Chapter 18 - Day 191

The alarm clock startled Riza awake. Roy's throat vibrated against her face in a tired groan. His arm rose, the blanket dropping, bringing a cool breeze beneath sweltering sheets. Riza shivered.

Roy turned off the alarm. He didn't hesitate to draw the blanket back up.

"Are you cold?"

Of course he noticed. She wouldn't be surprised if he already had a hunch about her confession.

"Roy." Her voice wasn't cooperative and she had to clear her throat twice before managing another word.

He sat up, handing her a cup of stale, cold tea. It was heaven. Running down her throat to smooth out the itch, honey delicately coated her tongue. How did he always know the way she liked her tea? And how did he know of her aches, she wondered when his thumb gently rubbed circles into her lower back.

She hadn't even told him yet…

"Sir," Riza tried again, "we need to talk."

"Oh?" He raised a brow. She didn't know it was the title that surprised him. It was bad enough she had to tell him in his own bed. Or perhaps it was better this way?

Riza blinked to grasp a coherent thought. She would have to hurry before drowsiness overtook her. "I know it's not your fault. None of this is, and I don't—" Another cough seized her lungs.

Roy scooted closer. He grabbed his end of the blanket when she shivered again, wrapping it around her shoulders. Riza took a sip, then set the mug down. Or had he taken it from her? She shook her head. She needed to focus.

Her hand found his knee on the third attempt. "You don't have to do anything," she sternly said. "You're not obliged. As I said, it's not your fault, only I…" She bit her lip. Briefly shutting her eyes, Riza took a breath to prepare herself, shallow enough not to rough up her throat again. "We… I'm having a baby. Your baby."

Roy eyes widened. Riza shrunk under his intense gaze. He wasn't happy, she should have known. All their hard work – cast to the wind. But she couldn't have kept it from him, could she?

"I—"

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, Riza," he hugged her fast, "I'm surprised, but only that you're telling me. You— I'm thrilled. That's wonderful news."

"I'm glad," she sniffled. He rubbed her back, peppered her face with an onslaught of kisses. "I'm glad you're glad." How he hadn't known already with her belly pressing to his abdomen was a mystery to her.

"I am, I truly am." He didn't look any less pale.

She had to appease him somehow. "Here," Riza reluctantly wound out of his arms, reaching for the pillow, "I made something." She blinked when only finding a Desert Eagle. She looked about, the room swaying dangerously alongside her head. Roy gasped when she plunged into the covers, her hand snatching up what had tumbled to the ground. She dug it out from beneath a layer of discarded tissues.

"Riza—" He clicked his tongue. Now he sounded more worried than shocked.

Shuffling, needing a moment to catch her breath, Riza glanced up with big eyes. Roy frowned sorrily. But he indulged her, lying down again, his face so close it was almost becoming blurry. She wanted it even closer.

First this, she told herself, producing a small stuffed animal. Or whatever it was.

It had started out as an animal, yet deciding on a single one was hard. What if she was to blame for her child developing an unhealthy obsession with exotic big cats or mythical beings?

Roy stared at it. His mouth opened, then closed. He brought his hand up to cup hers. "Two— three and a half rooms painted. Sealing the plinth panels in the kitchen. Sewing the most wanton lingerie and now this. Is there anything you didn't do in those twenty‑four hours that I was in Central?"

"Sleep." His words brought images to mind, things she should have remembered doing not long ago. Less vaguely at least. The lingerie was most present. The results it had earned. "I didn't sleep, not for a minute. I was so worried you'd be shot."

"Why would anyone shoot me?"

"Not everybody likes you," Riza nagged. He had to know that.

Roy scoffed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gently, his hand travelled from her knuckles to her fingers, attention shifting to the stuffed animal.

Riza watched quietly as he inspected it. The lion‑like tuft at the end of the tail, the flat face, the pink button nose. Roy curiously plucked at the mane spiking up like a zebra's, acknowledged each colourful patch along the four‑legged body. The black round eyes were her favourite. The eyes and the smiling mouth.

"It's adorable," he complimented. Riza felt as if a truckload of concern had been lifted off her, lungs collapsing in a much‑needed sigh. "I'm afraid we're running a risk with it though – I might just steal it for myself." His grin softened. Riza beamed, feeling much like Hayate when pleasing her with a command well done.

But her smile fell, eyes overshadowing. "What if the baby won't like it?" she whispered.

