Thank you so much for your review, Transparent Space!
Now this is the first with a non-canon compliant detail, but it's a detail, I promise. In the manga, every member of Team Mustang is shown before the transfer, and Havoc is helping out with cleaning up Scar's mess - that's all I changed. Havoc's at Headquarters. Overhearing stuff. Yeah.
Hope you enjoy! Don't hesitate to let me know if you did or didn't ;)
Where Roy Counts His Blessings
Havoc dragged his feet down the hall. What a stupid job. Running errands. How did Hawkeye stand it? And why could she not have overtaken this one, he lamented himself, turning a corner. One of the double doors to Lieutenant General Grumman's office was already open, voices audible but still unintelligible. Havoc was everything but fond of A: having to wait for whoever was already in there to finish up the conversation, and B: having to present the documents he brought in front of other officers.
And running errands. He despised running errands.
Only just reaching the door, Havoc contemplated whether to walk in or knock or just wait. Whoever the visitor was sounded somewhat serious, Grumman himself for once not amused but excited. The last thing Havoc wanted was to snoop some secret military business information that could cost him his head (or be squeezed out of him by Mustang).
Still indecisive, Havoc reached out to knock anyway. Sure enough, luck was not on his side that day, when the movement made the file slip from his arm, papers scattering across the floor. He held his breath when there was a sneeze, about to call an habitual 'bless you' when the voices continued.
"I did, Sir, and I found information on her in a small village near Yous Well," the soldier reported. Was the old geezer actually chasing after a girl? And recruiting his men to hunt her down?
"Yes, that rings a bell…" Grumman was saying, stroking his chin. Had they actually not noticed him, Havoc wondered? Had whoever sneezed like an elephant with a trumpet perfectly covered up his mishap? He kneeled down to collect them quietly, weighing his options of an equally noiseless retreat or eventual reveal after having overplayed his clumsiness. They did not give his thoughts a chance to focus on the present, however, continuing.
"She moved there after marrying a Berthold Hawkeye," Hawkeye? Havoc's eyes narrowed. That was not too common a name. Perhaps he was having a lucky day after all. "After three years, they moved again and retreated to a secluded part of the countryside – this is the house the inhabitants pointed us to," there was a rustle of sheets, most likely a photograph. Havoc coordinated his collecting with more rustling from inside, listening intently as the soldier went on. "Her husband can be found in old military reports – he refused repeatedly to take a state alchemist's examination despite his, and I quote 'formidable alchemical research and constant poverty'."
"Whatever did she see in a man like him…?" Grumman mused aloud, propping his chin up on his fist. Or so Havoc imagined, unable to see but keen to hear whether there was any connection to the Hawkeye he knew. She was from the East, too, right? He thought he remembered her to have dropped a hint on having grown up rurally like him, though he was not sure. "Go on."
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Sir," the soldier lowered his voice, having Havoc curse inwardly at how he had to creep up to the open door, "but your daughter died in August 1895 at the age of 29," he admitted. Daughter? Havoc's brows furrowed. Grumman had a daughter? Or had had a daughter, he corrected. "She is said to have died of illness, and local rumours blame the husband's deficient financial assets to have been the cause of your daughter's ultimate passing. The records confirm another enquiry to become a state alchemist in July of the same year."
Havoc gritted his teeth. No matter the circumstances and seeming lack of care for the own wife, he could not help but cuss at the military. How tactless could they be to exploit a dying wife to pressure someone into becoming their dog?
Grumman only heaved a sigh. A sad one, yes, but there was no spite in it like Havoc felt it tingle beneath his skin.
"Eloping with an alchemist only to pass away unnoticed – she has always been a wallflower… so fragile and sensitive," Grumman frowned unhappily. He seemed to have expected such news though, his grief mild. As if already having come to terms with the loss a long time ago. He must have, seeing as he had apparently lost contact with his daughter even before her marriage. "And then?"
"Her husband died ten years later of an unknown disease."
"Any children?"
"One," the soldier disclosed. More paper rustled, and Havoc found his leg quivering in mid-air where he had wanted to get to his feet. He held his breath. "A daughter. Orphaned at 16, though witnesses account to have seen her live in her parents' house for another year with a man – he had lived there before when her father had been alive," he retold.
Havoc's brows creased fiercely. Living with a man? At sixteen? Now that did certainly not sound like the Hawkeye he knew.
"A daughter, huh?" Grumman's usually good-humoured demeanour slowly came back to life. "I do hope you have found at least that one remaining family member of mine to still be alive. You did find her, didn't you?"
