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Chapter Text

Havoc held her hair up and rubbed her back in slow, small circles. His touches, anyone’s touches over her back, over her scarred shoulders, would usually make her recoil. But right then, heaving over the toilet, emptying her guts, she was grateful for the steady hand and rocking voice. 

He said something, but she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t concentrate. She had never felt this nauseous before. Not before this week. Havoc pulled her up and whispered something again. It was too hard to think. His hand on her shoulder, holding her, felt hot, too hot. She splashed cold water on her face. It had happened again. It was already the 3rd time this week. She couldn’t blame it on an upset stomach or the questionable beef she ate at lunch. Not anymore. 

“Hawkeye, you have to see a doctor.” He sounded worried. She thanked the heavens their office in East had a private bathroom. She didn’t need any more people to see her like this. 

“It looks like food poisoning,” Havoc held her up as she washed her hands. They were white and cold. “It could be serious.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She knew she didn’t sound convincing. Her stomach still lurched and rumbled. 

“You have to take time off at least.” His voice worried her more than her nausea. He was too soft sometimes.

She shook her head and stood straighter, on her own feet. “The Colonel’s not here to sign—”

“You can’t be serious!”

“He is not here, and neither is Major General Grumman. I have a-” her voice wavered a little as she fought to get a hold, “a duty to uphold.”

“Hawkeye,” he approached her carefully, better guarded this time. He handed Riza her jacket and helped her slip it on. “You can’t wait for Mustang to come back from Xing.”

She closed her eyes for a second, steadying her breath. “I’m fine. It’s just two more days.”

It happened again the next day. Twice. Less intense, but still, as hard as she tried, impossible to hide. She was beginning to worry that something  was  wrong and maybe she  was  sick. That she might have come down with something. 

She was stressed and scared. She thought maybe she had worried herself sick. Mustang had been out for two weeks now. Out with Grumman, who personally requested him as his aid, when the Fuhrer-President invited all Generals to attend a century-defining treaty signing with Xing. No phone calls, no letters. He was too far for either. No matter how hard they tried to argue, she couldn’t go in the end. Mustang was there for Grumman’s protection. He couldn’t bring his own aid. And while she knew, she knew deep down in her heart that he was fine, he was alright, she worried. Worried so much. But not enough to spill her guts while Havoc banged on the door. 

The knocking stopped, and she breathed out, relieved. Doctors had always been an issue, with the tattoo she carried on her back. Always too dangerous, always too close. She’d avoid it at all costs. 

“Riza?” A soft knock on the bathroom cubicle door brought her back to the present. 

“Rebecca?”

“Havoc told me… let me help you.” Her voice was quiet and careful, the same one you’d use with a stray cat, who was skittish and frightened. She was beginning to think maybe she really was both. 

Hawkeye stood up and opened the door. Rebecca’s hands shot up to her sides to support her. Hawkeye couldn’t help but notice the way her friend’s eyes widened with worry and the way Havoc leaned back on the sink, avoided her gaze and fidgeted with the pack of cigarettes.

“Come on, we’re taking you home,” Rebecca said, holding Hawkeye up as she cleaned her hands and face. 

“No, there’s no ne—”

“Chief would have already discharged you if he were here, Lieutenant.” Havoc cut trough. His voice was kind and caring. He was appealing not to reason but to feeling. He didn’t dare search her eyes.

Riza sighed and resigned. She leaned into Rebecca’s touch and nodded. 

“I’ll drive you to the doctor.” Havoc pushed himself off the sink and seemed ready to go. 

Hawkeye looked at Rebecca and squeezed the hand resting on her shoulder. Her head gave a slight shake, and her eyes pleaded with her friend. 

“Home, Havoc,” Rebecca spoke curt and assured. 

She helped Riza stand, and they all exited the bathroom. Breda shot up from his desk, and Falman and Fuery snapped their head and eyes on her. She felt her skin grow hot, despite how pale she was. She felt her palms sweaty and her body heavy. 

“Lieutenant, are you….” Fuery tried, but Havoc’s pointed look cut him off.

“I’ll take Lieutenant Hawkeye home. She’s not feeling well. Breda, you’re in charge.” Havoc said, and Breda nodded and saluted. 

“Riza, you got to let me call a doctor,” Rebbeca pleaded with her. 

Riza lay on the bed, curled up on her side. She tried to be strong, unaffected, wanted to tell her repeatedly that she was okay. But was she? Fear was starting to creep into her chest, and she felt her shoulders tighten. At Becca’s insistency, Havoc closed the door to the bedroom and gave them the privacy. She appreciated the two could hold their bickering back for a day. 

“I’ll be fine, Becca. It’s just a stomach bug.”

Rebecca brushed her hair slowly. It had gotten long, pushing past her shoulders now. “I don’t think they last that long, Riza.”

“A flue then.”

“…Riza.”

Hawkeye turned to face her friend and picked up the worry in her voice. “What?”

“Could it…” Rebecca grimaced. She offered Riza a pained look. It made her feel uncomfortable. “Have you been seeing someone?”

“Seeing someone? What are you on… no,” she didn’t understand. What would men have to do with anything? Maybe Becca wanted to lighten the mood. Perhaps she wanted to make Riza feel at ease. She managed to do just the opposite.

“It’s just that you know… it looks like morning sickness.”

Riza’s body shot up. Rebecca’s hand went to her shoulder, and her mouth opened slowly to say something, anything. Maybe she did. Riza couldn’t tell. Her heart was racing, and her mind was doing somersaults. Could it be that? No, that would be too cruel, even for her. It would be too unfortunate, too unlucky, and terrible to even consider. But then…

“… You’re not late, are you?” 

Hawkeye snapped her eyes to Rebecca. She could feel the panic build up in her chest, her hands tightening on the bed cover. “I’ve been very stressed….”

“Riza, how late?”

“I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “A month?”

“A month?”. Riza had expected Rebecca to yell. It shook her to the core when the question was barely a whisper.

“It happened before, when I was stressed….” Hawkeye tried to reason.

“Are you… are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” she hurried to say, out of reflex, out of fear. Becca’s eyes stayed on her, and Riza’s decisiveness wavered, “yes… in a way.”

“But you slept with him?”

Hawkeye nodded. God. Could this really happen to her? To them? She felt sick again, and her hands were shaking. They’ve been careful, so careful. So afraid of being caught, of people knowing, so utterly terrified of being judged and discharged. But if she was… she couldn’t dare say the word. If she was, that was something they couldn’t hide. Maybe he’d let her shoulder the guilt and the shame on her own. She’d carry it for him.

“Riza, who…?”

“Becca, I can’t be. This can’t happen.” Her arms shot out to search for her friend. Her voice came out ragged, unsure.

“Maybe you’re not. But could you be?”

“We’ve been careful, so careful.” She shook her head.

“It could be an accident.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“It’s okay, it’s going to be alright. We’ll get a doctor, and you can call the guy—”

“I can’t. Becca, I can’t.”

“You don’t know..?”

“No. I can’t call.” She tried again. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She couldn’t confess. She felt the world turning black, and the mattress at her back swallowed her. She wished the world would stop. This couldn’t happen. It couldn’t. But she saw the possibility, the horrible chance that it might have indeed been the truth. More than anything, she wished he’d be here.

“Alright. I’ll tell Havoc to get a doctor in.”

Riza nodded. She had to know.

Havoc paced around Hawkeye’s apartment. He’d never been here before. Based on Catalina’s fumbling around the house, she’d never been here either. Hawkeye had always been a private person, never letting anyone in on her personal life. He felt uncomfortable looking around her home. Felt like intruding on her private affairs. 

She had a pretty simple apartment. It fit her, Havoc thought, straightforward like her. But just like the real Hawkeye, there were many layers hidden behind closed doors. So many things hidden in plain sight. 

Like the opened coffee bag on the counter even though Hawkeye never drank coffee. He caught sight of alchemy books in her bookcase and a mistery novel, discarded near the couch, and he could swear he had seen that cover before. She had two pairs of slippers and aftershave in her bathroom. It was all too complicated, and he felt like pulling on his collar. He settled on her couch and caught sight of a lonely notebook on Hawkeye’s desk. A thick black book, with jammed papers and bookmarks, bound around together with a piece of string. He’d seen that before, whenever Chief—

“Havoc.” the bedroom door closed softly. Catalina wasn’t screeching as she usually was around him. Her voice was soft and gentle. It scared him to the core.  

She handed Havoc a piece of paper. In Hawkeye’s handwriting, a name and an address. He moved his eyes up, questioning Rebecca.

