Riza wasn't the careless one, he was. If he'd just paused to think that morning a month ago, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"You don't know that!" Riza's panic was clear in her voice. He tensed as her breath hitched, uneven and heavy before she crumpled forward, hiding her face in her hands.

Marcoh grimaced, glancing towards Roy. With the Doctor's focus now on him, Roy made a hasty attempt to appear concerned but detached from the situation. His long time friend was struggling with the news that she was probably pregnant, and he would sympathize with that pain. But as far as he wanted Marcoh to know, it was just sympathy.

After a few moments, Riza's breath steadied. She still didn't lift her head, but Roy gave Marcoh a slight nod. The Doctor looked down at his clipboard for a second before continuing, "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, echoing Roy's own confusion. She lifted her head, looking at Marcoh, her face twisted and perplexed. "But it's only been..."

"Medically we consider a woman's last period to be the first week of pregnancy. Conception could happen at any time in a woman's cycle, though."

Riza's eyes dropped, a slight tension building in her frame. "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."

Another doctor? Riza wouldn't like that, and keeping regular appointments would be difficult if she insisted on hiding it as long as possible. Still, his mind jumped to a feasible option, the words springing to his lips unbidden, "My aunt works with an OB/Gyn 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 hesitated as he realized that might not even be something she was considering. "If- that's what you want."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at Marcoh swiftly, "When will I start showing?"

"It- depends on the woman. Sometimes it even varies from pregnancy to pregnancy," Marcoh apologized with a grimace. "If you want to terminate, I urge you to do so sooner rather than later. The longer you wait, the more you're at risk for complications."

There it was. Yes, Roy had been anxious about Riza finding out, but he'd been dreading this discussion in particular. An abortion made the most sense, though. It would re-secure her career in the Military and it would keep her grandfather from scandal. It would also protect him and his bid for the Fuhrership. Logically, it was everything Riza would want.

Not to mention she hadn't ever answered his question concerning whether she even wanted children or not. For the umpteenth time, he silently scolded himself for foolishly telling her his own stance on the matter. For all he knew she was just avoiding having to tell him that she didn't want children so she didn't hurt him.

"I- wouldn't want to do one now," Marcoh began trepidly, "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 be less likely to cause 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."

Alchemic abortion? Why had Marcoh suggested that?

Yes, Roy had known an alchemic abortion was in the realm of possibility, but with Marcoh's confirmation, a new fear wormed its way into his brain. The idea had him back in the ruins at the end of the War, Riza begging him to burn her back and free her from her father's research.

The possibility of a repeat of that night seized him by the throat, threatening to choke him.

He hardly heard the rest of the conversation, Marcoh veering away from the unpleasant topic of abortions and instead giving advice about how Riza could lessen her symptoms until she made a proper decision. Something about small meals, sniffing alcohol, and a special cream. At least Riza seemed more receptive to the advice, her expression sober as she occasionally asked questions and nodded along with what Marcoh had to say.

By the time they finished, they'd been there over an hour. "Do you have any more questions, Major?"

"Not at the moment," she relented, her back uncharacteristically bent over with her weight on her elbows and her hands clasped between her knees.

"Right," Marcoh uttered, standing up and offering his hand to her again. "If you choose to proceed with an alchemical abortion, give me a call. I can arrange to visit East City so you don't have to travel afterwards. You'd probably need several days to recuperate, and there's no need to add travel to your recovery."

Her eyes dropped to his offered hand, expressionless. After a long moment, she took it, shaking his hand briefly. The edge of Marcoh's mouth twitched as if he were resisting a stray comment before he nodded and pulled away.

Roy rose to his feet, fedora held to his chest as Marcoh stepped to him, their hands clasping in a firm shake. "Thank you for taking time for her," Roy murmured, his throat dry.

"Of course. I hope you have a safe journey back. And- give her time," he added in a whisper, glancing back at Riza. "As long as you don't push her at work, she should be fine." Roy nodded, and Marcoh quietly exited the room.

Turning his attention to her, Roy looked Riza over as she still sat on the edge of the table, staring blankly at the floor. "Do you need a minute?"

She inhaled, rubbing her hands together as she glanced evasively at the clock. She swallowed hard, looking down at her palm as she kneaded the muscle under her thumb distractedly. "You knew, didn't you," she whispered.

It wasn't a question.

"You've been acting strangely all day. You knew," she repeated more firmly, her whiskey eyes finally lifting to his.

The silence between them was broken by the steady ticking of the clock, his heart heavily thudding in time. An uncomfortable weight settled over his shoulders, his stomach twisting worse with guilt. "I suspected, yes," he admitted in a low gravel. "I didn't think you'd believe me if I told you."

She didn't move, her eyes fastened to his, intense and impossible to read. She blinked after a moment, breaking away to stare at her feet. "You're probably right," she conceded softly.

"Riza, I…"

"Can we leave?" she asked, her question catching him off guard. He blinked as she coiled her arms around herself, slouching defensively with her face angled away from him. "I know we gave that itinerary to Vulcan, but I don't think I can stay in Ishval tonight."