"Yes, Sir," the soldier confirmed. Just say it, Havoc thought, at the same time trying desperately not to get his hopes up. The whole story was so ridiculously coincidental, it could not be true. "There are no records on the following year, but at 18, she enrolled in the military." Oh god, Havoc grimaced, this was getting close. His ears wanted to stretch around the door, lips pressed tightly in agitation.
"I have an idea where this is going…" Grumman mumbled. Havoc found himself nodding along.
"She trained under Brigadier General Fessler in the East and was prematurely sent to the front lines of the Ishval War," the soldier went on.
"Fessler…" Grumman grumbled with open dislike. Havoc was tearing shreds off his lip, not knowing why when it was too obvious to still believe he did not know whom this was about.
"Afterwards, she was hired as Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang's adjutant here in Eastern Command," the soldier produced another photograph, but Grumman waved it off. There was not a single Private who did not know the Flame Alchemist's name.
The soldier retreated from the desk, but Grumman gestured with his hand. He had sat up straight again, eyes awake and shining.
"Spell it out then."
"Your granddaughter is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, Sir."
"And what a lovely creature," Grumman chuckled approvingly. As if she had always been on his radar as not just another soldier. Havoc exhaled quietly when his lungs screamed at him to do so. He asked himself for the first time what he would do with this newly gained information – if he would do something with it. From the looks of it, Hawkeye had no clue about her grandfather's identity whatsoever.
"Shall I fetch her, Sir?"
"No," Grumman received the now unnecessary but not unwelcomed photograph of his granddaughter's training group, "there's no need to tell her – in fact, there's no need to tell anyone."
"Sir!" The soldier saluted, turning on the heel. Sweat broke out on Havoc's back. So he did what any honest man would have – he ran.
Sprinting down the hall and around the corner, he restrained from panting until being sure the about the informant to have left the other way. Taking another minute to calm his suddenly accelerated heartbeat, he took a few deep breaths.
Straightening, he rucked up the file under his arm. If Grumman played unaffected, so could he. After all, there was nothing at stake about the Lieutenant General being related to Hawkeye – it was a fact. A simple circumstance without any hinderance to either work or private lives.
Nevertheless, Havoc had to smile once at the door, a rare, genuinely fond smile gracing Grumman's lips as he regarded the photograph of a younger Riza Hawkeye.
Sighing deeply, Havoc yawned. He was not the only one, he knew, the entire team exhausted with the work that came with a transfer. And to Central Command of all places. The Colonel had not yet said so, but Havoc assumed he would be asking his team to accompany him – that was the whole reason why he was spending the precious preparation time with playing chess instead; kissing up to a superior – although, that could have well just been another of his procrastination skills. (Yes, by now, they could all safely call it skills.)
A notion hit Havoc as he turned a corner – a transfer to Central would mean he could not see his new-
He stumbled back when the door to Lieutenant General Grumman's office opened by itself.
"Don't think too much ahead, General," Roy laughed, the doorknob still in hand. "Well… talking about special, I have some subordinates that I want to take with me to Central," he noted on his way out.
"Yep, that's okay," Grumman smiled his usual cheerful smile, "take them," he allowed, handing Roy the chessboard.
"You have my thanks," Roy nodded, then closed the door behind him. "Oh, Havoc," he blinked when coming face to face with his Second Lieutenant.
"You're taking your sweet time as always," Havoc greeted back. "Hawkeye wants you to look these over before submission," he presented the documents. Of course, being the Colonel, Roy was already walking ahead, expecting to be followed – and not so much as peeking at the forms.
As he caught up, Havoc had to frown when a recollection forced its way into the present again. He now remembered the last time he had come to the General's office, the mention of Hawkeye making that secret ancestry research resurface. Though, it was not really a secret, right? It if had been, they would have closed the door, he argued to himself as he spoke up.
"You probably already know this with the amount of time you spend schmoozing with Grumman," he pushed his hands into his pockets when the Colonel finally – if absently – received the documents, "but I was kinda stunned when I heard he's Hawkeye's grandfather," he nonchalantly remarked. He almost ran Roy over when the latter stopped short. Havoc frowned.
As if frozen, the Colonel suddenly looked as doused with boiling water as he seemed drained of his every droplet of blood. His eyes somewhat bulged out of their sockets, an instantaneous crazed, wild mixture of bewilderment, fury, and… was that glee shimmering through? Whatever it was, the complete madness made Havoc recoil slightly, staring blankly when his superior – for the split of a second nearing hyperventilation – caught himself just as quickly as he had lost it.