She sighed, “a doctor. For Hawkeye.”

“I thought she said no hospital.”

“No hospital.” She shook her head. “Hawkeye said he’d be discrete.”

Havoc took one last look down and pocketed the note. He nodded but didn’t move. Rebecca tightened her hands around her chest. She looked worried. So worried. 

“Is Hawkeye alright?” he whispered and reached a hand to her.

She let him comfort her with his hand on her elbow. She looked down at her socks and shook her head.

“Is she sick?” He asked.

“Havoc... I think she’s...”

“She’s what?”

Barely above a whisper, Rebecca spoke, “pregnant.”

His hand fell from her elbow, limp at his side. He felt nauseous, his chest tight, and his shoulders numb. “Are you sure?”

She shook her head. “That's what the doctor is for.”

His mind was racing at 300 miles per hour. His mouth was even faster. “You think it’s his?” his voice was bitter, and he felt anger rise in his gut before he could stop himself.

“…his?”

“Mustang.”

“Don’t be stupid, Havoc.” She admonished. Her frown deepened, and she took a step back from him. “Please, just get the doctor.” He could tell there was doubt in her voice. 

She heard them whisper outside her door. Havoc and Rebecca, Havoc and the doctor. She didn’t blame them. Hawkeye knew they were worried about her, worried something wrong had happened. And maybe something wrong, terribly wrong,  did  happen. She reached a hand down over her stomach and let it rest there. She felt the pressure of the world push on her chest, and her breathing came out laboured. She couldn’t be. This couldn’t happen.

But she remembered his hands on her, peeling away her clothes. She remembered her lips on him, making him moan. She remembered how he felt, hot and heavy, inside her, how he whispered against her ear every time they were together. And every time, they had been careful, every time they had used a condom. And they knew, of course, they knew, it was never an impossibility, but they never stopped. Because they couldn’t. And for their sin, they had to pay.

She dragged her palms over her face. Her forehead was sweaty, and her eyelashes wet. She couldn’t do this to him. She’d ruin his career. And they weren’t even close to his,  their  dream, of seeing him become Fuhrer. He was just a Colonel in East, and she was just his Lieutenant. And an affair, no, much worse, a  child , would get her kicked out of the military and him court-martialed for fucking his subordinate. She’d say it wasn’t his, that she’d slept with a man in a bar, and she couldn’t remember his name. She would take the shame, the judgment, the loathing of people if it meant protecting him. But even then, she feared people would wonder, people would talk. And if she left the military, there’d be no one to protect him. He needed her at his side, not as a mother to his child, a lover in his bed, but as a loyal bodyguard. She couldn’t do that pregnant. She couldn’t do that carrying his baby. 

Someone knocked on her door. She presumed the doctor. She said a shaky ‘yes’ and sat up to sit on the edge of the bed. She was feeling fine now, physically at least. Mentally, emotionally, she was a mess. The doctor’s head poked through. She’d known him since Ishval, and he’d treated her since then. He was a good man and a discrete one. Loyal to the Colonel, and he knew about her back. Rebecca stepped through the door as well, searching Riza’s eyes for approval.

The doctor greeted her, and she whispered a ‘hello’ back. He asked her how she was feeling, what had been wrong. Rebecca stood in the entryway to her bedroom, and Havoc towered behind her. She looked to the open door, ashamed and vulnerable. 

The doctor turned to close the door. She didn’t know what came over her. It was akin to a feeling of dread, of being alone. A longness in her heart for someone, anyone. Not to be alone now. “Please stay, Rebecca.”

Her friend nodded and stepped inside. Rebecca closed the door with one last apologetic look at Havoc and a resigned nod from him. Hawkeye breathed out, relieved. 

The doctor dragged a chair near her bed. She finally looked up to meet his eyes. In his late 40s, he had seen as much sorrow and destruction as she did in Ishval. At least he was there saving lives, not taking them. 

“What are your symptoms?”

Reiza reached a hand on her stomach. “Nausea, vomiting.”

He nodded. “How long?”

“About a week.”

“Lie back, please.” He offered her a tight smile. 

She let him check her up and answered his questions. Some immediate, some with hesitation, looking away from Rebecca. He checked her pulse, her heartbeat and her breathing. He pushed on her abdomen and asked her about her menstruation. She had a terrible shiver down her back, and she could tell, could feel they were reaching an inevitable conclusion. 

“A month late?” The doctor’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts

She nodded again. 

“Sexually active in the past two months?” 

Hawkeye saw Rebecca move her head to the side. She felt her skin burn up. Yet another nod. She knew what was coming. She braced for it. 

The doctor sighed. He pulled his medical gloves off. “I'll need your bloodwork to confirm how far along. But you’re pregnant.”

She could hear Rebecca release a gasp and the doctor speak. He was trying to tell her something. Something about her nausea or maybe about something else. She felt her own finger squeeze the comforter, and her head fall forward, her back hunched. Her stomach felt funny again, and her head hurt. She wanted to shoot up, push past the door and run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted him. She needed him. Needed him by her side to share the burden with her. A tear slid down her cheek, and Rebecca shuffled closer to rub her back. Riza was grateful for the silent comfort, and she took Becca’s hand into her own. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye?” The doctor spoke as if he had just asked her that before, again and again.

She moved her head up and brushed her cheek dry. “I’m sorry, could you please say that again?”

“If I run your bloodwork, I need to register it. Everything gets reported for military personnel. I can’t fill this one in myself….”

“No. No registry.”

He sighed and nodded. “You’ll need to get it done off the grid then.” His face was tight, but his eyes carried a sadness she understood in her own gaze. The glimmer in his eyes, the silent understanding, the thing he was implying, it scared her. She couldn’t think right now. She couldn’t listen to him. He talked some more, but she couldn’t follow. Becca squeezed her hand and rubbed her back. She couldn’t stop the tears that wetted her eyes. She couldn’t stop the hands that shot around her front to hold herself close. Where was he? Where was Roy when she needed him most? She wished, more than anything, that he’d be back already. 

She didn’t notice when the doctor left or when she slid on the bed, curled up on her side. She only felt something, anything, when Havoc’s hand joined Rebecca’s to touch her elbow, crouched near her bed. 

“I heard.”

She nodded. She felt so ashamed, so guilty, so mortified. She didn’t want anyone knowing. She didn’t even want Roy to know. This was her sin, her burden. She couldn’t even nod. 

“Hawkeye… where’s the father?” Havoc spoke slowly, but she could tell he was angry. She could tell he was judging her. When she didn’t answer, he pressed on, “you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Her voice choked in her throat, and she shook her head. Rebecca stood up, making room for Havoc to stand at Riza’s side. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

She felt her heart stop, her stomach drop, her lungs tighten. Her chest felt heavy, so heavy. She tried to be stoic, to keep silent. Rebecca drew a breath in loudly. 

“Havoc—“Catalina shot forward to stop him. 

“It’s the Colonel. It’s his kid.” He wasn’t even asking at this point. His voice was bitter and cut into her heart like a seared blade. 

“Havoc!”

Riza stood up slowly and nodded. She nodded because it was too hard to lie right now. She felt too raw, too buried alive by the guilt and the shame. She couldn’t take Havoc’s judgement and Rebecca’s pity. And this was just the beginning. She’d get much, much worse from other people. 

“…Riza,” Rebecca shot to her side, and she knew her voice was questioning, asking her to confirm.

“The Colonel is the father.” Hawkeye could only whisper the words. She felt like she was confessing to a crime, the worst kind. 

Havoc stood up, his fists tightened at his side. His jaw was set, and his eyes were sharp. Rebecca’s hand shook on Riza’s back. 

“The fucking bastard.” She expected that to come from Havoc. But it came from Rebecca with such fore it startled both of them. “The fucking pervert. I can’t believe he touched you. He fucking touched you!”

“Becca… no, it’s not like—”

“He’s your boss!” Rebecca stood up, and her face was livid. “He took advantage of you!”

Havoc’s face didn’t soften either. They were both fuming, Havoc with his jaw tightened shut and his brows low and furrowed. Rebecca, with her fists ready to slam through the wall and her shoulders quivering with wrath. All Hawkeye could do was shake her head. Again and again. This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He was so miserable already. So tortured. Every time he touched her, every time he slept with her, he blamed himself and tormented his mind. 

“I wanted to...”

“That doesn’t change the facts.” Havoc’s raised his voice above hers. “He’s a fucking creep for sleeping with his lieutenant,” and he pressed on before she could calm him down, “a fucking creep who couldn’t keep it in his pants!”