For the first time in a long time, Riza looked small and scared, the sight reminding him far too much of who she'd been under her father's thumb. Roy softened, the tension seeping out of his muscles. "Where too, Àirén?" he asked gently.

She looked back in his direction, but her eyes never rose above his feet. Still, it gave him a glimpse of the distressed grimace that twisted her expression. "Just- not here."

Monday, November 1, 1908

"Alright Cadet, with Order 3066, the Fuhrer and Military Council changed our objective from pacifying extremists to clearing out the region of insurgents. That includes every Ishvalan you see, no exceptions. If you see any individual with brown skin, white hair, and red eyes, you shoot them dead."

She'd received her orders the day before with a firm "Yes Sir!", but now that she had her scope pointed at the first Ishvalans she'd seen since arriving, it properly sunk in why her CO had given her orders the way he had.

They were in the middle of a warzone. A war that had been going on for seven years. She'd expected her targets would have been battle worn terrorists- not children.

"Insurgents spotted, northwest of Pietre's Point," her neighboring sniper reported, finally seeing what Riza had already found.

"How many?" Captain Kennedy asked behind her.

"Four, Sir."

"Well, you know what to do," Kennedy stated behind her, his voice clear and calm. "Hawkeye, help Boyd clear them out."

She froze up, eyes wide as she watched the four children struggle their way across the rocks and sand, trying to travel to the cover of a nearby outcropping of rocks. "They're- children," she protested hollowly, voicing her disbelief as horror boiled in her stomach.

"You have standing orders, Cadet. Once Boyd starts shooting, the others are going to run. I expect all four dead. Is that understood?" Kennedy ordered evenly.

"We're running out of time, they're getting closer to cover," Boyd prodded, glancing sidelong at Riza with a doubtful edge to his gaze.

"Take aim," Kennedy ordered.

"I've got the left most," Boyd called, settling back behind his scope.

Riza's heart began thundering, her sights focused on the child in the rear, a little boy. She could see how tired he was through her scope, his shoulders hunched and his steps uneven.

What was this madness? How were children a threat?

Boyd's rifle cracked beside her, the sound splitting her eardrum as the recoil jerked his body in her periphery. Through her scope she saw the first child jerk and drop to the ground.

Riza's heart sped up with confused adrenaline, her palms slippery with sweat.

She had orders.

They were children!

Boyd pulled back on the bolt handle of his rifle, cocking the gun with a snap. The remaining children scrambled, one going to their fallen companion as the others started running for cover.

"Cadet," her CO growled behind her, his voice muffled by the ringing in her ears.

Boyd's rifle banged with his second shot, calm and focused compared to the torrent inside Riza. She didn't see if his second mark fell, her scope lingering on the first to fall as the little boy she'd been watching helped the first climb back to her feet, a growing scarlet stain blossoming on her right breast.

Horrified, she watched as they scrambled, desperation in their faces as they pushed on for the shelter of the ridge line, impossibly far away.

"Cadet Hawkeye."

Boyd's rifle snapped beside her for a third time.

The first to get hit stumbled, the boy holding her tight and trying to drag her back to her feet. There was no way she'd survive this. She'd bleed out. Even if she found a doctor, she'd just suffer and likely die.

After Boyd's botched attempt at sniping her, shooting her would be a mercy. Save her from the pain of a miserable, slow death. Scalded by the justification, Riza squeezed the trigger, intending to save her from further pain.

At that same moment her rifle recoiled in her arms, the boy moved between her and the injured girl.

"She killed two insurgents with one bullet. Vrrp! Right though both of their skulls," Boyd was retelling for the millionth time that day. "I thought she'd frozen up, but she was just waiting, lining them up for the shot."

Riza didn't react, her hood pulled low to cover her eyes, her untouched rations weighing down her hands. They were back at camp where the snipers that were off duty collected together to eat their poor excuse of a meal.

"That's quite the eye you've got there, Cadet," someone congratulated her warmly. "I understand why they sent you out here before graduating. With skills like that, you'll be a valuable asset."

"And she's on my team!" Boyd bragged, much too smug about the whole situation.

Numb, Riza stood, dragging her rifle off of the ground and heavily slinging it over her shoulder.

"Hey, where're you going?" Boyd asked.

"Bed," Riza answered dully. She turned away from the campfire without further explanation, leaden feet trudging towards the female tents.

How? How could he be so pleased about something so horrible? He might see it as a great accomplishment, but she'd fired hoping to give the girl a mercy kill. She hadn't meant to shoot the boy too. He'd just gotten in the way.

She'd have to go back again tomorrow. And again the next day. And the day after that.

The lump in her throat tightened, and any thought of eating her rations made her nauseous. Despite her years growing up with little food, she found herself carelessly tipping her bowl, listening to the slop splatter on the dry ground. After most of it was spilled, she gave it a quick snap of her wrist, shaking it clean.

Reaching the female tents, she came across a woman with shorter hair than Riza's, save for a single, curly strand in the front. It framed the tattoo on her face and neck, which disappeared into the collar of her shirt. She had her uniform jerkin off and slung over one shoulder, held into place by a single, hooked finger. In her other hand she lifted a cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag on it as she watched Riza.

