In honour of me feeling like shit and spewing my guts out all weekend (seriously, why does that always happen when I make a character sick? divine punishment?)...
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 15
"Morning, chief." Havoc entered Roy's connected, private office. Closing the doors behind him had the men at their desks lean over to catch whatever glimpses of the mood they could. No one pried, but ever since Havoc was in on whatever they thought was happening to Hawkeye, they didn't hide it anymore – they wanted to pry.
"I'm surprised to see you here so early." Roy rubbed his temple. Havoc flashed his dirtiest, proudest grin. "Don't tell me that's General Sherman's report already." He hadn't been looking forward to it, but the fact that the man had beaten him to it was vexing to say the least. Roy had scribbled for the entire duration of the train ride! All for nothing. Every protocol after the first one was labelled a copy by default.
"His aide sent it last night." Havoc studied the envelope before breaking the seal. "Poor thing must have stayed late after he went home. Not that I could blame him. I mean I would blame him if he'd stayed any longer. The man was a bloody germ factory." He handed Roy the protocol.
"I'm not surprised you heard it all the way into the hall."
"All the way to the coffee machine is more like it," Havoc tsked. "Speaking of which – germs, I mean, not coffee," he clarified, much to Roy's disappointment. Havoc leant on the desk slightly, lowering his voice. "Rebecca says Reez has been feeling a little under the weather." He tapped his nose.
Roy frowned, trying to recall the previous night in detail. He hadn't heard her sniffle, that much he knew. Then again, all that had been ringing in his ears had been his name – his first name – moaned close to his ear, massage oil spread slickly across his back—
The echo in is ear. General Sherman coughing his lungs out. And Roy had brought it home! Kissed Riza for hours, touched every centimetre of her beautiful skin. Skin that had felt warmer than usual. He'd even noted that it had been more than pregnant-warm, but believed their long-desired activity was to blame.
If Riza came down with a cold, Roy knew there would be no one to blame but himself.
"I need to make a call." Roy's finger skidded across the dial, fumbling to find the right numbers.
Havoc shifted his weight uneasily. "Want me to run out to the pharmacy?"
"Do you know what drugs do to her right now?" Roy hissed.
"Do we know what a cold would do?" Havoc retorted. Roy paused against the finger stop. They stared at one another. Havoc sucked in his lips. "I can drop by the library first."
The dial flicked out of Roy's grasp, spinning back into a neutral position. He returned the receiver to its cradle.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
"I can ask Rebecca if she can leave earlier."
"How many people has she seen lately?"
"Me," Havoc's brows creased, "you, Hawkeye. The rest of her unit?"
"And I sat next to General Bacillus all morning," Roy growled. Folding his hands, he dropped his eyes onto them.
"So… what do we do?"
"I don't know, Havoc!" Roy barked. Havoc took a step back. He could only imagine the confusion of the others behind the doors. The last thing, they couldn't have missed. Roy's back expanded in a mute sigh. "I don't know anything anymore."
Havoc chewed his lip. He approached the desk again, shoving the protocol to the side.
"I brought it into the house."
"It might just be a cough," Havoc cautiously supplied. "And we know Hawkeye," he quietly said, "she can take it. She might just take it in her stride."
"She might, but what about the—" Roy cut himself off. He picked up the phone again. "I'm calling Hugh—Gracia Hughes. Tell Fuery to make me a private line."
"Got it." Havoc saluted, then left.
Roy swivelled in his chair, everything but keen on seeing those concerned, intrigued faces peer in. The sky was a crisp light blue, clouds drawing streaks of white. The weather had gotten colder, the days shorter. His fingers drummed on his knee impatiently. Just what had he done?
The car stuttered when Roy lifted his foot off the clutch too hastily. Killing the engine, he banged the door shut. This time, he brought the flowers from the car, their heads hanging sadly over his arm. In his other hand, he carried a new bouquet, fresh and lush with guilt.
"I'm back," he panted slightly, kicking off his boots. Hayate sniffed them, then Roy's trousers, tail wagging madly in greeting.
"Welcome home," Riza's voice reached him from the kitchen.
Taking off his coat, Roy contemplated getting changed. He hovered in the doorway, then darted up the stairs before she had so much as turned around. His skin tingled with the constant fear of carrying in more potential illness.
Returning, his feet almost tangled at the foot of the stairs when he heard her sniffle.
