The days following Havoc's diagnosis are tense. Riza continues to stand guard, relieved only for short stretches by the Fuery or Falman. The prison-break story they've used to cover their actions is paper-thin, ready to fall apart the moment someone starts to ask questions, but apparently nobody does.
When they're alone, Mustang doesn't speak to her unless necessary. In front of the others, he seems himself, continuing to conspire, plan, and plot with alacrity, but when he's alone, he falls into a black despair. He spends hours flipping through medical texts, researching what he can about spinal cord injuries, and Riza fears that human transmutation is on his mind, as it was the day they stood together over Hughes' grave.
Then, he confided his fears in her, allowing her to shoulder the burden with him. Now, he's silent, stoic, shutting her out. He treats her with civility, with cordiality, and she returns the same, but inside her unease grows.
This bitter darkness she's seeing grow inside him, this streak of cruelty and thirst for vengeance…It disturbs her.
But then, when Havoc tells them that he's being discharged from the military, forgetting himself in his own grief, Mustang's response brings a softness to her heart she feared was gone forever. She sees the humanity in him again, in the way he still hopes for Jean, his friend, despite the bleakness of the circumstances.
When she exits the room, looking for Mustang, she's a little alarmed not to find him in the hallway just outside. She races down, turns a corner, and then finds him sitting on the edge of a bench.
"Sir," she says quietly as she approaches, "you'll re-open your wound. Please don't push yourself so hard." He takes a deep breath, but speaks to the floor, his voice low.
"Bring me my uniform."
"Sir," she protests, "You're still in no condition to check out of here."
The glare he turns on her makes her head spin. The confident man who'd spoken so encouragingly to his injured friend is gone, again.
"Just bring it."
Riza lowers her gaze, unable to face her own ineffectiveness, unable to reach him in this desperate place.
"Yes, sir."
—-
Most people probably wouldn't notice the slight catch in his step, the way he just barely favors one side over the other, or the change in his posture, but Riza does.
She pulls the car around, exits, and opens the door for him, salutes and stands ready.
"Sir."
"Lieutenant. At ease," he says, passing her.
She settles behind the wheel of the car and starts to drive.
"Where to, sir?"
"Central command, obviously." He leans to the side, looking out the window, and she realizes she can't hold her peace with this.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," she requests, even as cold sweat breaks out on her neck. He turns his head to look at her, and his eyes are strangely black again.
"Granted," he says, tersely.
"Sir, are you sure about this?" Riza takes in a breath, but plunges ahead. "We don't have enough evidence yet to even know what we're looking at. You could take more time, rest and heal, wait for the information to come to you."
"What are you fighting for, Lieutenant?" he snaps, suddenly angry. "What supplies your resolve?"
"I'm in this, the same as you!" she answers back, stung.
"Oh really?" His voice is low and filled with menace. "You're in it for the good of the people, for Amestris? To atone for your crimes?" His voice is cruel, mocking, but she nods.
"Or are you in it for the fairy-tale? Do you still think there's a handsome prince waiting for you at the end of this story, Riza?"
She gasps, stricken.
"I hate to spoil the book, but it doesn't end that way!"
They drive in silence for several long moments. There's nothing to say, no response possible for the accusations he's hurled at her, because it's at least a little bit true, and they both know it. Riza feels shame lick at her insides like flames.
Suddenly, Mustang orders, "Pull over."
Riza follows his gaze to see the Elric brothers and obeys.
—-
The next three hours pass in a blur of activity. They work well together, moving as a team, as one, just as they always have. Helping Mustang use Fuery's radio equipment to place false calls and fool the authorities is almost fun.
"It's time," Mustang says finally, "They're near St. Louis Street. Go give them backup."
She doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask him to confirm his orders, and gives no reason for him to question her again.
"Yes, sir." She listens to his instructions, packing her bag, borrowing Fuery's glasses in a last moment improvised "disguise", repeating her affirmative, "Yes, sir."
At the door, she hesitates.
"If I make any progress I'll call you at this location, so please don't move," she says.
"All right," his reply is tense, as though he's barely listening.
She can't live with herself if she doesn't caution him, once more.