Riza paused, watching as the end of the cigarette flared a fiery orange, a trail of smoke rising until it vanished into the darkness of the night air. The woman exhaled a toxic cloud before tilting her head to one side. "Did I sprout a second head while I wasn't looking, princess?"

Riza blinked, not having realized she'd been staring. "Sorry," she muttered, ducking her head to move on.

"You're new, aren't you?" the woman asked, bringing Riza to a stop. Riza hesitated, looking back up at her. "You've got that shell shocked look of an FNG. Rough day?"

Riza didn't know how to reply. A rough day? Was she even allowed to admit to a rough day here?

The woman lifted her boot, snuffing the butt of her cigarette on her heel before carefully tucking the remaining cigarette in her pocket. "I'm Martell, by the way. A lot of us gals stick close to each other in the camp. Safer that way. Need help finding your tent?"

Riza shook her head, at least feeling confident in that respect.

"Right. I'm going to go find some booze. Want me to bring you some when I get it?"

"No, thanks," Riza croaked out, her voice dry.

Martell shrugged, tucking her free hand in her pocket before heading the way Riza had come. "You're loss."

Riza watched her go, her silhouette backdropped by the flames of the cook fires back in the main camp. Distracted, her gaze focused on the licking orange and yellow flames, her mind turning to Roy.

He was here. Somewhere. Probably using Flame Alchemy to kill more children.

This- this isn't what she'd signed up for. She didn't even have her commission yet. She was never supposed to take it. She was just supposed to learn self defense and receive a quality education.

And Roy. What of his dream to protect people? This wasn't protecting anyone.

Confused and feeling ill, she turned, making her way back to her tent on uncertain feet.

Tuesday, May 11, 1909

Mustang.

She'd stopped letting herself think of him as 'Roy' after that night in his apartment. He'd wanted to cut ties and she wouldn't stop him. After Ishval, she didn't deserve something so intimate.

For a brief time, as she waited for him to come out from the shower, she had hoped she could finally confess her feelings for him: the quiet, secret feelings that had been growing in her heart for years. Infatuated, she'd been so excited, so thrilled at the prospect he would finally be hers after waiting so long. After all, neither of them could help themselves as they'd kissed and touched, so she was nearly certain her future with him was guaranteed.

The cruel reality that he had other priorities before her shattered those dreams. Dreams that came back to haunt her as she re-lived his heated kisses, his burning touches, and his sinful moans with feverish yearning. These days she wasn't sure if those occasional fantasies were better or worse than the constant plague of nightmares she had from her time in Ishval.

They hadn't spoken in the two months since, so Riza had stubbornly kept her thoughts on her own guilt and self-loathing for what she had done during the War. In hopes that she'd be able to numb her pain and isolation, she'd decided to accept her commission after graduating from the Academy. She'd been shaped into a weapon after all. A killer. Lost in her own personal desolation, she saw little purpose in life other than throwing herself into that crafted role.

She hadn't anticipated being assigned under Lieutenant Colonel Mustang's command.

She exhaled in a huff, fists clenched. She had asked for this life, she had no room to complain about it now. After the War, she had no room to complain about anything anymore.

She stepped into the hall connected to his office, her feet growing heavier the further she went. Once she reached his door, she had to take a steadying breath, bracing herself for what lay ahead. Lifting a hand, she gave a firm knock. A muffled summons came from within, so she pushed her way in, the door closing behind her with a soft thud.

Mustang was seated behind his desk, hands folded as he lifted his ebony eyes to watch her. She crossed to stand before his desk, heels clicking together as she saluted him firmly. She said nothing, letting him make the first move, preparing herself for anything.

"So, you've decided to take this path after all," he observed, shifting his weight to his elbows as he lifted his still crossed hands before his chin. "Even after what you went through in Ishval."

Her stomach writhed, a chill running down her spine at the sound of his voice, so cool and aloof. Riza lowered her hand, still standing at attention. "Yes, Sir. I made the decision to wear this uniform out of my own free will," she answered firmly, giving him the same professional stoicism she'd shown all of her commanding officers in the Academy and in Ishval. After all, that was all he was to her now.

He glanced down at a paper, shifting it slightly. Riza followed his gaze and recognized it as her file, a thumbnail picture of her in uniform paperclipped to the top with her name. "Answer me this, Warrant Officer. What is your area of expertise?"

"Guns," she clipped shortly. She could feel the three on her at the mention. A standard issue glock at her hip, a second one at the small of her back, and a revolver tucked under her right arm, strapped to her side. "I like guns." His eyes widened, his fingers twitching as he kept his gaze on her file. Shock? Horror? A mix of the two? "They're not like swords and knives. The sense of death doesn't linger on the hands."

Expression clearing, he looked up at her, his hands returning to their folded position, hiding his mouth from her sight. "That's just self-deception. Are you lying to yourself so that you can continue to soil your hands?"

Why did he care? Annoyed with his games, she crisply answered, "Yes, Sir. We soldiers should be the only ones with blood on our hands. No one else should have to go through what we did in Ishval. If the world truly operates based on the principles of equivalent exchange, then we soldiers have plenty to give back. If this world is meant to prosper, then it is our duty to carry the bodies of the dead across a river of blood to their resting place."

