Still funny how my past self was convinced this would be over and done in some 7 chapters...

Chapter 26 - Day 232

This was it. His chance to witness greatness.

General de Havilland nodded at him as if to confirm. What a generous man. Training up Major General Chinook to follow in his footsteps after retirement was one thing – Generals usually left one hell of a mess for their successors to be remembered as 'the better one'. Not so de Havilland.

Now, he even invited someone as low as a Warrant Officer to the meeting in the East. Warrant Officer Beckwith was more than ready to learn.

There wouldn't be an occasion to shine, he knew. Generally being a realist hadn't kept him from making up scenarios all the way to the East tough. Major General Mustang had been a part of most of them, if not all.

There he was. Mustang. In the flesh. The Flame Alchemist. The Hero of the Promised Day. Conjurer of flames the size of houses, biting their way through to their opponent like an insatiable serpent.

Beckwith had been there that day, hiding in what had been left of Central Headquarters, watching the massive showdown between good and evil. The Fullmetal Alchemist was an impressive kid to be sure, but it was the Flame Alchemist who still sent Beckwith's heart racing in the black of the night with his power over the elements.

That very man – Major General Roy Mustang – was now just a mere metre away. Almost opposite Beckwith – diagonally opposite but still close! – he sat, occasionally twirling his pen between his fingers. Beckwith caught himself staring at them. Those fingers that could snap anything they wanted into ashes.

Mustang wasn't wearing gloves. In uniform, his hair slicked back, he was being… weird.

He sat around the long table like everyone else. Broad shoulders squared, back straight, hunching only when picking up his glass of water, he was on the more disciplined side. His expression was serious. He asked the right questions, exhibited sympathy at the right times – genuine too, from what Beckwith could tell.

And then he would smile.

Completely and inexplicably randomly, Mustang smiled. It had nothing to do with the situation! Any other look on his face matched the atmosphere. He was listening, he read the mood, but then he'd just…

There! Like that!

General de Havilland was reading out a list of arrangements to be made for an upcoming prisoner transport, and the second he got to the infamous bump in the Western Road, Mustang smiled. His gaze went down to his notepad but he didn't write. He didn't read either, not that Beckwith could tell. He just smiled to himself. It was almost… cute.

Not that Beckwith was into him, no, no. He simply… admired Mustang. From a safe distance.

It was pretty weird though, right? Mustang did it again when someone commented on the bloated ego of an Aerugean representative. Then again! This time the rest of the participants laughed because General Sherman couldn't hide his cravings for the cashews and walnuts on the table.

Mustang didn't laugh. He smiled. It was a private smile, only for himself. Maybe he had an insider with Sherman about nut cravings?

Beckwith took a sip of water. He had been staring for too long. He had made up plenty of scenarios about the meeting – about himself, naturally, being of immense use, asking one of Mustang's genius questions, receiving a pat on the back from Mustang for his good work. Even with all these mental preparations, he wasn't ready for those smiles; for something so… personal.

What an insightful meeting, what a day!

"Uuh, that's some good cleavage." Havoc twisted in the passenger seat, eyes straining around the B-pillar and after the young woman on the pavement. "I'll buy Rebecca a shirt like that. The skirt wasn't bad either." He un‑twisted, side-eyed his superior. "Lots of thigh."

"That's great." Roy was smiling.

"When she bent over, I saw lace and blue stripes."

"Right."

"And a dinosaur."

"Lovely."

Smiling, but not listening. Havoc snickered.

"Say, chief, what if you have a daughter and she gets Hawkeye's thighs? Won't be a problem to find a boyfriend, will it?"

"Of course, she—" Roy frowned very deeply very suddenly. Havoc laughed. "What did you say?"

Havoc laughed more. Roy grumbled something, annoyed, but then he sighed and shook his head. His smile returned almost immediately.

"Fine, you got me. Now what were we talking about?"

"We weren't talking about anything. Just wondering how your new family addition is doing," Havoc lied.