“Please, Havoc, try to understand.” Hawkeye pleaded, but she felt too confounded, her mind too cloudy, to have the will to fight this.

“And now he’s off gallivanting in Xing when he’s got you knocked up!”

Hawkeye let her head fall in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t feel like crying anymore. Didn’t feel like speaking. She had more pressing issues growing inside her by the minute. 

“I’ll drag his ass here to fix this, Colonel or not!” Rebecca said, and Havoc answered something. She couldn’t follow, couldn’t care. If this is how they reacted, she feared for his life. She feared for his dreams and reputation and their promise to each other, to atone for their sins. 

“You can’t tell anyone.”

Havoc and Rebbeca fell silent. Her friend, her dear friend, shot up a hand to touch her shoulder and spoke, “Riza... Of course, we won’t.”

“And I mean about the Colonel being the father either.”

“Hawkeye, you can’t possibly intend to—” Havoc’s voice cut through her again. She’d never heard him so furious, so intense before.

“I, I’ll say it’s someone else’s” Hawkeye shook her head, and her eyes watered again. She felt like a mess, an absolute mess. She fought hard to save face and regain her composure, if only at least for a minute.

“That fucking bastard doesn’t get to walk away with it! Fuck you, get you pregnant with his child, and walk away like nothing—” 

Hawkeye cut Rebecca off, her own voice rising above her friend’s, definitive and confident “Rebecca.” The room fell silent, and Hawkeye straightened her back. “Please,” she added, softer, like a prayer spoken with conviction. “I need to think.”

And she let her head hit her pillow and her mind drawn out the chatter. She let Rebbeca’s swearing and Havoc’s anger blend in a worldless, meaningless blur as she closed her eyes and her wet eyelashes dripped a tear down her cheek. And she rubbed her hand over her face and over her shoulders, wishing it was his touch she could feel. He’d be here tomorrow. He’d be here tomorrow! 

A new kind of terror seeped through her. Rebecca placed a cup near her bed. Or maybe it was Havoc. And she heard the door close, or perhaps it had opened. He’d be back tomorrow, and she would have to tell him, to tell him they were careless. That she carried his child, the indisputable proof of their affair, the unmistakable result of their sin. Maybe if alchemists were right, and everything had a price, then this was just the toll she had to pay for the happiness they stole when their fingers laced together and their bodies rocked in pleasure. Maybe it was her sentence to carry for straying him from his path, for drawing him in her bed, for pushing his shirt off his shoulders and moaning his name. 

What would he even say? The fool. The utter idiot would never agree to let her carry the blame alone, the retribution and the shame. He’d never let her claim it wasn’t his and stand by and watch her name get dragged. She wished he would. So he could move on with his life and change the world for them. 

Maybe they could bargain with her grandfather. They’d have to admit their affair, and she would lose the last family she had. She couldn’t bear the thought, but she’d ask Grumman for one final favour in her mother’s name. She could resign and move out of East, and he could visit her and the child if he wanted. Or he could go on and live his life, in Central or wherever Amestris needed him. Elizabeth would make a nice name for a girl, like her mother.

Her mother. She wished so much she still had one. She wished she had a father, of which Hawkeye never felt she had. A real one who would love you unconditionally and cherish you with all his heart. Would Roy be a good father? Would  she  make a good mother? 

The thought made her shudder. She heard whispers outside her door, heard shouting and a fist hitting the table. She couldn’t be bothered, not now. Not right now. Her insides felt frozen, and her head was rolling in circles. She was young, too young to have a child. At 25, she had lived the life of 3 grown soldiers and had seen enough war and devastation for the next 2 generations. But right now, faced with the inevitability of motherhood, she felt unprepared, young and inexperienced. And he was young, reckless and ambitious, much like her father had been. They’d make horrible parents. They could barely afford to steal some love for each other, hidden in the dark, between sinful sheets and shameful hands. There wasn’t room for anything pure, innocent in their world. They didn’t deserve it.

And she had to tell him. To tell him she disappointed him, to tell him she failed to protect him. She’d be the reason for his downfall, the reason he’d lose all his dreams. And without those, she would never be enough, not her or their unborn child. She didn’t feel she could rob him of his future because she was careless enough to... to get herself knocked up. 

That left her with one option. Only one option on the table. She shuddered at the thought, and for the first time in years, she let herself cry. 

Hours later, she felt Rebecca’s hand brush her golden locks. Her tears had dried out. Her throat felt dry and tight. The teacup rested untouched on the chair near her bed. The lights were on. Had she fallen asleep?

“Are you feeling better?” Rebecca’s voice was soft, and her hand kept brushing Hawkeye’s head. 

“I'm not sick anymore.”

Rebecca nodded. “Havoc left. He said he’ll call you later.” 

She made a move to stand up, to reach for her friend’s hand, but Rebecca calmed her down and pushed her gently back in the sheets. “He won’t tell anyone.”

“Rebecca, please.”

“Riza... Did Mustang... Did he,” her throat was closing up, but with a long breath, she found the resolve, “did he pressure you?”

“Becca, no. No.” Hawkeye had to steady her shaky voice, “I wanted to. He tried to stop it,  us , but I... I wanted to, so much.”

“A one night stand then?” Rebecca’s face was pained, her mouth thin and tilted. 

Hawkeye shook her head and closed her eyes. She felt her skin heat up, and the shirt on her back felt uncomfortable, so uncomfortable. “Since Ishval.”

Rebecca withdrew her hand, and Riza shuddered at the loss of touch. Her breath hitched up, and her heart ached. 

“You... You lied for so long?”

“I had to. We had to. We couldn’t tell.”

“...Riza. God, Riza.” Rebecca stood and left the room, the door closed slowly, and Hawkeye felt her heart might just explode. 

Her hand trailed down again to her unborn child, nestled in her womb, and she felt like she might cry again. Her breaths were laboured, and she had to stand up to draw air in her lungs, and she felt like she could choke. She tried to steady herself, draw in the air, release it slowly. She tried to centre her mind. Tried to think back to just two weeks ago, how happy they had been. Just before he set off for Xing, they spent the whole night laughing in his bed. When he’d kissed her lips and hair and traced the scars on her back, with such tenderness and care, that it made her heart fill with joy. When he whispered that she was beautiful and needed, wanted and adored, when his head trailed down between her breasts and her hands brushed through his locks. When he panted over her, and his arms would shake. How happy they had been when he held her naked body pressed to his, spent and exhausted, and he said he’d miss her. Oh, how she missed him now. And at the same time, how utterly terrifying the thought of him returning was.

She pushed herself off the bed and made her way out of the bedroom. Her clothes were damp with sweat, and her hair stuck to her cheeks. Rebecca set the phone down and turned to face Riza, and the look on the brunette’s face shifted like a rollercoaster, between anger and pitty, empathy and grief. 

“That was Havoc. I let him know you are fine. He’ll pick up the Colonel at the station in the morning.” 

Riza drew her hands around her front. She dreaded the conversation Havoc would have with Roy. She dreaded the conversation she would have to have. 

“I don’t know how to tell him,” she spoke, barely above a whisper. 

“What?” Rebecca spoke, at first forceful, but her voice and eyes softened when she saw how small Riza’s body looked and how utterly broken her spirit was. “Tell him about the baby?”

Hawkeye nodded and sat on the couch, keeping herself tiny and limp. And she breathed out when she felt the pillow sink near her and felt Rebecca’s comforting touch again, pulling her body in an embrace. She shuddered under the comfort. Her skin was iced, and her hands so pale, almost translucent, with blue and green veins underneath the thin skin. 

“He needs to know. He has to take responsibility.”

“It’s not his fault Becca. It’s my fault.”

“Don't be stupid.” Rebecca spat back, and Hawkeye flinched. Her friend kept her nestled in, not letting her move away. “He’s the one that got you pregnant.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her words choked in her throat.

“He couldn’t keep it in his fucking pants. It wasn’t enough he’s out sleeping with a woman a day—”

“There are no other women, Becca,” Hawkeye spoke, so low and quiet that Rebecca broke down and squeezed Hawkeye tighter. “He’s only been with me.”

“Riza... Honestly,” Rebecca drew in a long breath. Her eyes were watering too. “Why him? Out of all the men in East...”