He closed his eyes, brow furrowed as he soaked in her words. Did he understand now? Did he understand why she couldn't just leave? She had to atone. She had to keep fighting. Not for herself, but for the lives she had stolen. The men. The women. The children. Stolen through her own hand, and through his.

Mustang pushed himself to his feet, meeting her gaze again. "From now on, I'm assigning you to be my assistant. I feel like I can trust you to watch my back." Riza resisted her instinctive flinch. The burns on her skin still felt strange, the fabric of her bra and shirt odd against numbed scar tissue. "Although," he continued, his cold eyes unwavering, "I expect you understand what this means. You'll be able to shoot me in the back as well. If I ever deviate from this path, then I want you to shoot me, and I'm trusting you to do so," his voice softened, the years behind them and their personal history loading his words with more than casual meaning.

Was this some sort of payment he wanted for being coerced into burning her? Had the War truly changed Roy Mustang that much? After he'd denied her, giving his one impossible condition for any semblance of her happiness, he dared to give her such an order? What cruel irony.

Riza remained stone faced.

"Do you accept my offer?"

A sense of purpose she'd lacked began to coalesce in her mind. She had to account for everything he did with the Flames. Every life taken, every burn dealt, was as if she had snapped her fingers, caused the spark, and set it alight. It was her responsibility to hold him accountable. From the day she'd shown him her back, vulnerable as she was, she'd taken all of his actions as her own. Being so close to him now would make it easier for her to keep a reckoning.

Riza closed her eyes, heaviness entering her voice. "Of course I do, Sir. I'll follow you into hell if you ask me to." Besides, she'd already done so, unintentional though it may have been. What did it matter if she followed him again and again?

Mustang nodded, youthful face aged somewhat by the weight of the War. "Good. For now, let's begin by..."

"Sir," she interrupted, something he had said catching her attention. He fell silent, looking at her. Giving permission? "What is this 'path', Sir?"

The Lieutenant Colonel held her gaze steadily, firm in his resolve as he answered, "I intend to become Fuhrer."

Hawkeye tried to process the magnitude of his goal. Tried to understand why. He had never expressed this desire before. It had always been alchemy. It had always been to protect and help people. Was this an extension of that same dream, or was he growing power hungry?

Her own personal vow still fresh, her hand moved to her hip holster, easing out the glock inside.

"You can blame Major Hughes for the idea," he supplied, eyes flicking to the gun in her hand. "As an individual, I am powerless. That's why I need you to help me protect this nation..." he trailed off, forming a fist. "Riza- Hawkeye," he corrected himself. After a beat, he let out a heavy breath, his shoulders dropping as his expression softened. "Both you and Hughes- you've supported me before in this naïve dream of mine." It surprised her to hear his voice had eased into the gentle tone she was accustomed to from all their years together. "I learned a lot during the War, things I wish I hadn't, but things I needed to know. I can't do this alone."

Alone? She held his gaze for a long moment, a sharp pain piercing her heart as she heard his plea. Alone. He couldn't do this alone? But he'd- he'd pushed her away. Yet here he was, begging for her to come back.

She inhaled sharply, pushing past the pain and re-aligning her expectations for the promise she'd just made. Decisively, she returned her pistol to its holster. "It'll be a full time job watching you, Sir. How am I supposed to protect the entire nation?"

He gave a closed mouth chuckle, smirking coolly. He- found that funny? She supposed it was.

"It's the same thing I told Hughes." He stiffened, that strange authority returning to his voice. "Captain Hughes pointed out I had to be at the top to make any true difference, and I can't make it there without you."

"Then what's our first step, Sir?" she asked, preparing herself for the work ahead.

She could keep things professional with him. She could do this.

She had to.

Saturday, October 12, 1918

"I'd hate for something unnecessary to happen to you," Marcoh's voice rattled through her brain, hanging over her like a storm cloud.

Unnecessary? This entire situation was unnecessary. She should never have let it happen in the first place! Wasn't that part of her duties of ensuring Roy became Fuhrer? Making sure he didn't make any vital mistakes. This close to their goal, becoming pregnant with his child was one of the worst things that could have happened, and it had happened because of her.

She let herself stew with that reality, the gravity of it weighing her down. This, them, should have never happened in the first place, and maybe the best choice moving forward would be to end it.

That wouldn't really solve the problem though. The problem that was now growing in her womb and making her sick. The problem that might start showing at any time in the next few months, revealing itself to the world.

Nausea and dread crashed over her. Whether she ended things with Roy or not, she was still pregnant. And how could she push him away now? After he'd been so warm and gentle. After he'd made her feel so safe and secure.

Troubled by ifs and buts and whens, she remained quiet and withdrawn. At least Roy wasn't trying to force conversation. He'd accompanied her out of the clinic, through the market, and onto the next train back to East City in near silence. In their second class compartment, she watched as they left behind the harsh desert, the rocks and sands replaced by brush and hills. The further they went, the greener the grass grew and the sturdier the trees stood with their golden and orange leaves. The sunlight filtered through their collage, warm and comforting on her face as she waded through her troubled mind.