Roy scowled. "Gets plenty of attention, that's how she's doing."

In his mind's eye, the constant images of Riza and her growing belly were replaced with that Friday morning two weeks ago. Grumman's voice echoed in his ear.

"Good morning, dear," he said to Riza, and then to Roy, "Look alive, Mustang. Oh—" He stopped short in his tracks. "Pancakes? First thing in the morning?"

Roy and Riza held their breaths.

"I love it!"

They deflated in unison. Until the doorbell rang.

Riza winced. Grumman watched as she plucked on the already shut curtains nervously. Roy clapped his palms together as if ridding himself of the flour he had set aside ages ago. Casually, he slipped a hand into his pocket, just enough to feel the ignition cloth of a glove. He didn't need it anymore to transmute, but he hadn't transmuted enough without it to stop relying on its presence.

There was no one at the door. Roy blinked at the bag at his feet. An opened package of dog food? There was a mat too, like a doormat or shabby blanket, full of short white hair. Hayate was beside it at once, inhaling the white hair, snuffing his nose closely into the mat instead of trying to pilfer food from the bag.

That was when he saw her.

Half grabbing his hackles, half getting a grasp of the collar, Roy narrowly caught Hayate. He shoved him behind himself. Adamant, Hayate's nose pushed between Roy's knees, sucking in the biggest gulps of air that it possibly could.

At the street stood a figure. Tall, lean.

Langley. He must have parked the car further down. He stood there in the cold, the sky lighting up behind him but the sun nowhere to be seen yet. His face was disappearing behind a scarf and he had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his winter coat. From one of the pockets came the leash he was holding.

White fur. A crossbreed maybe. She had little flappy ears and deep black eyes, looking lost, insecure, and oh, Riza would adore her.

"Right on time." Grumman danced past Roy, down the few steps and along the path parting their minuscule front yard. "Good job, Langley. You may wait in the car."

"Sir." Langley was briskly relieved of the leash, saluted and turned on the heel.

Roy stuttered for words while Grumman merrily towed the frightened puppy towards him. "Your aide doesn't kid around." Was all that made it past his lips.

"He's very efficient. You may trust him."

"I'll say." Roy tutted, bamboozled. Had Grumman ordered the dog to be stolen? Had he already had an excuse or had he simply told Langley to 'come up with something' as he liked to promise, leaving the man brooding all night and implementing his plans that very morning? It hadn't been a whole nine hours since Langley had been sent off.

"Do move aside a minute," Grumman told Roy.

Mystified, Roy merely stumbled backwards. He pulled himself together to take Hayate to the living room while Grumman hustled a very reluctant strange dog into the strange territory of another dog. Tail clamped between her hind legs, ears down but flickering every which way, she ducked her head, leant into the collar to wriggle out of it. The door shut, shook from the impact, spooking the poor creature further.

Her whimper summoned Riza.

"Oh—" Her words dried out as well, but not for long. Roy could see it on Grumman's face: he had never heard her speak to much at a stretch. Cooing, lulling softly, Riza immediately took to the new arrival. She offered her hand, and they sat on the floor – just the two of them – for twelve minutes until the dog finally approached her.

Grumman wasn't needed for the leash anymore – with him outside the kitchen and Roy and Hayate just beyond, there was no way the new dog was going to set foot outside the kitchen. She hunched into the corner, but neared Riza little by little, accepted treats and only pressed herself into the corner again when Hayate started to whimper with impatience.

Roy didn't remember if Grumman had said anything more. He must have, but it had faded somewhere amidst what Roy couldn't remember to have said himself. They had become redundant in that moment.

It had cost Riza a lot to tear herself away and see the two off; thank Grumman for his gift. It seemed to have rejuvenated him by at least ten years. Langley's face said as much, the usual no‑bullshit face streaked with slight puzzlement and perhaps concern about his superior's glow.