But Hawkeye couldn’t answer. She couldn’t dare explain it to Rebecca. She didn’t even know where to begin. She didn’t even know how to tell her that she’d known him since she was 12 and he was 15. That he’d been her friend, her only solace in that desolate, terrifying house. That he’d been her only source of joy when her father would close himself off for weeks and weeks and abandon her to fend for herself. How could she explain how his hands felt when he held her at night, hidden between the ruins of Ishval when he reeked of corpses, and she smelled like blood. And how could she tell Becca that he cried himself to sleep when he had to burn her back, that he drank himself into oblivion, to forget the way she screamed. 

“The baby...” Rebecca trod carefully, not knowing where to take the question. Hawkeye lifted her eyes up to lock with her friend’s. “Are you going to keep it?”

And Hawkeye closed her eyes so tightly shut, her lips trembled, and she felt again that horrible feeling of not having enough space, not having enough room to breathe and enough oxygen to live, like something heavy and immovable, was pressing her down, threatening to erase her. But through her pain and ragged breaths, she managed to shake her head, first afraid, so afraid, but then with the conviction only soul splitting sorrow can give you. 

Rebecca nodded a silent agreement, and Hawkeye could swear she felt a tear slid down her friend’s cheek and land in her hair. 

“One day, you’ll have a wonderful family,” Rebecca whispered against Hawkeye’s hair and let her place her head in her lap, and curl herself on the couch, and rest her eyes and heart, and sleep. 

Chapter Text

Havoc stubbed his foot over the 6th cigarette he’d had that morning. At 0530, the city was barely awake. The crisp morning air made him draw the military jacket tighter to his front while leaning on the back office issue car. He had parked in an alleyway near the train station, where they’d be nestled from the looks of curious passers-by. His blood boiled inside him, and his eyes were heavy with sleep, kept awake only by the pure adrenaline of yesterday. At 2 o’clock in the night, he’d called Catalina on Hawkeye’s line and made sure the Lieutenant was alright. Right now, keeping her healthy and safe had to come first. And that’s what Catalina was there for. Fuck the office and fuck the military. Mustang would better sort their leave. If he could still write after the beating Havoc had pondered giving him. 

The bastard. He had no right to sleep with her. Had no right to do this to Hawkeye, to them. He pulled out another cigarette from the pack. He couldn’t calm his nerves, couldn’t stop his foot from tapping the car. And his heart was racing. She had looked so broken, so small, so ashamed and guilty, and he, he had no right. No right to make her go through that alone. No right to brush off the blame and the consequences. He was the one who wronged, not Hawkeye. He was the superior, the one with the power. And she was so hopelessly loyal, so eager to please…

And he be dammed, the fucker dared to approach the car, dragging his suitcase and lift a hand up in a salute. Havoc threw the cigarette on the ground, half-smoked. His mind was already made up from the second he’d seen Mustang’s smug face and his careless stride. In less than a second, he lifted himself off the car and took a long step forward. The Colonel, so stupidly, approached him, and Havoc’s fist made a clack against Mustang’s jaw. The suitcase hit the ground with a thud.

“Havoc, what the actual fuck!” Mustang fumbled to gain some steady footing and shoved his hands in Havoc’s direction. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

The Lieutenant grabbed Mustang by the black lapels of his coat, not letting him get the distance he sought. Rank be dammed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you asshole.”

Despite Havoc’s towering height and his hold on his front, Mustang’s first connected with Havoc’s stubble and threw him stumbling back a couple of steps, enough to disengage. Havoc spit some blood on the ground while Mustang rubbed his knuckles.

“Are you out of your mind, Second Lieutenant?! Do you want to get court-martialed?” Mustang sneered, bracing for another first fight.

Havoc laughed. He laughed at the audacity, and the stupidity and the sheer nerve of the situation. “You fucking pervert, it’s you who should get court-martialed. I know what you did with Hawkeye,” and Havoc stepped again in Mustang’s direction to grab at his shirt. he threw his hand out to connect with Mustang’s clothes, but his grip softened when he saw the look of utter shock, of utter terror on Mustang’s face, and his fists, one bloodied and scrapped, fall limp at his side 

“Where’s Hawkeye?” He grabbed the Lieutenant’s arm, “Havoc, where’s Hawkeye?! Is she fine?”

“She’s not fucking fine! She’s fucking pregnant!” And remembering himself and remembering Hawkey and how she’d been throwing up all week, how fragile her body looked and how she cried, how she had bawled her eyes, he punched Mustang one last time in the gut, sending him kneeling on the ground. 

After a full minute where the Colonel grunted and coughed, Havoc snapped again. “Say something!” He yelled at Mustang, looking around the street where people were going about their business. Not one dared to look in their direction. “I said, fucking say something.”

Mustang held his side heaving. Not because of the pain, not because of Havoc’s punch. The words rang in his ear like the blast from an explosion, and his skin burned as if being flayed alive. He felt sick. He felt like he was drowning in his own words like the world might open up and swallow him. “Hawkeye... Are you, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” He was already smoking his 8th cigarette. “While you were out parading Grumman in Xing, she’s been throwing up her guts every day.” Havoc spat and spoke with such bitterness that Mustang’s legs shook under him. 

Havoc looked at the man on the ground, how he raised himself up to stand, holding his side. Mustang’s jaw was already bruising up. His probably was too. The Colonel had the nerve to look surprised and hurt. He had the nerve to stay silent. “Fucking deny it, at least!”

Mustang drew a sharp breath in and shook his head. He was breathing so fast he was hyperventilating and ran a good chance of fainting. Good. Part of Havoc hoped he did. But then Mustang shook his head again and stepped forward to lean with a hand against the car and drop his head forward. 

“Does anyone know?” the Colonel asked.

“Me and Catalina. She’s home with Hawkeye. “

Mustang’s eyes snapped to Havoc’s, “Did she have a doctor confi—”

“You fucking bastard, you have no right to ask about her, not after what you did.”

But Mustang, like he always fucking did, ignored him to press on, “Is she fine... Is the baby...”

“Don’t make me punch you again. I’ll fucking do it.”

“Havoc, you don’t understand.”

“Understand? What’s there to understand, Colonel? You’re her superior officer!” He slammed his fist on the car. 

Mustang’s forehead leaned against his palms. His breath came out ragged and hurried. 

Havoc turned to him, bringing his face close to Mustang’s level. “Did you press her?” he sneered. His anger was boiling up again, and he crushed the empty cigarette pack in his other fist.

“Press her?! God, you can’t seriously think that...” Mustang sneered and snapped his head to face Havoc, his hands shooting up to grab the Lieutenant’s jacket.

“I don’t know what to think!” Havoc pushed his hands away. 

“No! no.” Mustang leaned his head against the hood of the car again. His stomach lurched dangerously while his legs shook under his weight. He was an utter wreck, a downright mess, and Havoc couldn’t stand to look at him. He would have hoped he would deny it or say he didn’t care. He hoped Mustang would throw a fit and say it wasn’t his. That way, he’d be in the right giving him the beating of his life, flame alchemist or not. Colonel or not. But he was a fucking broken shell, who was almost crying in the street, with reddened knuckles and noodle legs. 

Havoc drew a long breath in and released an even longer one out, and remembering Hawkeye, waiting for him, worrying for this fucking idiot, he spoke, “Get in the fucking car. I promised Hawkeye I’d pick you up.”

Hawkeye stirred in her sleep and drew the blanket closer to her neck. She settled in better on her pillow. A blanket and a pillow? She didn’t remember getting in bed. She shifted with groggy eyes and took in her surroundings. She felt spent, with a dry throat and dried out tears. Her hair was a mess, and she had slept in her uniform. There had been no alarm. It wasn’t time to wake up yet. 

But beyond her door, she heard shuffling and arguing. She heard voices heating up, heard a slam and a thud. She heard Havoc’s voice and Becca’s yelling. And she heard… she heard Roy. She shot up in bed, ready to throw the covers off. Her breath hitched up in her chest, and her heart shot out in her neck. Becca shouted something, and Roy yelled at Rebecca to stand the fuck aside, and the door to her bedroom swung open, with a force and speed that would have made her reach for a gun if it weren’t him.

And his eyes locked to her, and he rushed to her side. And Rebecca and Havoc might have said something. And they might have watched, in disbelief, and utter shock, how he collapsed at the foot of her bed and placed his head in her lap. He searched her hands, her knees, her side. It didn’t matter who was watching. It didn’t matter who would hear them. And she apologised to him, she said sorry again and again until his hands stopped her, squeezing her arms with force. 

“God, Riza, no. No, don’t,” Mustang shook his head and pulled her in an embrace, with her arms nestling his head and tracing his locks. “Don’t,” he spoke again and again until she stopped apologising. By the time he lifted himself up and sat on her bed to gather her in his arms, the door to her bedroom had closed, and they were alone, granted the minimum decency and dignity they could get. 