Even that seemed a temporary relief as the sky grew overcast the further north they rode. After an hour, she noticed Roy's stiff posture beside her, tense and on guard. Growing more alert, she tried to identify what had set him off. She saw and heard nothing.

"Sir?" she breathed, reaching into her bag for a glock.

He blinked, looking at her questioningly. After a moment he softened, gently taking her free hand. "I want to keep you safe. I haven't seen anything, but without Vulcan's guards..." he trailed off as the train began to slow.

Of course. After last week's attack, she'd been careless to allow herself to become so distracted. Yet here he was, vigilantly guarding her while she struggled with everything going through her mind.

The tension melted from her, the tightness in her chest easing as the train came to a stop, a pleasant voice chiming overhead, "Risembool station."

On instinct, Riza stood, snatching her bag and linking her fingers with his as she made for the door. Roy started, pulled unexpectedly to his feet and scrambling to grab his suitcase. "Ri..." he cut himself off as she pulled him with her down the corridor towards the exit. "Elizabeth, what are you doing?"

Descending the steps, she lighted onto the platform, an autumn breeze greeting her and fluttering the hem of her skirt. She paused, taking a deep breath of the crisp fall air as she squeezed his hand.

"We're staying here tonight."

"Here?" he croaked, looking past her at the sign on the station, declaring their location. "Are we visiting the- the Rockbells?"

A proud spark flickered in the back of her mind. Roy coming up with that so quickly was rather brilliant. The name Elric was too well known, especially in these parts. Claiming an association with the Rockbells was a safer tactic, even if the platform was empty save for the platform master.

Rounding the station, they stepped off the platform and onto the loose gravel road. "Not tonight," Riza answered, glancing towards where the sun peeked through the low hanging clouds, beginning to set behind the hills. "With how far they live from the station, we'd be traveling in the dark. I- don't know about tomorrow, though," she admitted.

Roy nodded, wordlessly squeezing her hand. She glanced down at it, doubt creeping back into her mind. Yes, she wanted to feel his warmth and strength, but she still wasn't certain if maintaining their affair was the wisest choice right now. Heart aching, she glanced around. They were the only passengers who had disembarked from the train. Surrounded by farms and with a ten minute walk to Risembool proper, they were completely alone for the first time since that morning.

Swallowing past residual nerves, Riza searched for where to begin. "I'm sorry, Sir," she finally whispered. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat, turning to look at her. She didn't meet his gaze, her eyes on the gravel at her feet. "You're so good to me," she continued, squeezing his hand, "but I don't deserve it. You offer me so much, and here I am, threatening your goals and dreams. I'm- I'm jeopardizing everything we've been working towards all these years."

He didn't respond right away, instead trying to pull her closer, attempting to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened, resisting his pull. "You have nothing to apologize for," he murmured, letting up on pulling her in, returning to just holding her hand. "It should actually be me apologizing to you. I forgot the condom. It was my responsibility, and I didn't think..."

She shook her head, squeezing his hand tighter. "No. If I hadn't given in to my own selfish desires... If we'd just waited... It's too soon. Us. We should have waited until you were Fuhrer. Until it was safe."

"And how long would that have taken?" he challenged gently.

Rueful, she held her tongue, knowing full well it would have only been a few more months. Unable to say so, she redirected, "I'm still breaking my vow to you. How am I supposed to keep you safe and on the right path when I'm the one distracting you? I promised to see you to the Fuhrer's chair, but right now I'm the biggest threat to your career."

"Reez," he breathed, lifting her hand and pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles, holding it there for a long moment. Finally lowering their hands, he met her gaze, his eyes warm with affection. "I've already told you, you're more important to me than my goal. Damn the consequences, I'd rather give you happiness than watch you suffer any longer."

"What about the blood on our hands? The people we've killed?" she demanded. The memories of all the children she'd slaughtered were weighing on her mind in particular, mixing in with her worries about the pregnancy.

Grave, he slowed to a stop, pulling her with him. He reached for her, delicately pushing a stray strand of faux hair behind her ear, caressing her jaw before dropping his hand to rub her bicep in comfort. "You saw Ishval today. How alive it's become. How vibrant. The Ishvalan Counsel absolved us of our war crimes. We even ensured those who caused the War were killed or removed from power during the Promised Day."

"You know there's more we can do," Riza protested.

"And if we can't?" he asked, shrugging slightly, a silence bubbling between them. After a moment, Roy's gaze broke away. "I- suppose I don't understand why you're bringing this up," he admitted, an edge entering his voice.

Her stomach plummeted, twisting as she realized she'd let the idea of breaking things off with him speak for her. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, her throat silently choking on unknown words.

Unaware of her speechlessness, he continued, "I mean- with an abortion, all of this is just hypothetical. You don't have to convince me, Ri. I'll support you, whatever you decide. So please don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just- just don't..." his voice remained calm and firm until it trailed off into an indistinct mumble, his words lost to her as he avoided her eyes.