"How could anyone not like it?" Roy sounded indignant.

"It's… silly."

"It's made by you."

"And what if," she averted her gaze, "the baby won't like me?"

"He will." Roy let go of the plushie to wrap her up in a hug, trapping her arm between them. "He will love you so much because you are the single best person in the world." She giggled faintly. "I mean it, Riza, don't worry about that. I'm the one who should worry – the baby will pick you over me any day."

Riza hummed pensively. He could feel her thumb trace the stuffed animal where it was squashed against his chest.

"This is the part where you're supposed to say 'no, he will love us equally'."

"With you out at work all the time?" she shot him down. Roy gave a choking, wounded sound and she giggled again. Forgetting about her fever entirely, Riza had to reanimate Roy's pretendedly fainted body with countless kisses.

Havoc unlocked the front door with what had become an emergency key. The rest of the team had their own – of Roy's flat, not of the new house. He wondered if they would have ever used it. How they would have reacted had Havoc not been the one taking Riza's distressed phone calls that night at the office.

Fuery would cry for sure. Breda would pretend he'd known all along, if solely to protect his strategist's reputation in front of himself. How Riza would have reacted to either of them, Havoc couldn't imagine. She was running hot and cold these days – had been for weeks. Physically, he prayed she wasn't feeling too hot anymore.

She had scared him witless the past night, so much so that he couldn't even recall trying to look at her bare chest. He hadn't known that he could care about someone that much.

Roy was coming down the stairs just as Havoc took off his shoes in the hall. He stepped into a small puddle that Hayate's paws must have brought in from his walk. It wasn't yet quarter past seven.

"Mornin', chief."

"Hm," Roy grumbled back. Nope, no sleep. If not his voice and attitude, the rings beneath his eyes spoke for themselves. The relief from the day before was gone entirely.

Alarmed, Havoc followed into the kitchen. An untouched coffee stood on the table, the paper still folded. Instead of paying attention to either of it, Roy peered into the teapot. He put the kettle on.

"How is she?" Havoc went to help, but Roy remained in front of the cabinets, pondering over which cup to take as if choosing an outfit for a gala. He needed that ordinariness; the mundane struggle which cup he would drink from. He chose a cup for his wife instead.

"How she is? Splendid. Just peachy. Not on fire like yesterday, moves around."

"Good."

Roy turned, his expression grim. "She just confessed to me that we're having a baby."

"And… but you already knew that."

"Yes."

Oh, boy.

Already having forgotten about the honey at the bottom, Roy poured hot water, then more honey into the teacup. His stirring clinked and clanked with agitation.

"I hate to do it, but she needs a bit more medication. Just this morning. The cool cloth last night did her well too. The sheets need changing."

"Leave it to me."

"I'll have to," Roy snapped. He eyed the uniform trousers on his legs with disdain, then abandoned the tea in favour of acetaminophen. The package rattled, foil cracking open as he popped a pill into the palm of his hand. He regarded it with the same torn condemnation. "Thank you, Havoc. I mean it."

"I know." Havoc smiled. Roy didn't.

Havoc watched him leave in a hurry, a lonely breakfast cracker between Roy's lips as he started the engine of his car.

Riza was asleep. Dozing perhaps, something she desperately needed. Havoc left the door ajar, sneaking back downstairs. He unfolded the paper. An article of resounding success at the southern border with Creta caught his eye. He cut it out for keeping. The General in charge had little to do with the peace negotiations, and Roy needed each and every argument he could get to persuade Grumman of his otherwise integer character.

Diplomacy and merit against violation of the law. There was no telling how the old coot would decide.

On silent, sock-ed feet, carrying tea, water, peanuts and for some reason a cinnamon stick Roy had left next to the medicine, Havoc made his way upstairs. Hayate waited at the foot of the bed. The moment Havoc crossed the threshold, Hayate left the room. He could be heard downstairs then, lapping up water from his bowl.

Havoc exchanged the night's tray of empty glasses with the new one. Like most things in the couple's young, combined household, it didn't match – not the wood of the furniture, not the cups or colours of the sheets, not even the other tray.

He paused when feeling watched.

"You didn't leave?" Riza's voice was hoarse and quiet.

Havoc crouched down to be at eyelevel. "Not before this morning, no. If I stay tonight as well, I'm pilfering that old mattress of yours that the chief wants to throw away. Both of your horrible couches' sleep‑worthiness is close to zero."