She searched his face, and she couldn’t help but cry because his eyes told her he knew. And his stupid, stupid mind, the parental instinct in him, so raw and human, made him reach his hand out and place it on her stomach. That broke her, it broke her down, and she cried and whispered, “I’m sorry, I was so stupid.”

“Don’t, don’t say that. It’s my fault, fuck, it’s my fault.” He said it with such loathing, such force, it shook her, and she took his hands in hers, trailing her fingers over his scraped knuckles. 

“I… I don’t know how it happened.”

He nestled her head in his neck and held her tight, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I should have been when you found out....”

She nodded and held tightly to his shirt, slipping her hands under his jacket. She looked so devastated, with wrinkled clothes and shot up eyes, reddened cheeks and tangled locks. And Mustang didn’t care one bit when he finally brought his lips to hers and kissed her to make up for all the words he couldn’t say, all the things he couldn’t feel.

“I’ll take care of you. I’ll marry you,” he spoke against her forehead.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Her voice shook, and her chest raised with each breath, “please, don’t be a fool.”

He shook his head. “I did this to you. It’s only—”

“You can’t;  we  can’t give up. We can’t tell people.” She pulled at his shirt and searched his eyes. She had to make him understand. He couldn’t be a softie, a sentimental sob. He couldn’t be stupid, not when so much was at stake. But she found a frown and confused fogged eyes and his parted lips that wanted to say so much yet couldn’t push out a word. “I… you don’t need to get involved.”

He grabbed her wrists with a bit more force than he would have liked and pushed his forehead forward to rest on hers. “Are you crazy? I am involved! It’s my child!”

She moved away to catch his eyes and plead with him, “if anyone finds out, they’ll trial you!”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about them.” His breath was ragged, and his voice wavered. “I care about you!” He hesitated and looked down to her stomach, where a baby bump would soon start showing.

She shook her head and removed her hands from his. They fell limp at her side. “We can’t have the… I can’t have the baby.” Her voice was so quiet, so flat, she even scared herself. 

His heartbeat was drumming in her ears. And his hand fell on her knees, and his head tilted forward. He stayed quiet, so quiet she heard herself breathe over the silence. She reached a shaky hand over his reddened knuckles, and his hands were as cold as hers. “Please, say something.”

“I can’t make you do that.”

“You’re not. It’s my choice.” She choked on her own voice and squeezed her eyes to hold the tears back. She felt nauseous. She felt her heart might give out, and her head might explode.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and drew her again in his arms, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. “I’m sorry,” he spoke against her hair, and his hand rested on her stomach again. 

And she couldn’t describe the feeling in her chest, a shiver of pain, so deep, so primordial and terrifying that a tear broke past her eyelashes. She was crying again. She was crying so much these days. It wasn’t like her. This wasn’t how she wanted him to see her. 

“I’ll take care of it, Riza.” His arms embraced her, and she nodded in his neck, relieved, so relieved to not be alone. To feel his hands on her back rubbing her slowly. To feel his hands in her hair and his lips on her head. She shivered under his touch and let Roy slide down on the bed with her and hold her back to him, circling his hands around her body. She was so relieved he didn’t shun her. That he didn’t blame her. But she blamed herself so much already. 

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” she choked on a sob. And Roy’shands pulled her so close, and he stifled a cry in the hair at her nape.

“I did this to you. I should have been more careful. I—” he stopped himself to draw in a rattling breath.  

She couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take him fretting over, and she tried to say something, anything, but his shattered voice cut her through. “I’m sorry you can’t have a family... you deserve one. Fuck, Riza, you deserve a husband. And a child. And so, so much more,” he breathed out and steadied his voice, “so much more than I have… I’ve got nothing to give you.” The words came out so hard. And he squeezed her so close that she felt how afraid he was. 

Riza shook her head again and again against his hold. She turned around to touch his face and wipe a stray tear that fell down his cheek. And he closed his eyes and let her hands caress his face, his drenched eyelashes, his bruised jaw. His messy black hair, their kid would undoubtedly have. 

“I want that with you,” she whispered.

He swallowed loudly and puffed out a heavy breath. “I can quit, and we can—”

But her lips stopped him. Her hands, so cold and clammy, pulled him closer, closer, until he rested above her until his lips crashed into hers and his body pushed her down in the mattress. And he nodded in her kiss and pushed his forehead against hers.

“Maybe someday,” she nodded and let her tears fall down her cheeks. Her chest hurt. It hurt with the pain of what they had to do. With the fear and the guilt, with the shame and the panic. Her breath was so quick, so hurried, she barely got enough oxygen in her lungs. He nodded too, slid back in the pillow, and pulled her to his chest.  

And for once, she felt herself let go. She let herself be weak, be scared. She let Roy see her at her worst because she didn’t have the power to shield him anymore. Not today. Not now. Right now, she needed him most. 

“I’m so afraid.” She spoke, barely above a whisper, as she dampened his shirt with her tears. 

He brushed her hair and nodded. “I’ll call Christmas. I’ll sort it out.” She could tell he tried so hard to sound confident, to shoulder the responsibility for both of them, but he was so frightened too, and she knew him too well not to pick up on the dread in his voice. “You just sleep, just sleep.” 

After half an hour of shifting, she finally fell asleep. Catalina had pushed the door ajar to peek inside and found them nestled against each other. Riza with her back to the door and her head pressed in his chest. Roy, with his hands stroking her back, over the withe shirt she had changed into. Mustang offered Catalina a pleading look, his eyes asking her for time. And to his relief, she nodded and closed the door softly, not to stir Riza awake.

His hand trailed on her hip, with his thumb brushing her abdomen, where his child grew inside her. What a strange thought.  His child . It filled his heart with such sorrow, such remorse. So much longing for the life that could have been, the life they could have had. 

Mustang felt a tear wetting his eyes and moved his hand to brush his eyelashes. He turned on his back to stare at the ceiling, to ponder the last hours. She must have been so afraid. His chest tightened, and his mind raced. She must have been so scared to find out like this, with him out of the country. She had to face Havoc and Catalina alone, without him at her side to protect her. Who was he kidding? She was always the one protecting him. Even now, at her most vulnerable, she barely let him in, always trying to be strong for the both of them. 

Because he had been weak. Weak and selfish, and a fool. He had taken something that wasn’t his to take, and Riza had paid the price for him. He’d taken her life away from her, a life that could have been, before flame alchemy, before the war. Before the scarred back and before his burning, sinful touches. Before he took her on his desk, in his office, one late night when no one was around. 

He was never strong enough to resist her. Not when she kissed him in Ishval, so hungry and needy after he had almost died. Not when one night, between the dunes, turned red throughout the war, she pulled him in her tent. And he laid her down on the harsh cot and peeled away her clothes, so hurried and anxious, with trembling hands and shaky legs. 

He couldn’t even be man enough to convince her to quit the military. Because she believed in him, so completely loyal, and wanted to support him, to give him her devotion. And he’d been selfish and reckless. He assigned her under him, thinking he could resist her, praying he could keep away. 

And here they were, with her carrying the proof that he was a coward and a fool. The evidence he’d taken her love and loyalty and everything else she had to give. He let himself hurt for her, for the things he dragged her into. His shoulder shook with the pain he knew he had caused her. And he let himself feel the guilt he couldn’t shake. He was so ashamed, so mortified that he now had to stare at the cold hard facts. He had slept with his subordinate. He knocked up his Lieutenant. 

He wished things could be simple. That Hawkeye would have never joined the military, that he would have never become the Flame Alchemist. He let himself dream for a moment, a guilty, pitiful dream. He thought of Maes and Gracia. She was expecting too. Six months or so, already round and heavy, with rosed up cheeks and glowing eyes. And he thought of his friend, so happy, so annoyingly in love with his wife. They would have a small baby girl who would probably look just like Gracia and be as inquisitive as Maes. And his eyes drifted to Riza, his hand resting on her belly, while his mind thought of a girl, small, so small, bundled up in her mother’s arms, half him, half Riza.

He pushed a hand up to wipe away another tear. Maybe in another life, they could have had that. Maybe in five or ten years, they might get a chance to be as happy as Maes and Gracia. And his heart hurt so much. The pain of it all was so hard to bear. Because he loved her, with all his heart, but he couldn’t show it, he could tell no one. He could barely tell her, afraid that once he’d say the words, they’d have to face the ugly truth of what their affair was. 