His assumption hit her like a mortar, confusion and pain flashing through her entire body from head to foot. Reeling, she broke away from his hand, taking a step back. "What?"

Sighing, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I know you, Riza. You're not ready for this, and I've put you in an unfair predicament. Forget what I said about wanting a family, and do what's best for you. I understand and I'll support you. Just-" his voice cracked, a flash of fear in his eyes. He nervously cleared his throat, reaching up to tug his collar away from his Adam's apple. "I'll support you, but I can't- I can't do it for you."

It? It took her longer than it should have to comprehend his meaning. When she finally did, the thought of him using alchemy to end her pregnancy sent her stomach into knots, nausea threatening her throat. Unsteady, she stepped towards him, clutching onto his shirt and suspenders for support.

"I-I'm sorry," he strangled out, his throat raw. "It's bad enough that I burned you. I can't do that sort of thing again." He shook his head, a hint of shame tightening his jaw as he averted his gaze.

She dropped her eyes to her fists, numbly rubbing the fibers of his clothes between her fingers, trying to decide how to best tell him. "I could never ask that of you," she whispered.

He inhaled sharply and exhaled in a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing with relief. He lowered his suitcase to the ground so he could hold her by the waist with both hands as he began to murmur a "Thank god..."

"I couldn't because I intend to keep it."

Roy's voice cut off. "What?" he uttered.

Resolve grew in her stomach as she dared to meet his wide, disbelieving eyes. Tightening her grip on his shirt, she repeated, "I'm going to keep the baby, Sir."

She watched a swirl of emotions cross his face, his shock and confusion clear. "But- I was certain..." he trailed off, lifting a hand to cradle her jaw. His expression firmed, a familiar authority entering his voice, "Why? Why do you want to keep this baby, Riza?"

Sober, she loosened her grip, running her hand down his arm, brushing a cufflink as she held his hand against her cheek. "After all those children I murdered during the War, do you really think I could kill your child too?"

He didn't react immediately, sharp eyes taking her in. Gently he wrapped his arm around her waist, though he still kept a slight distance between them. "It's far from being a 'child' yet," he pointed out.

Oh, sweet Roy. She gently tilted her face more against his palm, squeezing his hand fervently. "But it's yours," she paused, letting her words sink in. "I don't know how everything will turn out, or even what we'll do, but I'm not going to abort. I refuse to murder innocents anymore, and our baby hasn't done anything wrong."

"Our baby?" Roy echoed, his voice trembling with emotion.

She nodded, giving him a weak smile. "Our baby, Sir. You're going to be a father," she breathed, rubbing the back of his hand, feeling the scars on his skin.

Briefly, his eyes lit up as a breathy laugh escaped his lungs. Just as quickly he reigned in the smile that had tugged at his mouth, a serious scowl replacing it. He moved both of his hands to her face, cradling her neck. His eyes swirled with mixed emotions as he solemnly began, "But I thought you didn't want…"

Pain stabbed at her heart. "You've misunderstood me," she rushed nervously. "I don't feel like I deserve to be a mother, and- I wish we'd waited until you were Fuhrer," she confessed, her voice growing quiet. "But it's too late for that kind of thinking. We've made our bed, Sir. Now we get to lie in it."

His gaze flickered down to her lips, his mouth opening before he lost his words. Exhaling shakily, he fumbled, "Do you- do you think being a mother might make you happy? Maybe not today, but- someday?"

Guilt flooded her as she glanced away. "Don't- don't ask me that," she mumbled, her mind conjuring up the memory of the two boys at the clinic. How many children just like them had she killed? Dozens? Hundreds? Maybe even a thousand? This was wrong. A murderer shouldn't be allowed something so precious. So pure.

"Okay," he continued evenly. "Then I'll ask a more selfish question. Can I be happy?" Confused, she looked up again, a desperate edge to his midnight eyes. "I mean, would it be alright? Would you be alright? If I was…"

A pang shot through her with his question, regretting that he even had to ask. She delicately moved a hand to caress his jaw, his stubble scratching against her thumb. "Si-Roy. I need- you... Be you."

He held her gaze for a long moment, reading her intently. Suddenly something cold and wet hit her cheek, making her jump slightly. Blinking, she glanced around, noticing the pitter patter of raindrops sprinkling across the gravel road. The sun was gone, the western horizon saturated with purples and oranges, coloring the dark clouds above.

Roy's thumb softly brushed her cheek, drying away the raindrop and pulling her attention back to him. "Damn rain," he murmured, his face gentle and relaxed now.

"Right," she agreed half-mindedly as the sprinkle increased to a drizzle. "It's- a good thing you're not useless in it anymore," she added, hoping to soften any unintentional blows.

A smile warmed his face, his eyes shining with pride. He pulled back, gesturing for her to wait as he rushed over to a nearby tree. Hugging herself, she watched as he clapped before placing his hand on a low branch, blue electricity running down his arm to the wood. When he completed his transmutation, he held a wooden umbrella, the canopy a leafy yellow-orange like the colored leaves from the tree.

He rushed back to her, a sloppy grin on his face as he huddled closer to her, protecting them both from the rain. "Impressed, Major?" he asked breathlessly.