"I'm sorry. I'm also sorry you have to babysit again."

"Nah, don't worry about it." He waved off. "This time, I'm fully equipped. Having a car at your disposal sure is convenient. Maybe I'll make that my new dream. My own car. Right after babysitting for real – I'd love watching your little one sometime."

"But you know," Riza shook her head as if already tired of guarding said child, "it has a very stubborn man for a father."

"And a very stubborn woman for a mother," Havoc chuckled. She pouted. He kept the joke about a with stubbornness bloated baby head to himself, lest she cut herself open to avoid complications. That evening where she had shrunken into the corner, lied on the cold floor of the kitchen while holding his hand – it returned to him more than he cared to admit.

"Your back must hurt from the couch. Won't you lie down here?"

Havoc blinked, taken aback. "Well," he stole a peek at Roy's side of the bed, "I'm not sure—"

"It's fine, it is," Riza assured him. "You're a trusted friend. You won't assault me."

He laughed at that and she smiled. Still, he hesitated. Rounding the bed, he watched Riza turn over onto her back, then her other side, huffing and puffing but resolute. Stubborn.

"It's been months since I've last lied on my front," she lamented.

"We could build you a pillow fort. Prop you up."

"No," she grunted once arrived, "but thank you. Only eight weeks more; I can stand it." She should have sounded happy, looking forward to the relief, but she didn't. A frown creased her brows.

"Roy made you tea." Havoc stretched over her to grab the cup.

"I'm not thirsty. The sheets are soaked enough as they are. The last thing I need is more liquid," she said, then downed the tea in one go. Havoc cringed. She wasn't the wife of the Flame Alchemist for nothing, he thought to himself, setting the hot cup down again.

"The most important thing you need is liquid."

Doubting they had yet another set of clean sheets, Havoc went and brought the largest towel he could find. By the time he returned, Riza had eliminated two glasses of water, now suckling on the cinnamon stick.

"Anti-inflammatory," she mumbled. Secret sweet tooth, she omitted.

"Scoot over."

She did, slowly. Her face slumped somewhat dreamily into Roy's pillow.

Havoc draped the towel across the moist sheets, all the way up her pillow to absorb the sweat beading her nape. He left the blanket to air for another minute, turned it over and brought a bowl with water for cool cloths.

"This is even more comfy than it looks," he complimented the bed once settled tentatively on Roy's side again. Roy's side minus the pillow. Riza was inhaling it meditatively.

"He'll wash it all once he gets back."

"Oh, sorry," Havoc shuffled his feet off the mattress, "street clothes? I can also change the sheets again if you have more."

"We do. But Roy will redo it anyway. He has this weird quirk when it comes to sheet hygiene. His clothes too." She removed the cinnamon stick to speak, nibbling on the softened end now and again.

"Wouldn't he have to run to a laundry shop twice a week or so?"

"Mhm," she hummed. "He visits several so he won't be seen at the same one a few days later. You should see him after making— you know." Her flushed cheeks darkened. Havoc smiled. It was obvious how she was wondering why she had just said that. Not feverish enough for long‑passed admissions but still uninhibited. "He barely tolerates the damp sheets through the night – only at my place and at his only if he's exhausted. He showers first thing in the morning or does this," she plucked at the towel beneath her, "or changes the bedding.

"He has an obsession with towels too: the upper half is for his face, the lower half for his hands. When he had a guest and can't know if they stuck to his unspoken rules, he washes the towel."

Havoc snickered. "If only he'd be this meticulous about paperwork."

Riza groaned. "How often I've had that thought." Both of them grinned. "In the kitchen, he can leave a week's worth of dishes though."

Havoc laughed again. "The things I didn't know about our fierce leader. Hey, what if Hayate touches the sacred towels?"

"The end of the world," Riza moaned. They laughed together, Riza stretching it into a yawn.

Havoc's smile softened. "How about some rest?" He handed her the remaining water from the carafe, then deposited the glass and cinnamon stick on the tray.

Riza readily used the water to swallow half a pill. With heavy lids, she watched him settle back on his side. Cheek propped up on his hand, Havoc tilted his head in question.

"Tell me about your family's birthing experiences again…?"

He frowned slightly. Without thinking, he put a hand to her head. No expected scold or recoiling. Her eyes shut and she sagged into the pillow. She resembled her dog more than she thought.