"Riza." Roy entered the kitchen with his bouquet. He left right away again, snatching a fluffy blanket from the couch. There was hardly a thing sexier than her wearing his shirts but they didn't keep her sufficiently warm.
"What's with the hurry?" Riza asked, then sniffled again. She was stirring in a pot that sizzled invitingly.
"You're sick, you must be cold." Roy unceremoniously dropped the flowers on the table.
"It's the onions." Riza pointed at the emptied cutting board. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. There was an urge to stuff the shirt she wore into the sweatpants she had paired it with. It wouldn't exactly work, given the size of her belly. Woolen socks were still an option though. "I'm making stew." She ignored his eyes flashing up and down. "The one with pearl barley."
"Rebecca said you were feeling under the weather."
Riza sighed in defeat. She kept stirring, gaze on the onions. "I had a bit of a clogged nose since yesterday, but I'm fine otherwise."
"You've been warmer."
"I'm with you."
Oh god, so she'd thought the same thing. The afterglow. Her delightful surprise.
Roy hugged her fast. His arms sprung back as if he'd gotten sapped by an electric fence.
"Was it the lake?" He rubbed his palms on his trousers, unsure why. She would have to change, take a shower; get rid of whatever he might have just smeared on her clothes. His hands were perfectly clean but he didn't believe them.
"The lake?" Riza brought over the broth she'd prepared. "Oh, no, not at all," she said. Biased by her love for swimming, he inwardly accused. "It's probably because I kept the windows open. I finished painting the entrance and kitchen and Hayate suffered so under the stench. It was pungent enough where I started in the bedroom – I didn't want you coming home to it, so I had that window open overnight.
"I kept a gun under my pillow though," she added. As if they were fighting a tangible enemy instead of an invisible one. She had practically invited it in. "Nothing happened."
"You caught yourself a cold, that's what happened." Roy crossed his arms. Riza glanced up from below. He shook his head – he wasn't disappointed, he was worried for goodness' sake! His feet twitched but he reluctantly refrained from a consoling hug. "Your immune system could be weakened."
"It's just a cold, if at all." She sat down at the table, drawing the blanket over her knees, sipping her enormous mug of tea. He narrowed his eyes at the way she barely swallowed a cough.
"For now." Roy frowned unhappily. "But Sherman sat next to me, spitting germs left and right throughout the meeting. What if I passed it on to you?"
"You're not sick."
"My immune system isn't ailing."
"I'm not ailing," Riza huffed, sniffling at the same time. Roy raised a brow.
He moved in front of the stove, picking up the spoon, immediately bombarded with complaints.
"No, no, I'm cooking—"
"Let me help you."
"You always roast them instead of braising."
"Tell me when to stop then."
"You don't stop, you add broth."
"Alright."
"Not yet." Riza cringed, getting up and slumping into the chair repeatedly, hands always in motion.
Roy pouted. First she risked getting sick – and the moment he was gone! – and now she didn't trust him to know the difference between toasting and steaming. Hormones were one thing, but this lack of faith…
Roy clapped his hands. Riza's were already in the air again, about to wave him towards the stove when he crouched down and touched the blanket. It contorted, wound around her legs in a perfectly sealed cocoon. Riza blinked twice.
"Undo it."
"I'm only helping—"
"Undo this now."
"You've been working yourself to death, painting room after room, moving furniture about, cooking extravagant meals. You need to take a break. Think of the baby."
"The baby is profiting from 'extravagant' meals. Give the onions a stir."
"And was that so hard?" Roy scraped the few burnt onions off the bottom of the pot, mixing them with those that might have still counted as braised. "I can't help you if you don't let me."
"And I can't help you help me when I'm tied down." She let the legs of the chair squeak for emphasis. "Take this off."
"I think I'll be putting on more." Roy eyed the closed bundle where her feet were. At least she had chosen slippers, now swallowed by the blanket. Riza opened her mouth, but he was faster, lifting the pot off the stove, tilting it to show her.
She groaned under her breath. "Next is the broth."
"And harder vegetables," Roy pre-empted knowingly. He poured in the broth, cauliflower and carrots, wincing when Riza gasped lightly.
"Now you'll have to fish out the laurel somewhere in there."
"Far from impossible," Roy tutted. "Also—" He interrupted himself when the telephone rang in the bedroom. "Be right back." He turned down the heat for good measure. Riza clicked her tongue, but he decided to hurry, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
She was feisty, he told himself to cheer up. She wasn't acting as stricken as he had feared.