"Very, Sir," she nodded solemnly, accepting his offered elbow and huddling up against him.

If possible, his grin brightened even more as he collected his bag, keeping her close as they continued on their way. After a few moments, he softly asked, "Is this really happening? I mean- I'm not dreaming, right? We're really going through with this?"

She looked up, meeting his midnight eyes, shimmering with tears. God, he was beautiful, his smile warm and genuine as he looked at her with admiration. Despite the protection of the alchemic umbrella, happy tears began streaming from his eyes, running down his cheeks. Quietly, she pulled closer, resting her head against his shoulder as a pleasant warmth nestled in her chest. "Yes, Sir."

"It's Roy," he murmured, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Shivering, her stomach tumbled nervously with butterflies. "Roy," she corrected herself in a whisper.

Riza wanted to keep the baby.

The knowledge had his brain fuzzy with joy. A baby. Their baby. Would it have Riza's eyes and her beautiful smile? Maybe it would have his nose and mop of black hair. Would it be a precious little girl he could dote on and gift with dresses and dolls, or a little boy he could teach to tie a tie and how to fish? Of course they may take after their mother and defy gender standards. He wouldn't care. They'd be perfect either way.

It was their baby.

His thoughts buzzed happily in circles around the same line of thought as he washed away the make-up of his James disguise and the fine layer of dust and sand he'd acquired in Ishval. Exiting the shower and drying off, a playful hum warmed the back of his throat as he stepped into his boxers. Leaving the humidity of the bathroom, he stepped out into the cozy room that they had reserved for the night.

A stove in the corner crackled softly with the sound of burning wood and the rain outside washed over the windowpane in quiet, pattering waves. Riza sat cross-legged on her side of the bed, wearing his shirt with none of the button's done and her thighs bare. She had her comb pulled halfway through her damp, golden locks, her own disguise gone after her own shower.

She paused as he stepped out, her amber eyes catching onto his. Seeing her flooded a fresh wave of excitement through him as a bright smile broke across his face. He eagerly crossed over, climbing onto the bed to crawl to her. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement before he cupped her cheeks and pulled her in for a smooch.

When he pulled back, she looked baffled. "What was that for?" she asked, her hand with the comb dropping into her lap.

He gently caressed her cheek, admiring her wide, amber eyes as he held her close. "You have me besotted, my Queen," he murmured warmly before meeting her lips again, cradling her face in his hands as he warmly deepened the kiss, opening his lips in silent invitation.

She hummed softly, kissing back this time, but not meeting his tongue. Instead she gently took his wrist, rubbing the back with her thumb before she pulled away. "Not tonight," she breathed, her legs instinctively pulling closed between them.

Taking in her body language, he realized what she meant. Admittedly, he hadn't really been thinking about where such kisses would lead, he'd just wanted to hold her. He withdrew, plopping on his bum besides her. "As you wish, my Love. May I entreat you to snuggle close, though?"

A quizzical expression played at her brow, "You can stop talking like that, Sir," she teased, playfully pushing his shoulder.

"Alright. Alright," he muttered, smiling softly. "But I'd still like to snuggle."

She relaxed a little, a worn-out haze crossing her eyes. "That sounds nice," she admitted softly.

"Here," he whispered, taking her comb and reaching over to leave it on her nightstand. Free of any more hindrances, they slipped under the covers together, Roy coiling his arm around her waist to pull her close.

She scooched closer, their bare chests pressed skin to skin as she pushed her damp hair out of the way almost shyly. Silently he followed her fingertips with his own, tracing the frame of her face with a gentle caress. He met her eyes, a silent question behind them.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in a whisper, a distant sound of thunder rumbling in the darkness outside.

Her jaw tightened, a slightly troubled wrinkle creasing between her brows as her gaze dropped to his collarbone. "I'm- I'm getting by."

Sliding his hand under her shirt, he absently began rubbing her lower back, avoiding the scars as he tried to offer some sort of comfort. "I know it's a lot to take in. Is there anything I can do to help?"

She grimaced slightly, her arm coiling around him as she pressed closer. Silently, she nuzzled her face against his neck, her drying hair nestled against his jaw and her nose against his collarbone. Delicately he moved his hand to the back of her hair, his fingers tangling with her damp locks. Holding her close, he felt her breathing, each inhale inflating her torso and each exhale heating his skin.

He had no doubt she was certain of her choice to keep the baby, though now it settled over him with a weighty solemnity. The responsibility was his. The consequences hers. If he shirked his duty- as her partner, her lover, her superior, the father- Riza would suffer. No matter how excited he was about the baby, nothing could change that.

She shifted, her fingers moving to his shoulder. With slow, deliberate movement, she traced the shape of his arm, her touch whispering softly against his skin. His flesh prickled at her touch, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end by the time she reached his elbow. Her touch tapered off, then, to his delight, she repeated the gentle stroke, his skin goosing under her touch.

"I'm just- trying to wrap my head around it," she murmured against his clavicle. "Sure, you can tell me I'm pregnant, but that doesn't mean it's really- sunk in yet."