"Do not enter the battle, sir," she insists.
He doesn't turn to look at her, but she could almost swear she hears a smile in his voice as he responds.
"I know."
—-
At the end of the night, when Mustang tells her he's going to military command, she feels in her gut that something is wrong. A week ago, she'd have told him. They'd have discussed it together, run scenarios and counter-scenarios, pored over the evidence together until they came to a decision. In the wake of his accusations about the source of her resolve, Riza keeps her mouth shut.
As she stops the car in an alleyway not far from Central Headquarters, what should have been a discussion, instead becomes a soliloquy.
"First I need to learn who my enemies are within Central Headquarters. I can't force their hand just yet…" She pulls clean uniforms for each of them from under the back seat. "I have to play along a while longer. Meanwhile, I'll keep looking for allies on the outside, and when the time comes even those who are neutral will be forced to rise up when they learn that the head of this country is a homunculus." They clean up as best they can, then return to the car. "The enemy might already be aware that I've come into contact with Gluttony. We must be cautious."
She pulls right to the front steps, then exits to open the door for him.
"Well then," Mustang quips, looking up at the impressive stone facade, "is this the gateway to glory or the entrance to hell?" He shakes his head and sighs. "Wait for me here, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." She closes the door and leans against the side of the car. Mustang stops and half turns back towards her.
He speaks casually, off-handed: "If something should happen to me, save yourself."
A pulse of anger bursts through her forced calm.
"No, sir," she says.
He turns fully back towards her, his hands on his hips, angry, too.
"That's an order," he states.
"I can't obey that, sir," she insists. Hawkeye stands, posture erect, military-precision at the side of the car, her hands behind her back.
"Stubborn, aren't you?" Mustang hisses, the anger she had hoped forgotten flaring up again. "An order must be obeyed, whether you like it or not!"
"Court-martial me if you have to, sir," she says, standing her ground. Their eyes meet.
Riza knows she will continue to protect him until her last breath. She will fight by him and for him- with him if necessary, as evidenced by the past few days- and never give up. Her goal to elevate this man to the top of Military Command, to see him become the Fuhrer-President and bring justice is all that matters to her.
Because his crimes are her crimes, and she has the scars to prove it. She must atone for her actions, and his way is the only one she's found, the only path that's ever seemed right. She isn't in this because of the man he is but for the leader she still hopes he can become.
Mustang sighs and turns away again.
"I suppose I should appreciate your resolve," he grumbles. "As you wish." As he moves closer to the command building, calling back to her, his voice becomes light with a forced bravado she's sure he doesn't feel. "I'll come back for sure, so wait for me!"
"Yes, sir!" Her last words she's sure are too quiet for him to hear, but she speaks them anyway. "Best of luck to you in battle, sir."
—-
She doesn't quite manage to stay standing out front all night long. She takes a couple of short breaks, sitting in the front seat, but she stands again every time she feels her eyes starting to close. The last thing she wants is for Mustang to return and find her dozing off. What might he think of my resolve, then?
The sun has well and truly risen when she hears her name. She turns swiftly to see Fuery racing towards her.
"What's the matter, Master Sergeant?" she asks, alarmed by the look on his face. Surely, he can't have heard anything she doesn't know?
"They told me I'd find you here. You tell me what's going on!" he insists.
"The Colonel paid a visit to Military Command last night and hasn't come out since."
"What?! Did he at least send word of his status?"
Riza tenses.
"None."
As Fuery explains about the transfer orders their unit has received, a suspicion creeps along her spine. When she sees the Fuhrer's personal secretary approaching, along with another officer, takes the envelope from Personnel Affairs, and reads it, she knows her suspicion is correct.
The corruption goes farther than they'd dared to fear. The military is under the complete control of the homunculi, and Mustang's team is caught up in a trap that cannot be escaped.
The Fuhrer's secretary…..They're going to use her as a hostage, to try to keep Mustang in line. Which means that he's alive.
Relief sweeps through her, followed swiftly by burning guilt. Someone must have seen, must have heard about her reaction to Lust's taunts at the Third Laboratory. She's become a weak point, a thing to be used against him. Despair threatens, but she is stronger than this, damnit, and she will not crumble, will not cry again at the first sign of resistance!