She wasn't not acting stricken either, he admitted, remembering the huge tea and reddened, sniffling nose.
"Yes?" he answered the phone.
"Get something to write," Madame Christmas' gruff voice greeted on the other end.
"I'm a little busy—"
"You were right."
Roy's every sense snapped to attention. A shiver rushed down his spine, raising goosebumps.
"I was?"
"We got some heavy goods to dispatch." It's worse than you thought. "Got a pen?"
"Right," Roy swallowed. He picked up the phone from the nightstand when he found the drawer empty. The cord wasn't long enough to go around, so he crawled across the bed, lying on his side halfway on the pillows, stretching to reach his own nightstand. "Yes," he grunted, strained as he fumbled to get out a sheet of paper. "I'm listening." He clicked the ballpen into action.
"I'll be sending someone over soonish." In two days. "A lovely gal; you'll like her. Buy her some flowers – roses or tulips. And her birthday is on the third of June. Be sure to remember it. She is a very good client. She wants to go to the New Optain Bites for dinner and dancing afterwards."
"Hold on." Roy needed a moment to switch the receiver, hooking it between his ear and shoulder. He was out of practice, his wrist stiff and the notes not flying across the paper like they used to. Just a year back, in full agent mode during the preparations for the Promised Day, he would have decoded the message in time with writing it. Now he had problems just keeping up. "Dancing... foxtrot?"
"Jive. Pay attention," Madame Christmas chided.
Jive. Quick steps, first step back, meaning backwards. Optain first then. June was the sixth month. The sixth letter in Optain was an N – a place with N. Nefraum, southern Central area. One stop from the main station. Next was the third day of the month in the first word, New: W. Western Nefraum.
There was a pub there whose owner was an old acquaintance of Chris.
"Did you fall asleep?"
"I'm here," Roy growled. He didn't need her impatience when he was impatient with himself. "Just… how many goods are we talking?" How bad is it really?
"Let's just say you were right to mistrust the guy," she said non-cryptically. It made a whole new level of discomfort rise in him. "Be careful out there. Hold your tongue. For Elizabeth's sake."
"What about my own sake?" Roy grumbled. Those two had met on less occasions than he could count on one hand, and yet, Riza was his mother's favourite child.
Chris laughed. "Don't be late for your date," she warned, mockingly wishing a good night. Roy sighed against the beeping sound. Replacing the receiver, then the telephone on the nightstand, he stared at his notes. He would have to burn them soon.
For Riza's sake, he thought, scooting off the bed. Urgency reared its ugly head. His feet flew more than they walked, only to find Riza nearly at the top of the stairs. Sitting there, she repositioned her shackled feet. Arms behind her, she heaved herself one step higher. She couldn't risk jumping, not up the stairs and not in general either.
Roy sighed under his breath. Feisty was the right word for sure. As stubborn as always.
She heard him approach, not protesting when his hands slipped under his arms, lifting her up. He carried her to bed, reconsidering only then.
"Did you want to go to the bathroom?"
Riza grabbed his shirt. Roy tensed, unable to catch himself in time, collapsing alongside her.
"I turned off the stove."
"Aren't you hungry?"
"Are you?"
He was now, but he didn't tell her. It wasn't food anymore that he suddenly craved for. "I'll live."
"Good." Riza pulled on his shirt, kissing her way up the side of his neck. "I was thinking that if you'd remove these fetters, you might get a reward." She wiggled in her transmuted mermaid-tail blanket.
Roy blushed. After the day before, he had every right to do so, he found. "I like the sound of that." He clapped his hands, the blanket unfolding.
Immediately, Riza's legs wrapped around his. He hesitated when she tilted up her chin.
Against her request, he brushed a kiss to her forehead. "I don't want you to become sick."
"I might already be," Riza whispered honestly. "I want to enjoy this while I still can," she said, grinding persuasively against him.
Roy groaned. His hips bucked without his consent. "I can't kiss your mouth and you'll shower immediately afterwards."
"In disinfectant," Riza purred sarcastically. "Now take off those clothes."
Roy laughed, then sputtered something nonsensical when she took it upon herself to free him. She giggled, which convinced him almost as effectively as the gyrating of her pelvis. The last thing he seriously contemplated was that she could already be feverishly mindless.