He moved his eyes back to the ceiling and drew in a calming breath. It wasn’t working. He wasn’t calm, far from it. His hands shook, and his shoulders were so tight it hurt. 

He had no say in Riza’s decision. If she wanted to keep the baby, he would have supported her, as much as he could, as much as she wanted. He’d be there for her, be there for their child. He’d quit his dream and throw his uniform out. He’d pick up work as an alchemist, factory worker, or driver. Anything really, anything for her. He’d try to be a good husband. He’d try to be a good father. He grimaced, and his heart pounded in his chest. He knew nothing about fatherhood. He barely remembered his own father, already dead when Roy was too young to recall. The only father he had known was Master Hawkeye, and even now, years later, it still made his blood boil, calling that man a father. The only thing he left his daughter was a mangled back and a future filled with sorrow. Would that also happen to his daughter? Would he also turn into a bitter, crazed man? Crazy enough to— 

He choked on the thought, and it made him nauseous. He looked at her sleeping form, so peaceful now. His child would have Riza. Riza, so kind and loving. She’d be an incredible mother. He knew she’d love their child. And he could already picture a little boy with her big brown eyes. He’d never learn alchemy but pick after his mother and be a sharpshooter at 9. Roy would be the proudest dad. He squeezed his eyes shut to banish the thought, to chase away pictures that would never be. Not for him, not for them.

She couldn’t have the kid. Not now. Not now, when they would be court-martialed. He’d stand by her choice and have it arranged. Central was best. Less of a chance of someone recognising them. He hoped Madame knew a good doctor. She’d helped girls like Riza before. God. He dreaded the conversation he would have with his aunt. It wasn’t even something he felt he could tell her over the phone. Christmas would flay him alive. And rightfully so. She loved Riza. Everyone down in Central did. He took her two or three times whenever they passed through the city. But he never said anything about how she was more than his aid, more than Master Hawkeye’s daughter. He never mentioned how she meant more than a subordinate, more than just a friend.

But now he had to come clean. His aunt would be livid. She’d scream his ear off. She’d tell him he was stupid for knocking up a girl. He cringed at the thought. He had managed to be more responsible, more careful as a teenager, for God’s sake. Now, at almost 28, he’d done it. Knocked up a girl. And not just any girl. He was an idiot. He was a fool. 

And as much as he dreaded the conversation, he dreaded most what Riza was about to go through. He’d go with her. Of course, he would. But even if he’d hold her hand throughout it and take care of her, she still had to be the one to endure the shame, the pain, the consequences. 

What a cruel world to live in, he thought. Where if he wanted, he could walk away, and she’d be left to deal with it alone. He shuddered at the thought and reached a hand to brush Hawkeye’s hair. He hoped she didn’t think he’d do that, not even for a second. He’d put a gun to his head before he’d abandon Riza. 

“Since the war.” Catalina poured Havoc another cup of coffee.

“Fuck. That long?” Havoc shifted on the kitchen stool, gripping the cup. 

She nodded. “Hawkeye told me last night.”

He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. The morning light reflected strangely in the coffee. Rebecca took the seat near him at Riza’s cramped kitchen table. 

Havoc took a long sip and set his cup down, making the table rattle slightly. “That doesn’t change anything.” 

“He wasn’t her commanding officer then...”

“He is now!” 

Catalina’s hands jumped up to gesture him to keep his voice down. She didn’t want to wake Riza again, who’d barely got any sleep throughout the night. Rebecca herself didn’t get to rest much either. Her mind, stuck on her friend, kept her up in a vicious circle of anger, sadness and disarray. 

“He’s going to get her court-martialed!” he pressed on, on a lower, hushed tone. 

“Havoc, no one can know.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone will. She can’t disappear for 9 months. And it’s not like you can hide a baby—”

Rebecca shook her head, her gaze glued to her own mug. “No baby, Havoc.”

“What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and spoke again, “she’s not keeping it.”

“Is he making her do this?” he slammed his palms over the flimsy table.

“Havoc, be quiet! It’s Riza’s choice to—” she snapped her mouth shut when, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mustang, limping out of the bedroom. He dragged his feet through the kitchen door and passed their table to make way for the counter. 

She almost had to do a double-take. The man looked nothing like Mustang. She was used to his infuriating attitude, strolling through East HQ, flirting at any woman that crossed his path. Always that stupid air of indifference, like nothing mattered to him, nothing got through to make him care. Mustang, the intolerable Colonel, who never did his job, could never be relied on and made Riza’s work a living hell. Catalina even wondered how he’d made Colonel. How he’d even gotten that alchemist state licence in the first place. And that was the Mustang she knew. But the man in front of her, dragging his feet, with a slouched back, messy hair and reddened eyes, reminded him more of a wounded dog than a proud and powerful man.

“Don’t stop badmouthing me just because I’m here.” Mustang crouched down to reach the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. 

With practised movements, no doubting for a second where things were in Riza’s house, the Colonel opened another cupboard and pulled out a glass. He wasn’t wearing his jacket or service weapon. His light blue shirt was wrinkled, and the sleeves were rolled up. Rebecca fidgeted with the coffee cup. He looked so out of place, and yet, so at ease in Hawkeye’s house. Her mind drifted back to them, laid on Riza’s bed, and the Colonel rubbing her friend’s back with what had looked like care and affection. And Rebecca could swear she had seen Mustang wipe at his eyes and shake his shoulders in pain.

She turned her head towards Havoc, who had his eyes stuck to his superior. He was fuming on the chair close to her. She couldn’t help but notice that even he spared Mustang a pitiful look when the Colonel placed the glass on the table and poured himself a drink.

“A bit early for drinking, don’t you think?” Havoc spat at him. 

“I think I can be pardoned, considering the news.” Roy downed the booze and poured another round. 

“Is that your plan, getting drunk?” Havoc shifted his head to look Mustang straight in the eyes. 

The Colonel leaned on the counter and let his eyes fall down. He looked exhausted. Rebecca couldn’t shake the shivers that were shooting up her body. She was angry. Angry at this stupid, insufferable man. A playboy wrapping poor Riza around his finger while he went off to slack, grease generals and loiter in the cafeteria. The so-called hero of Ishval, who ruthlessly killed as many ishvalans as an entire platoon. Is this the guy she was really with? Is this the guy she was risking her life, everything really, for? Him? 

But then… she’d never seen Mustang so out of it. Never seen him moved by anything. His jaw was bruising, and his knuckles must have hurt, red and scraped as they were. She almost couldn’t believe her eyes when he had pushed her aside to rush to Riza’s lap, and he had clung to her so tightly. He looked afraid, terrified someone would take her away from him. And her friend, Rebecca thought, she held onto him too, and it was painfully evident that there was more, so much more between them, than any of them could have known. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fooling around. But what was it about then? Rebecca couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been wrong about Mustang.

She sighed and pushed her cup aside. She pondered, yelling at him, chewing his head off. But she chose neither, and even though she knew men like him couldn’t be trusted and she knew Mustang had to pay for the pain he’d caused Riza, she went ahead and lifted her eyes to look over the slouched man’s form, with his shoulders pushed forward, in an utter state of defeat and despair, and she spoke, “I could use a drink.” 

Havoc snapped his face towards her. “What the hell, Catalina?!”

But Mustang obliged, silently picking up a second glass and sliding it on the table. He poured her some whiskey, unceremoniously, and picked up his. He leaned back on the same spot, with his arms drawn around his front. 

“She hasn’t thrown you out yet, so I can at least assume she wants you here,” Rebecca spoke, sipping the drink. It gave her tongue a strange buzz and her stomach a painful burn. Havoc breathed in and out, loudly, his knuckles whitening on the mug near her. 

Mustang met her eyes for the first time that morning. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long. 

“She’s asleep now.” the Colonel spoke.

“She needs the sleep after yesterday.”

“I’ll sign her medical leave. Extend it trough until Monday.” Mustang nodded. “I’ll also let Grumman know I need to borrow you today. I’d rather Hawkeye not be alone,” his face pulled in a painful grimace, “while I arrange things in HQ.”

She wanted to be civil, for Riza’s sake. She planned to coax Mustang into letting her in on what the hell was going on. What he had been doing with her friend all these years. What the fuck did he think when he slept with his subordinate. What was his plan, his decision? And she wanted to be decent, polite even, for Riza. But Havoc, Havoc had other plans.

“Involve the Lieutenant General?! Colonel, are you out of your mind?” Havoc said.