"That might take a while," he reassured, his mind never leaving her repeated strokes against his arm.

"I've felt numb most of the afternoon," she continued, her voice growing more firm. "There's so much I want to plan for, but I don't have a proper timeline established. Marcoh couldn't even tell me when I'll start to show."

Show. The single word drew his attention down to her abdomen, pressed up against his. In their month of intimacy, that plane of skin had grown so familiar, whispering against his own so many times it was heaven. The thought of it swelling with their child twisted happy knots in his mind, the urge to slide down and kiss the expanse blooming delightfully in his mind.

He regretfully pushed the fantasy away, shifting under the sheets to divert the blood trying to rush between his legs. "I think you're jumping a few steps, Reez," he said gently, combing his fingers through her hair before tracing her side to her hip, squeezing it gently. "First of all, who do you want to know?"

Her trace of his arm suddenly halted as her shoulders tensed. Instantly worried that she'd shut him down, he rushed to list off his own suggestions. "Chris will be able to connect us with a doctor in secret. I also shouldn't keep it from her for very long. I think we should tell Vanessa too, as she's the one we went to when- it happened."

Riza dropped her hand to rest on his waist, pulling back so he could see the troubled look darkening her face.

"How about Catalina? You've been living with her lately, and with everything going on, maybe it would help if she knew," he suggested.

"No," Riza answered, almost too quickly, shaking her head slightly. "I- I adore her, but I don't want her telling Jean. And I don't need her harassing me about it."

He frowned, not expecting that response- not that he disagreed with her reasoning. "I just thought you'd want another woman to offer you support," he confessed, innocently slipping his hand to cup her ass.

"I'd rather tell Gracia," Riza whispered, her voice small as she finally met his gaze, a hint of guilt in her eyes.

"How soon would you want her to know?" he asked, rubbing the fabric over her bum with his thumb absently.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, her eyes evasively dropping to the sheets.

He paused a moment, taking a breath before following up, "How soon do you want anyone to know?"

She frowned, her index finger curling at his waist to anxiously pick at his skin. "I don't know. After we've talked to the Gynecologist?"

That would be a trick, getting her a private appointment without telling Chris what was up. Unintentionally his brow furrowed in consideration, a thoughtful frown tugging at his mouth. Riza glanced at him, worry entering her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I just- I'm not sure I'll be able to talk Chris into arranging a private appointment without telling her why."

Riza wilted. "Well, I suppose she was the first to find out about us," she mumbled listlessly.

"Hey," he offered warmly, pulling her close and wrapping both arms around her in an embrace. "I'll see if I can't swing something by. It's not my first time trying to keep something private from her."

She sighed, relaxing in his arms. "Yes, and she usually calls you out on it," she pointed out frankly.

"Hey!" he shot back with a tease, "I'm not that hopeless. I've managed to keep some things from her."

Her mouth twitched with a smile, a soft chuckle in the back of her throat. "More like she let you keep them from her."

Pressing his forehead against her, he growled playfully, squeezing her tightly as he did. To his delight, he elicited a bubbling giggle from her throat as she squirmed in his arms, her hands shifting to his shoulders and squeezing as she tried to create some distance between them.

He loosened his grip, letting her breathe easier as he pulled back. "I'll try. If push comes to shove, I'll tell her it's personal."

She relaxed again, a warmth in her eyes as she held his gaze. "Thank you, Roy. I know we need to tell her, and soon, but..."

He gently reached up to caress her jaw. "When you're ready, Àirén."

She smiled gratefully, her arms slipping around his waist again as she pulled close, nuzzling against his neck once more.

There, beneath the linens, their shared heat radiated. The stove's fire crackled. The rain beat rhythmically against the window. As the lull in conversation stretched, he exhaled heavily, letting his eyes slide close.

A baby. Nine months- that would put it due around- June? Their little summer baby. A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Riza in a sundress and wide brimmed hat, sitting on the grass at a park with a little bassinet and a summer picnic.

"Roy," she creaked softly. He hummed in acknowledgment, softly squeezing her waist in a warm embrace.

"Who- who do you want to tell first? I mean, yes, we need to eventually tell Chris and- and my grandfather. But- you need support too. I'll have Gracia, but…"

Hughes.

His smile faded as a leaden weight settled over his heart. She pulled back, reaching up to caress his jaw, empathy in her eyes.

She knew. Of course she knew. It wasn't like Havoc had a kid and could give advice or anything. Plus she'd just said she didn't want Havoc to know. His next option would be Fullmetal, but he was still a kid himself.

"Chris will be fine," he reassured softly, forcing a smile.

Her expression remained unchanged, pain stitched into the furrow of her brow. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "I have you."

"Do you want to tell Jean?" she asked.

He shook his head softly. "Maybe. I don't know. He's not who I really want to tell."

"I know," she whispered, her hands softly coiling behind his neck, fingers digging into his hair. "I- I'm sorry."

A sting came from behind his eyes and he quickly blinked it away, pushing away the tears before they formed. "Let's not think about that. I'll figure out something. I always do."

She grimaced, pulling him closer as their breaths intermingled. "We always do," she murmured, "Together."