"Very well," she says simply. She looks up at the officers, and gives a stiff salute. "Sirs." Beside her Fuery gasps, remembering himself and does the same.
Once they're out of sight, her posture relaxes.
"Go home, Kain," she says quietly, sadly, "Go home and pack."
"Okay, Lieutenant," he says. "Um, what about Black Hayate?"
"Oh," Riza sighs. "Yes, of course. Would you be so kind as to bring him to my apartment? You remember where I keep the spare key?"
His gaze flicks to hers, recognizing the code. He's to return the dog, and set up a secondary phone line in her apartment, leaving the phone number under the front door mat, in the space that a spare key would normally reside. He doesn't need a spare key to her apartment, because he already has one.
This isn't the end for them. They've got backup plans and clandestine operations in place, ready to go for every eventuality, thanks to the keen wit of the men she works with. They'll continue to fight through this.
—-
Roy scratches his head as he watches the Elrics flee (after practically robbing him). He stretches lightly, feeling the stitches in his side pull tight. Then, with a sudden flash, he realizes Hawkeye is still waiting. He hasn't sent her a scrap of news all night, and she swore she'd wait for him.
He dashes towards the front of the building, holding his side, breathing hard, and when he reaches the gate to see that she's not there….
What an absolute fool!
He'll never forgive himself, he knows, for a long line of things, but this is one he'll have to add to that list. He'd treated her so terribly, the entire time he'd been hospitalized.
He'd purposely pushed her away. After nearly losing her to Gluttony, seeing her on the ground at the Third Laboratory, being momentarily convinced he'd lost her, too, waking at the hospital and kissing her, then finding out that she'd been on her knees, weeping for him…..
Coming so soon after Hughes' funeral, his own inability to control himself in the midst of his grief, his own damnable need for her presence beside him…It was too much. His reprimand had been unnecessarily severe, and he'd held her at more than arm's length since. But he should have listened to her words of caution. They wouldn't be in this mess now, if only…And now he's lost her…
"Hmm, you don't look well, Colonel," Armstrong remarks, and Roy doesn't have enough civility left in him to respond politely.
"Do you think any man would look pleased to find a mustachioed muscle-man in place of the young woman he's expecting?" he snaps.
Of course she wouldn't be dumb enough to wait around for an entire night…Or maybe the President called for her….I just hope she's okay!
"Colonel!" The relief that sags through him at the sound of her voice is so intense, he'll never be sure how he stays on his feet in his weakened condition. "Are you alright? You were gone so long I was afraid you wouldn't come back!" He can only stare numbly at her for a tense moment, then she flushes.
"Oh, excuse me! Lieutenant Hawkeye, reporting back from the latrine, sir. Major Armstrong passed by and was very kind to watch my post for a few moments." She salutes, and then gives the Major a slight bow, and Roy feels the terrible fear in his chest loosen its grip.
"So," he asks slowly, confirming, "you didn't flee?"
She looks up at him, and her eyes are sad.
"Who do you think it was that told me to strengthen my resolve?" she asks.
He actually chuckles, the relief is so palpable, it's like he can breathe a little easier. There's still a hard road ahead.
"Just don't tell me later that you wish you had run away, Lieutenant," he says, scratching his head as they return to the waiting car.
"I think it's a bit late for that, Colonel."
—-
They drop Armstrong off a few blocks away from military command, and the silence that falls between them is heavy again. Hawkeye hadn't liked the way her commanding officer talked of fighting monsters and feeling human. There was something in his eyes that made her heart stutter in an unpleasant way.
"I'll drive you home, then, sir," Hawkeye says quietly, putting the car in gear. They reach his apartment within minutes.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Mustang says, clearing his throat.
"Yes, sir.".
"Hawkeye," he says quietly, "you have more resolve in your trigger finger than I have in my entire body. You know that, right?"
She gives him a wan smile. Still, he doesn't make a move to exit the vehicle.
"These past few days," he continues, "I know my behavior has been…less than professional towards you."