“I’ll call in a favour. We need to get to Central tomorrow.” Mustang’s voice was clear yet shaky. Like he was struggling, battling someone, something, to let the words out, one by one.

“And you don’t think that will look suspicious?!” Havoc stood up, and his foot kicked the stool lightly. Rebecca’s grip tightened on her mug. She hoped Hawkeye was still sleeping.

“I don’t have another option!” Mustang spat back.

“Do you even care what would happen to her if the court-martial office finds out about you?” Havoc slammed his palm on the table. It startled Catalina.

Mustang straightened up and scowled. His voice was low, above a whisper, yet so exact. “Do you  really  think I haven’t thought?” 

“As far as I’m concerned, chief,” Havoc stood up to get into Mustang’s space, and Rebecca barely had time to react before the Lieutenant went on, “youre either incredibly stupid, and you didn’t think.” He took one step closer to Mustang, who didn’t flinch one bit, “or you are so fucking selfish that you did think about it and did it anyway!”

Mustang put his glass down. Rebecca’s hand shot up to Havoc’s elbow, and she pulled him back, only to have him flinch her hand and hook his fist into Mustang’s collar when the Colonel didn’t answer. 

“So, which one is it?” Havoc spoke through gritted teeth.

“Havoc, stop it!” She reached around to his clenched fist and pulled on his arm in a futile attempt to get the two separated. Fuck. Last thing she needed was Mustang grilling Havoc alive or Havoc breaking Mustang’s nose with a well-aimed fist to the face. And Riza, Riza didn’t need this. None of them did.

“I don’t have the explanation you want, Havoc,” Mustang spoke slowly and clearly, making sure to punctuate every single word. “I’ve got no excuse for you.”

Rebecca looked up at Mustang and pulled on Havoc’s fist again. For heaven’s sake, she was considering hitting Havoc herself to get him to behave. 

“Havoc!” She yelled again, and finally, thank God, Jean released the other man’s collar and settled his fists by his side.

“What about… the baby? What’s your plan for that?” Havoc went on. “Or do you just plan to drink until you forget about it?” He gestured to the empty glass and the opened bottle.

Mustang rubbed his bruised jaw and pushed by Havoc to sit at the table. His breath was uneven. Havoc leaned on the counter, breathing to calm himself down, while Rebecca searched the Colonel’s face for something, anything that would calm down Havoc’s anger and put an end to the incredible tension she was feeling.

“It better be a good answer,” she spoke and couldn’t stop her tone from sounding harsh like she was just waiting to bite into Mustang for what he’d done to Riza.

“My aunt must know a doctor. She owns a bar in central. We can stay there and...” he gestured vaguely with one hand, while the other held his forehead, “get it taken care of.”

Rebecca sat down with a thud. She breathed out loudly and spoke, “Is this what Hawkeye wants?”

“Of course it is. I would never—”

“You would never what, Chief?” Havoc spoke across the kitchen. Rebecca was thankful for the distance. 

“I’d never go against her word.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

Mustang sighed and dropped both hands on the table. “Believe what you want. The world is not black and white Havoc. But trust me, I’ll do whatever the Lieutenant wants me to.” He lifted his eyes to meet Havoc, and Rebecca shuddered at how raw his voice had sounded. “I’ve always done what she asked of me.”

Havoc scowl didn’t leave his face. Neither did his grip loosen on the wooden counter. His cheek was bruising too. And through the yelling and the fighting, no one had noticed Hawkeye, leaning against the door frame, holding a sweater tightly to her chest.

“Havoc, please understand.” Riza pleaded with him. And all of their heads snapped in her direction. Havoc’s gaze washed over her. Mustang shot up, on his feet, ready to jump at her side. And Rebecca looked over Riza, how she stood tall and confident, and bargained with Havoc, with that voice she always used in the office. She was severe and cold, not a muscle twitching. Not single expression reading through. She’d slipped back into the authoritative, confident Lieutenant.

“I’m sorry we lied to you. But we didn’t want anyone knowing.” Hawkeye’s hands wrapped around her front. She didn’t move from her spot in the door. Neither did any of them. 

Havoc took a long breath. “I don’t understand. I don’t, Hawkeye.” 

And Rebecca thought that maybe, maybe she did. The way Mustang looked over to his lover, his Lieutenant right now, so pained and remorseful, so defeated and sad, it told her everything she needed to know. He hadn’t run away. He hadn’t blamed Riza. And he had been with her since that dreadful war neither of them would ever open up about. And then, she looked at her friend, Riza, who not once left his side all these years, even if Catalina had tried and tried to convince her to transfer under a better officer or find a good man and quit the military. She’d always laugh and say all the good men are taken. That she was already married to her job. 

“We were young and stupid. We were at war in Ishval. And it didn’t make it right, but it happened.” Hawkeye spoke to Havoc, pointing her gaze to him. “And since then, we,  I  wanted it to go on. The Colonel never did anything  I  didn’t want.”

“Hawkeye, you know how stupid….” Havoc’s voice had lost its edge. Rebecca breathed out a shaky shallow breath while Mustang, near her, pulled at his sleeve again and again. 

“I know! And you can hate me for it, but I need your help. Both of you.” 

Rebecca shifted on her chair. She downed the boozed Mustang had given her. And then she snapped her eyes to Havoc, who looked back at her, confused and lost. And Rebecca nodded, assured, and trusted Havoc to not be an utter idiot like he always was. She trusted him to not be a stuck up, narrow-minded soldier and to stand up to help his friend. To have faith in Hawkeye. And then, thank heavens, he did nod his head, and he did breathe out, and he pulled up a cigarette and asked Hawkeye if he could have a smoke. 

Chapter Text

One more hour. One more hour and they'd be in Central. Riza squeezed her eyes shut and breathed out slowly. To put it lightly, she was feeling less than great, and the 4 hours spent on the train hadn't helped her much. It seemed her nausea was not contained to morning, and even now, at around 7 in the evening, her stomach was queasy, and her head felt tense. She wondered if the pregnancy made her sick or it was the thought of what they'd have to go through once they reached Central that made her stomach twist and turn. 

She had stressed over it the whole day after Roy arranged for them to quietly leave East City. They barely had time to talk, to reconcile with each other, and no matter how hard she tried now, she couldn't bring herself to hold a conversation about menial topics, like the office or the newspaper. 

She wanted to spill her guts and squeeze her eyes shut tighter. They were getting closer to Central with each minute. And if she usually loved the change of scenery, the hotels, the cafes, and a certain bar she and Roy would always visit, right now, the thought of it made her want to crawl out of her skin. She'd already had to face Rebecca's pity and anger. Havoc's disappointment. Now she had to face Christmas' scrutiny over how she'd ruined her boy's future. 

"Lieutenant?" Roy's hand itched towards her knee and stopped midair when her eyes opened slowly and warned him not to. The train wasn't busy, far from it. But they couldn't afford to be reckless. Not now, of all times. 

"Don't worry, sir. I'm alright." She pulled her uniform jacket a bit tighter around her and shifted her position straighter in her seat. It was safer to travel like this in their military garb. Just a lieutenant accompanying her colonel on a train ride to Central. She wished that were the case.

He nodded and offered her a small smile, the kind that made her heart feel heavier, and her fingers squeezed her jacket harder. He was trying to ease her mind again. He'd tried that the whole trip. 

"Should I get you some water?" he leaned in a bit closer in her direction, "something to eat?"

"Sir," she warned.

"Is that a no?"

She breathed slowly to calm her gut and forced a smile. She collected herself to slip back into her lieutenant voice, placing her hands in her lap. "You're worrying. It's not proper." 

His smile grew broader, and he leaned back into the seat, "and you're trying to play tough." As if he was one to talk.

"I'm trying."

His eyes lowered from her face to her knees. Or maybe somewhere above them, where her hand rested over her tighs. He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. "I know you don't like trains. We'll be in Central soon."

"The train is not the issue, not this time."

"You don't have to worry about Central, then. I told you, I'll sort it out."

"I'm just not too keen on visiting this time." She grimaced. Her palms grew sweaty with the thought, and she felt uncomfortably aware of how her shirt hugged her stomach and pressed against her skin. 

By his looks, he wasn't too happy to visit his family either. His eyes looked pained by her admission. His face pulled in a frown, and his lips straightened into a line. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'll handle Christmas."

Easy to talk, she thought. And Riza fought hard to stop the grimace spreading on her face and replace it with a small, tight smile.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant."