Discarding the thought, Roy relaxed, enjoyed himself as much as her while somehow strictly sticking to his promise, almost to the point of ruining the moment. He took care of dinner while she showered, then set it aside to match her everchanging appetite, settling for grilled cheese sandwiches and two fingers under her skirt.
The swishing sound continued. The lace curtains perhaps. Someone pulled them back and forth, back and forth. Almost the same sound as Riza pacing, Roy thought. He frowned. Then he frowned for real, his dream filtering into reality where he was in bed, on his side, the pillow sliding off the mattress. Still, the swishing noise persisted.
Riza.
He wasn't alarmed. Worried though, he was. Opening his eyes slot-wide, the darkness of the night refused to show him anymore than shadows. And then Riza.
Just then, she was turning one final time, marching back where she had been matching forth for who knew how long. Her balance swayed slightly.
"Stop," she whispered. "I can't sleep."
Roy's frown turned empathetic.
She slumped against the bedpost, sliding onto the floor, legs a bent mess on the carpet. The carpet which wasn't cold, yet she shivered.
Hayate pattered up to her.
She dropped her head back against the mattress. "Stop it, stop it, please." Her entire body jolted, hands twitching. "I don't know what that means!" she hissed desperately.
Roy wanted to raise his voice when Hayate grumbled. He did so again, animatingly.
Riza drew an exasperated breath. Ready to explain, she paused instead. Their eyes met. Hayate's flashed down, then back to hers. She followed his gaze.
"Can you hear it?" she whispered. He gave another sound, like a hum. Her brows creased.
She plucked at the buttons of her shirt – Roy's shirt – freeing her belly completely. Hayate looked on, waiting. She did too. He stepped closer, and this time it was her who hummed, feebly.
His cold nose touched her navel. Riza sucked in a breath. Roy was holding his too.
Hayate snuffed, nudged gently. A wry smile wobbled onto Riza's lips.
"Tell it to go to bed," she said quietly. "Can it sleep in there? Is it keeping me awake because it can't?"
Hayate tilted his head at her. She pulled a face, helpless. Another kick made her wince with discomfort. "Stop." Her hands raised, hovered. "Down, baby," she snapped.
Hayate obediently lied down. Riza sighed. Grateful for the replacement action, she outstretched her hand to pet her dog rather than her abdomen.
"Sleep, baby," she said, gently, as gently as she would tell Hayate. Her hand retracted, stood in the air. Roy could see the gears in her head turn. He closed his eyes. Sure enough, he felt her gaze bore into him a second later. Focusing on regular breathing, Roy waited a long moment. Hayate's tail was all he could hear, replacing Riza's pacing where he wagged soothingly.
Venturing a peek into the half-dark, Roy found Riza's hands still in place – out of place. They jerked when there was another kick from inside her belly.
She gulped. Then she touched it. "Please let Mummy sleep." She stroked down tentatively, flinching away when receiving a kick. Hesitating, fighting herself all over again, Riza laid her hand over the bump once more. "Sleep," she cooed, "sleep, baby."
Her caresses lost their edge and her frown eased more and more. Her breathing betrayed her, tense and tired. Quicker than usual – like her temperature was higher than usual pregnant too. Eyes flickering up, Riza smiled slightly at Hayate. He had closed his eyes, only opening them when she scratched his ear. Appeased, he went back to his bed. Riza watched, her hand now almost absently stroking up and down her belly.
She turned to Roy again. For a long time, she only looked. Couldn't see; couldn't be sure with the nightstand shrouding his eyes into the shadows. His growing smile gave him away.
Riza huffed. Laboriously, she dragged herself up. Roy smiled even more when she left, hiding her blush with a visit to the bathroom. He heard her blow her nose, the litheness of the moment erased. Another moment passed where he heard her chug a second glass of water.
When she returned, she wordlessly slipped under the covers, remaining on her side of the bed. Roy almost laughed. He turned, slung his arm around her and onto the baby. She never let her hand hang down there anymore, but he wouldn't miss it for a single night. He kissed her nape. Riza grumbled something unintelligible. His smile turned teasing.
And then, as if to honour his silence, her hand snuck onto his. Only his hand, he noticed. His fingers splayed. Inviting the tips of hers between them, he acquainted her with the baby she had only just dared to meet for the first time in nearly seven months.