Langley had promised Lieutenant Chaffee a promotion on the condition of training new recruits. In the South. A temporary transfer, perhaps, but with an instant offer to take the dog off his hands. That was the second and final time when Roy had seen a hint of emotion in Langley's expression – when retelling how the Second Lieutenant had carelessly jostled the dog towards the Major.

Whether that would make Roy trust Langley was another issue.

For now, he practised his favourite new hobby: sneaking into the house. Having dropped Havoc off after work, Roy inserted the house key in slow‑motion. He was early. Hopefully, the neighbours weren't around to see him stand in front of his own place for a good minute, opening the door with an impossible tardiness lest it creak. He took off his shoes before entering.

Avoiding the third, most noisy step, he tiptoed up the stairs. The dogs hadn't heard and he knew why when he reached the top. His ears tingled hotly, stretched around the corner.

"… from the field,

"One little sheep, two little sheep,

"Up until evenin' comes." Riza sang in a range that was vastly unfamiliar to him, light and high and sweet. Roy's chest began heat up too, his face flushing.

A nursery rhyme.

"The dog runs out,

"Brings them back home from… hm hm," she filled the blanks with hums.

"One little pig, two little pigs,

Up until evenin' comes. Don't worry, I'll remember the words in time." Her hand strayed to her belly. With the other, she was holding a brush. Roy squinted, distinguished what might have represented a sheep, white paint on yellowing wallpaper, when Riza overpainted her creation shortly after. The longer he looked though, the more animalistic shapes he spotted.

She was taking it easy. She was playing around with a song and paint. She was covering it all up again, yes, but she took her time, caressed her belly or the dogs' heads – always both of them – focused on finding the words of a nursery rhyme instead of painting diligently.

Roy's knuckles hovered at the doorframe to announce himself when she sighed.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're causing?"

He froze. She didn't turn around though. Thanks to her singing, neither did the dogs where they snuggled together near the crib and away from the bucket of paint. It had taken 'Sally' precisely five days to warm up to Hayate. Six and they were inseparable. The weekend in the secluded hut and the surrounding woods had been a blessing not only for the dogs.

Riza recoated her brush with paint. Her movement was agitated, worrying Roy. After how far she had come; after just now…

Hayate lifted his head.

Riza shook hers in reply. "It's alright, boy, there's nothing you can help me with. I just… don't know how to feel." She was beginning to sound distressed. Roy's brows creased with pity. He had thought she meant him, but her hand wandered once more, round and gentle over her belly. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You weren't supposed to make me this happy."

She spooked when Roy couldn't keep to himself then, a pained, adoring grunt escaping his throat. The tingling was gone, transformed into wild buzz through his every limb alongside an itch in his eyes.

Hayate barked. Sally copied him but only once. Hayate was already up, wagging his tail strongly, sniffling Roy's uniform.

"You scared me." Riza hastily swiped the brush across her doodles.

Roy sank to his knees. Sally got up too then, and she and Hayate swarmed around Roy but he made no attempt to evade them. He collapsed onto his back, was floating in what felt like a dream.

"Riza," he croaked, "my love." His hand grasped the fabric over his heart.

Riza blushed a deep crimson. "I don't know what you mean." She turned back to the wall, studying it hastily for leftover drawings. Roy died some more, and eventually, she gave in with an especially theatrical roll of her eyes. He grinned. "Stop sneaking up on me. I'm armed."

"I love you so much," Roy cawed. She gave him a look.

Closing the bucket of paint, Riza wiped her hands on the cardboard she had laid on the floor for protection. Roy opened one eye a slot wide. Hayate's nose was right above his face, breathing on him warmly, carrying a stink of sleep and—

"Did you give him fish?"

"No," Riza stepped over Roy, "I gave them both fish."

Tuna cravings. He'd seen the cans in the bin the week before, two in one day.

He grabbed her ankle. Riza shrieked, falling. Roy shot up to sit, catching her halfway. The dogs barked, jumped at him amidst the chaos. The brush dropped from Riza's hand, right onto the threshold, splashing paint across the floorboards and on Roy's black coat.