He scratched lightly, smiled mildly. "Okay."

1230 hours. She should have eaten lunch by now, Roy assumed. Or had she eaten early? Was she eating later because she had had a snack in between? He hoped she did. He had left it there for Havoc, on the counter. Or in the fridge? Did Havoc know Riza liked her eggs basted? What if he poached them instead?

Roy startled when there was a knock on the door.

"General." Breda's voice. It was still odd to have him in charge of coordinating the unit's work. If anyone asked why – why Havoc was granted so many days off, why he demanded them, and why in the world Riza was missing all the time… Roy feared the day someone would ask.

He shut the book about beans and other high‑fibre foods, dropping it into a drawer. Reluctantly, he glanced at the clock.

"Ten more minutes."

Twelve. Who needed five whole minutes to get to a meeting room on the same storey?

Riza. Riza did. Not because she wasn't swift and efficient, but because she would always arrive over‑punctually if she could help it, settle in, get her notepad ready, enter conference mode.

Roy couldn't have been further from conference mode.

On the other hand, going to the meeting would spare him yet another call from poor bedridden Sherman. The bastard. All that kept him was a stupid cough, while Riza writhed with pain and passed out and—

"General." Breda pushed down the handle, never opening the door.

Roy sighed. With a grunt, he permitted entry. His eyes raised, widened.

"Sir—" Breda saluted, but his presence was forgotten when another man all but shoved past him into the room.

"General Mustang, sir." Lieutenant Colonel Pilatus saluted briskly.

"I don't have time for this." Whatever it was. Roy didn't care. His gaze flashed to the clock, then the door, but he knew merely leaving was not an option.

Fuery was at communications, so Breda had to stay behind. Someone always had to stay to prevent any more snooping incidents. It was why Roy had to go alone and take notes on his own – again.

"I know, sir. Later then." Pilatus moved into the room with the same brazen confidence Roy imagined he had had while leafing through the private archive. Pilatus' voice remained calm, polite. "But it was important to me that I bring this in personally." With an almost compulsive precision, he placed a request on the desk. A transfer request.

Roy narrowed his eyes. "As I said, I don't have time for this now."

"I think you do, sir."

Roy nearly growled. Pilatus' expression didn't change, an eager flicker in his ice‑blue eyes. It wasn't cunning or even calculating, irritating Roy. The man was hiding something – even Madame's spies said so – why wouldn't he be more obvious about it?

Annoyed, Roy was close to snapping at him, how he dared so much as assume what Roy was thinking, but then his eyes focused on the request and his tongue stumbled, stopped.

His glare hardened against the ambition shining back at him. "The position isn't open."

"I thought she wasn't coming back."

Breda, still at the door, caught on, his face pulling hideously at the thorny topic.

"That's what's going around HQ anyway. You have a meeting, don't you?" Pilatus produced pen and paper from his bag. "I can take notes."

"Much appreciated." Roy rose from his seat, palms heavy on the desk. Pilatus saluted, readying his pen. "But only authorised personnel may enter the meeting."

Oh, Major Langley would hate to see that black grimness stain Roy's face. Fuhrer Grumman would be notified.

Pilatus pursued, boots clacking down the hall after Roy.

"I understand. But as your aide, I would be allowed—"

"I am aware, Lieutenant Colonel." Roy stopped.

He wasn't stupid, although he hadn't deducted that Pilatus had been stalking him in order to gain a more favourable position. It was true, the men under Mustang had all been promoted, and he himself was the youngest Major General in the history of Amestris. But nosing around for useful information to gain favour was not a strategy Roy could support.

"I trust you are aware that my answer is 'no'."

All of those ranks had been earned through unremitting work, bloodshed and risking their very lives time and time again. How could that man demand to just be let into their circle, Roy inwardly raged. How dare he ask for the position of the Hawk's Eye? No one could ever fill those shoes, no one.

A biased point of view, of course, one that any other high‑ranking officer would have laughed at. Roy couldn't care less. Riza was the only one he wanted as his aide.

He left Pilatus standing there. Arriving just on time for the conference, he had the door thunder shut behind him. The room jumped. A Brigadier General asked a question, but Roy was too busy clicking his best pen into action as if it would somehow boost his moral; channel his anger.

When he looked up, the board ogled him with a mixture of fright and curiosity.

Langley only showed irritation. "If you're quite ready then, General."

The pen cracked in Roy's fist. "Sir."