"You don't have to-."
"Oh, but I do." He sighs heavily. "It seems my own capacity for cruelty knows no boundaries when it comes to you, Lieutenant. I'm sorry."
Tears burn at her eyes again at his words, but she will not let them fall.
"No apology needed, sir." Her voice wavers, and she stares straight ahead, but then he reaches out and tenderly traces her cheek with the tip of his thumb, and her resolve breaks, a single tear making its way past her eyelid. He hisses when it hits his skin, as though it had burned him.
"Riza," he whispers, and she still refuses to look at him. She can't, because it will all come breaking through the surface.
Instead, she says, "At four o'clock, sir, there's a black car. Surveillance."
"I know," he answers, and she gives a shaky chuckle.
"You should get out of the car, sir."
"I know." His hand is still on her cheek, and she wants so badly to lean into its warmth. Is he trying to test her resolve? Hasn't she proved it to him, over the past twenty-four hours, that she's in this fight for the right reasons? Another tear drips down her other cheek. She hopes he hasn't seen it.
"I'll be fine, sir," she says quietly, still not meeting his eyes. "You should get some rest." Her words, finally, seem to break the spell he's under, and he lets his hand fall away from her soft skin.
"Right," he says. "Big day tomorrow." His look is grim. Finally, he reaches for the door handle. She realizes, too late, that she's supposed to go around and open the door for him, but she supposes it doesn't matter, now. "I'll be seeing you, Lieutenant Hawkeye," he says, looking over his shoulder one last time before he hauls himself up, wincing. She still can't look into his eyes.
"Goodbye, Colonel Mustang."
—-
He doesn't expect to see her again the next day, but there she is, knocking on the outer door of the office, as though it's nothing out of the usual. Which, of course is the gambit, right now, to make every move seem as though it's nothing out of the ordinary.
They're both mindful of their words, as she gathers up her things, listening to the other for any hint of code, but, today, at least, she doesn't seem to be trying to impart a message.
"I'll have to be extra careful to watch my back," he grouses as the topic of conversation comes around to Scar. "After all, I'm losing a very talented bodyguard."
She's facing away from him, but he can still see a quick flutter of pride flash across her features.
"That's true, sir." She pauses. "Don't die, sir."
"Okay." He manages a small smile, then grows serious. "I've loaded quite a heavy burden on you, haven't I?" he asks quietly.
"Perhaps I've placed my loyalties unwisely," she teases.
"If you think you've made a mistake, then shoot me," he says. He tries, a little, to match her teasing tone, but he can't manage it. The moment is too raw. "You made a promise to me on that day."
The moment stretches out, before, beyond them. He's been so blinded by vengeance for Hughes, so inflamed with his anger and guilt. Has it changed him so very much, in her eyes? It's unfair, selfish, but he needs her to tell him, needs her to confirm that he hasn't strayed from his path.
Her light laugh breaks the tension.
"I think I can tolerate you a bit longer, sir."
He chuckles, too.
"Ah, you're too good to me, Lieutenant Hawkeye," he says, knowing the statement to be far too profoundly true.
"Well, then, Colonel," she says, and he straightens when he hears the click of her boots. She offers a salute, which he returns. "'Til we meet again."
"'Til we meet again," he returns solemnly.
She strides confidently to the door, then turns to smile at him.
He could rest all day inside her smile.
"Please, don't slack off, sir," she teases, and then she's gone.
It's an act, Roy knows. Her entire presence in his office this morning is a calculated act to bolster him by letting him see for himself: she's unharmed by Bradley, not hurt or angry over his treatment of her, and still firmly resolved to work towards their goals.
The secret's out, now, he realizes. If Bradley knows that Riza can be used against him as a hostage to enforce his compliance, then the whole world must see it.
With a sigh, he examines the chess set Falman had returned to him earlier in the morning.
This room seems so much bigger now. My pawn, my knight, my rook, my bishop….They've even taken my queen. As he holds up the queen chess piece, the weight strikes him as odd, and he grins. Leave it to Falman-nof course he'd put the message in this piece. As for my prospects, I'm not in checkmate yet.