"Great job."

"The baby makes you happy?" It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement.

Riza's face turned three additional shades of red. Squished in his arms that were her undoing as well as her rescue, she avoided his eyes at all costs.

"The baby makes her happy," Roy giddily told Hayate. Hayate's tail wagged even more. He licked Riza's boiling face, making full use of the way she was trapped. Roy's grin broadened. She groused something unintelligible, turning to Sally who was being equally unhelpful but distributed just as much slobbery affection.

Leaning out of the dog shower – leaving Riza at their mercy though – Roy's gaze focused on the table for the first time. The lamp from the nightstand was there, next to the sewing machine. Something lied under the needle. On the chair too. Fabric hung over the backrest, a little plump and with what appeared to be legs.

"Did you…?" Roy's eyes grew exponentially. "Is that a romper suit?"

Riza squirmed. Distracted, Roy tightened his embrace too late. She escaped to the bathroom, the dogs on her heels as always, observing her, enamoured, while she rinsed the paint brush.

Roy didn't think for even a moment about cleaning up the mess on the floor. He crawled over to the chair. It was a romper suit. Buttons lined the front of the rubber‑duck‑printed fabric. Another romper suit had fallen onto the seat of the chair. Lilac, fuzzy terrycloth ran through his fingers. He lifted what he found was a hood – a tiny hood for a tiny baby head. Feeling the fabric, Roy's thumb happened on a slub. Upon further inspection, it was no material defect, it was embroidery. Under each foot, she had added the pads of a dog's paw.

Riza winced next door when her husband once again toppled to the floor in dramatic, wheezing adoration. She ignored him for as long as she could. Her face was on fire. Just how much worse was it going to be once she held the baby in her arms? She could already picture his squint, jealous of breast feeding.

Riza picked up a bottle of detergent and wetted a rag to clean the floor. She threw a glance over her shoulder, eyed the bottle. Only when Roy was downstairs, clinking with collars and leashes, did she dare. Bundling the detergent into a towel, she cradled it on her arm.

Holding a baby. Her baby. The idea made her insides stir with a feeling she couldn't quite describe.

Quickly resolving the confusing situation, Riza went to scrub the paint off the floor.

"Wait till I'm back," he called up the stairs. "It's my fault anyway."

"It'll be dry by then." Shuffling forward on her knees, Riza poked her head around the corner. Another twist in her stomach – their baby. His baby. She couldn't help a smile. Surprised, he mirrored it tenfold.

"I'll be right back," Roy promised.

"No, you'll give them a proper walk."

"They're still tired from the weekend."

"Excuses, honey. See you in twenty minutes."

"Yes, ma'am…" Roy mumbled. Oh, but he grinned, to the setting sun and back.

Opening and closing the door brought a chill blowing up the stairs, creeping under Riza's jumper. She had considered sewing herself some properly fitting clothes with all the fabric Rebecca had brought, but then again, it would be over soon. Soon…

Her hand wandered to her belly. Then lower. Riza shut her eyes, trying to relax, trying to blank out the anticipation of pain. She could do it, she tried to tell herself.

She didn't believe it.

It would be worth it, she wanted to hammer into her brain, her scrubbing on the floor becoming forceful.

She recalled the image of Roy at the bottom of the stairs just now. Roy making pancakes. Roy towelling down, Roy signing paperwork, Roy sweeping dust off and behind the nightstand when he thought she wasn't looking, Roy slicking back his hair and shifting gears in his car and holding her. Roy kissing her in the morning, in the evening.

He would be with her.

Riza took a deep inhale and closed her eyes. Not just yet. There was still time.

She was about to release her breath when the lock of the front door rattled. Her hand flew to the gun under her skirt. Roy wouldn't come back this early, not after she'd admonished him. Or would he? Had something happened?

Fine grating noises betrayed a lock‑picker at work. Riza snuck down the stairs, loaded her gun and hid behind the door. Her aim didn't waver when he let himself in, but her heart vaulted into her throat.