Without explanation, he went on. Havoc blinked to himself. It took him another moment to react. Watching carefully – not least thanks to a tinge of insecurity – Havoc followed. There was still a hint of red on the Colonel's neck, though the alarming combination of a face as pale as a corpse and as flushed as an embarrassed schoolgirl had already abated. The thin coat of sweat was no proof either, but then Roy delivered the perfect one. He looked at the documents. A replacement action. So then he had just freaked out entirely, if only for a few heartbeats.
Did that merely mean he had not known or…?
"Havoc," Roy briskly entered the office, carelessly slapping the sheet of paper down on his desk. Falman looked up, offering Havoc a greeting smile.
"Yeah?"
"Go get Hawkeye," he instructed. Havoc frowned. He entered anyway, glancing at her schedule to find out where she was.
"You wanna tell her?" he raised a brow. The Colonel was already busy dialling on the phone, as if back in his own world. Heaving a sigh, Havoc let it go. Sauntering out the door, the last thing he heard was an instruction to Falman to find Breda. Lighting a cigarette, Havoc made his way to the shooting range. What a strange superior that man was…
Roy nearly slipped as he exited the bathroom. He could not help it. The spring in his step would not leave. However the hell Havoc had known about the relation was completely irrelevant since his awareness could only mean one thing – Grumman knew. Riza did not, so it had to be Grumman who had leaked the information.
And what a wonderful information. Roy had to retrain himself from humming merrily where he flounced into the bedroom. He had practically been offered his Lieutenant's hand in marriage. For a second, he wanted to curse his prudent words of possible rejection, but the overall joy did not make itself scarce.
After all, it had not been rejection yet.
The lamp on the nightstand was still on, illuminating a fraction of the room in a dim, yellowish light. It was one of the few remaining items left unpacked until the coming day.
His smile widened upon seeing her. Sitting up against the headboard, legs starting to give in where they stretched out instead of propping up the file in her hands, Riza had not yet stopped working. Her eyes flew across the printed words, scanning tiredly as she leafed through. Her hair was loose, framing her beautiful face, her shoulders tense with the overall stress they had to endure at the office.
Being in the weirdly spunky mood he was, Roy all but hopped onto the mattress next to her. It bounced beneath his weight, though that did not even grant him a side glance. Crawling beneath the sheets, he shuffled closer until finding the warmth of her body next to his. She merely turned a page at the broad grin he beamed at her.
"It's not yet a promotion if that's what you're hoping for," she dryly commented. There were dark rims starting to form beneath her eyes, more visible now that the early night plunged them into its shadows. "They probably just want to keep an eye on us, and no," an outstretched finger came to shove his advancing face away by the forehead, "that was not an invitation to use our chance of not being watched until tomorrow," she gave him a look. To her surprise, he was not pouting.
No, Roy was still glowing with a boyish grin.
"Have I ever told you just how gorgeous you are?" he weaved his fingers into the golden tresses descending her shoulders, gently lacing through. She frowned.
"You have," her gaze returned to focusing on the documents. There was no change in her plain voice, expression just as ironed out had it not been for that hint of a well-hidden spark in her eyes. A spark of affection.
"When your father told me to take care of you," he referred to that terrifying moment of his Master's death with relative ease, knowing they had both come to terms with it, "do you think that counts as a blessing?" he asked. Her brows creased once more, full attention directed at him.
"A blessing?" she repeated. She must have known what he meant – a blessing for marrying her – because there was a light tinge of pink rising to her cheeks. It made his insides gush with love for her. Gorgeous and cute, his Riza. "Why would that make any difference with the fraternization laws in pace?" she dodged the question.
"Oh, nothing," he shrugged, confusing her even more by suddenly pretending not to show interest. "I'm just collecting…" he muttered to himself, but she heard. Closing the file, Riza put it on the nightstand.
"Please don't tell me you've been bothering your mother with this again – she can't change the laws either," she chided over her shoulder. There was no suspicion about a relative of her whatsoever. And why would there be anyway? She did not know any more family members than her parents, he reminded himself.
The lamp's switch clicked, plunging them into darkness safe for the streetlamp's weak rays below the window. The blanket rustled as she turned back, lying down next to him.
"No, not at all," he innocently drawled. Not actually innocent, of course – which she did not have to know – he advanced again. Hovering above her, he felt her gaze in the dark, burning the dim shine of them into his inner eye. Intentionally yet slowly, he trailed his fingers along the curve of her hipbone and up her flank. "But have I ever shown you just how much I adore you?"
"Plenty of times," she retorted, just as unfazed as before. He claimed her lips regardless. His heart soared when she responded vigorously, returning his passion more strongly than he had anticipated. Her arms came up, wrapping around his neck in that way she had; that way she could make him liquify. Fingers straddled, she raked them through his hair, those of her other hand drawing circles on his nape.
Kissing her time and again, their lips moved in unison, trading muffled hums. His straying hand collected her hip to rise flush against his own.
"Mh, not tonight, I'm tired," Riza mildly protested, yet tilted her head back when he began to trail his lips along her jaw and down her neck.
"You won't regret it."
"I'm pretty sure we'll both regret it tomorrow at 5030 hours," she breathed, letting him kiss her neck and collarbone anyway, gripping his shirt, one hand still buried in his hair.
"I never regret it," Roy emphasised in a low voice. Lifting his head to pierce her eyes with a sultry gaze, he felt warm with triumph at the way she pursed her lips in return.
"Don't use that voice," she meekly reprimanded, but he could see it made him win. And it was not even the fact that he really wanted to make love, only he needed to express his love; his freshly rekindled fire of ambition to make her his wife driving him to prove to her just how much she meant to him. How much he loved her while not being allowed to tell her just that. A stupid rule, really, but he respected her reasons. It hurt him, too, to hear them amidst their circumstances.
Little did he know that it would be their last chance to sleep together – literally – until the Promised Day would come and pass.
A vocal sigh escaped her when his lips dove back down to the other side of her neck. His hand snuck beneath her shirt, busying itself with the silky feeling of her stomach's supple skin beneath the tips of his fingers. Suckling lightly on the sensitive spot in the crook of her neck – a favourite of hers – Roy earned himself a soft moan.
"Marry me," he murmured close to her ear.
"Colonel," she breathed in return, reason reigning her tone until his lips claimed hers again, "mmh," Riza moaned into his mouth. His tongue invited hers to a dance, and she followed his lead like she always did. Her leg rose of its own accord, heel hooking onto his thigh where he slid further atop her.
"When I'm Fuhrer," he panted between kisses, "the first thing I'm going to do is change the frat law," he travelled down again, plastering her milky skin with marks where no one would see.
"I thought your top priority was the miniskirt rule," Riza teased, but her voice drowned in a moan when he suckled at the top of her breast. His hands helped unbutton her shirt as he went down, encouraged by her every sound and not least fingers tightly entangled in his hair.
"Who needs to see women in miniskirts when having you for a wife," he smirked up at her. Bending her chin to her chest, she returned it almost as slyly – almost; it was evident how worked up she already was. And he savoured every second of it, every millimetre of her beneath his fingers a gift from heaven.
"Bold of you to assume I'll wear one," she countered. The smirk never leaving his face, Roy rose up to hover over her face with is. Their noses brushed, and he could not help the warmly throbbing skip of his heart where it melted purely out of sincere love for his Lieutenant.
"Rest assured, you won't have to wear a thing," he grinned. The chuckle rippling from within her chest made his own swell gladly, the hum she gave before stretching her neck in order to find his lips causing a shiver to travel down the length of his spine. That, too, made her giggle. The shiver returned when her finger traced down his back, sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt where it ghosted over his sculpted muscles. He snaked a hand from her navel to the waistband of her pyjamas.
"I'm still tired," she flatly remarked. For a second, it baffled him, eyes unbelieving and body paralyzed. But then he smirked, seeing the teasing spark in her eyes, the corners of her mouth quivering into a smile not a moment later.
"I'll make us breakfast tomorrow," he bargained before stealing another kiss.
"You're not up before me," she gave back, returning the favour.
"I will with proper motivation," he argued. Pecks became kisses, turning into heated dragging, suckling and nibbling. He felt his boxers tighten when she did not nip but fervently bit down on his lower lip. Groaning, it took him a moment to remember what he had wanted to do. His mind only clicked once detached from her bewitching kisses, working his way down her throat once more. When trying anew with his hand, there finally came that irresistible roll of her pelvis in response. His arms shook as a result, balance fleeting.
"About that proposal just now," Roy pressed between clenched teeth, his blush deepening when she giggled again at his struggle not to come undone. He froze when she retracted her hands. Instead of the anticipated retreat, they tenderly cupped his face. The colour of his cheeks rose up to the tips of his ears, her smile so soft, so caring, his heart bled out in overwhelmed gladness.
"Do you even have to ask?"