He wasn't making it easier. Because despite his valiant effort to keep his voice stoic and his jaw set straight, after all this time, after all they'd been through, he couldn't fool her one bit. Riza pressed a hand to her forehead in a desperate attempt to keep herself from rushing to a window and emptying her stomach. Maybe it was the worry, after all, that was making her sick.

"Has it been this bad all week?" His voice betrayed him again - afraid and anxious. 

"More or less."

And after four hours, where he had managed to hold back, he finally took a long breath, looking over his shoulder a couple of times, and he leaned forward to touch her knee. "I'm so sorry." 

His hand trembled slightly on her leg, and he removed it the instant he heard someone move behind them. But it was enough to send an awful shiver down her back and make her wish she could lay her head on his chest and he'd hold her till all of this was over. She searched his eyes, and she immediately hoped she hadn't. The sadness was contagious, not like she needed more to worry about and not like he needed to feel guiltier than he already was.

She steadied her breath and smiled, "You're being sentimental." 

The train rattled again. Out the window, it was starting to look more like Central in the late evening light. Her chest felt heavier with every mile, and her hands squeezed her front closer. 

He coughed slightly, and she snapped her eyes back to him, "It's hard not to."

She squeezed her eyes shut again and placed a hand on her stomach. The nausea was returning, and with it, the worry and the fidgeting, the turning in her mind over what would happen once they'd reach his aunt's bar. Once she'd have to face his family and tell them-

"Want to hear a funny story, Lieutenant?"

"Colonel?"

"I didn't have much time to get you up to speed with what happened in Xing," he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

She relaxed slightly into the leather seat. She knew what he was trying to do. And she was a thousand times grateful for it. "Sure, sir." 

He leaned in closer to her, and his mouth shot up into a boyish grin, despite the sadness his eyes still carried. "Grumman tried to make a play at Major General Armstrong." 

And just like his sadness had been contagious, his smile was too. It brought Riza back to a simpler time when a train ride could be just a train ride, and a visit to his aunt bar meant a night of laughter and peace. 

"He didn't!" She offered him a little smile and leaned her head back. She'd play his game and let him take her mind of Central. Take her mind off how sick she felt, how worried and afraid she was. Take her mind off the baby—

"He sure did. He's quite a lightweight. Got piss drunk the first night."

She felt less sick by the minute, happy to laugh at his little story. "Did he try to tell her about his  golden days ?"

"Of course he did. You'd think he'd have more tact at his age," Roy scoffed.

And she smiled again, and he returned her grin. She let him tell her about Grumman's love poem and how Armstrong's sword almost left the General without a finger. She let him make her laugh at a stupid story about how he'd forgotten the key to his room and no one at the hotel would speak anything but Xingese. And before the train pulled into the station, and she started shifting and turning on her seat again, he squeezed her knee with a knowing look when he'd made sure no one would see them.

Riza had always been fond of Christmas' bar. It felt like a part of Roy, the real Roy, who no one got to see. A warm, cheerful place where he could be himself, where he was loved and understood. Where he grew up surrounded by family, even though none of his sisters were related by blood. It didn't make the ties less strong. It didn't make this place less significant. A warm bar, with men laughing and women gleefully shouting Roy's name. 

She walked two steps behind him, as she always did when she'd wear her uniform. When she was his lieutenant. She watched him be pulled into a hug by his two youngest sisters, who were so happy to see him. And she couldn't help but grimace and feel like she was intruding on his sunny place, on his warm family. That she was here not to make him happier but to make all of them a part of her mistake. No matter how many times she tried to calm her nerves, she couldn't help but feel she had done something wrong. That for the past years, her actions,  their actions  have been a long accident, a fuse burning slowly until it set off the bomb. She stood frozen at the bar's doorway, her hand inching over her stomach. There was that feeling of not having enough air again, the nausea, the heartache. 

She couldn't focus on the patrons or the girls. She couldn't describe where she was, how the bar had looked. She couldn't hear what Roy told his sister or what the girl had answered back. A song was playing in the background. Was it a happy one? 

And she barely felt it when a pair of arms pulled her into a tight embrace, when, on instinct, she squeezed the girl back, her mind racing in circles. How could she pretend everything was fine? How could she hug this person, who loved Roy and cared about him, with the secret she carried? Would they still welcome her if they knew? Would they still like her if she told them what she and Roy had done?

Her feet propelled her forward, following her colonel up to the bar. Someone asked her a question, and she nodded her head and smiled. The music blurred around the voices, drawing everything into an indiscernible mess. Sooner or later, she'd have to say it. Soon they'd have to come clean. 

She smiled when a girl placed a glass of water in front of her. A glass of whiskey in front of him. He took off his jacket, but she kept hers on, tighter around her, and listened to him talk for the both of them. The glass in front of her remained untouched as her mind kept slipping to the horrible reality they had to confess. The pressing thing they needed help with.  She  needed help with. And her chest rose and fell with every breath as she squeezed the counter to steady herself. 

This was harder, much harder than she thought it would be. Her mind slipped back to when she was a girl, in a big house, afraid of her father. How he'd yell and raise his hand at her if she'd slip, make a mistake. How he threw Roy out and locked her in her room when he found out that he'd been spending time with his daughter. Her mind drifted on to the war and how afraid, terrified she'd been of the consequences, the ripples their relationship would cause. What a mistake would mean. And now she'd done it. The fuse had run its course, and the flame had already set in motion the explosion about to happen.

She found it easier to concentrate in combat, with a rifle pressing against her shoulder. She found it easier to keep her cool with bullets flying past her head than it was to keep her hands from shaking now. 

His mind and eyes snapped back to Roy when he pressed her leg under the table and spoke, "is Madame in?"

His sister smiled, pouring him another glass. "Back counting the bills with Vanessa." 

He downed it in one shot. "I need a word with her. In private."

"All business tonight?" She pouted.

He pushed a smile on his face. "Wish it weren't like that."

He stood and looked at Riza. She scrambled to her feet, her heart beating faster and faster in her chest. Her ears were drumming with the tone of her heart, and if not for his brief hand on her elbow, she didn't think her legs would hold. This was it, the last time she'd be welcomed here, the last time any of his sisters would smile at her. The last time they'd embrace her. Because why would they, when she was so close to ruining their brother's future. 

"Darlene will take you."

A lovely, young blonde jumped on her feet, smiling wide, and took her hand. And Riza's mind swirled around with so many emotions that all she could do was hold on to Darlene's arm and follow her steps as they passed by a tall, burly man who smiled at them and opened a heavy door. 

Down a corridor, at the end of the hallway, Roy pushed by another doorway and threw his sister a pointed glare, but she made no move to stop, sliding in Madame's office with him and Riza. Christmas stood when she saw them and smiled behind her painted lips and cigarette, handing Vanessa a fat stack of bills to count. The girl took the money and offered them a welcoming, big greeting, happy to see them both.

"Roy," Madame smiled and held her hand out for him to kiss, as they would always do.

"Madame," he spoke, but instead of his face lighting up as it always did, it tightened, and his voice wavered.

"You even brought Elizabeth! Always a nice surprise, boy."

He laughed softly and gestured for Riza to step ahead, and she put one leg in front of the other. He was nervous. She could tell. He pulled on his collar and fidgeted with his left sleeve. When he was anxious, he always did that, when something didn't sit right with him. And Darlene sat on Christmas' desk near Vanessa, who asked Roy how they'd been, how long they'd be in town. She asked her something, and Riza could only nod her head, only half aware of what she was shaking her chin to. Vanessa asked them something else. Or maybe it was Madame. She could feel her chest grow heavier by the minute. 

"Madame, I gotta ask you for something." Roy's voice was shaky, much like Riza's knees. But his back straightened, and he kept his nose up. 

Riza hovered behind him, thinking that it should be her saying it. It was her burden, her mistake. She should be the one to tell them—

"Go ahead, boy." Christmas took a long drag out of her cigarette.

He hesitated for a moment and looked between his sisters, "in private."

"Don't be a child," she chastised him. Riza sometimes felt her tone was enough to put any grown man in place. Any general. And it was always enough to make Roy squeamish and remind him of his place.

He huffed and ran a hand through his locks. Riza inched up a step towards him and felt her world crashing down. Vanessa counted the bills, and Darlene played with her hair. And she drew a big gasp of air in readying herself to let the truth out—

"Riza needs your help." And she could tell how hard he struggled to push the rest of the words out, "she's pregnant."

Darlene was the first to gasp. Vanessa's hands dropped to the table, and her eyes snapped to Riza. Roy stood straight, not flinching, and Christmas just shook her head and huffed out her cigarette smoke. 

In and out, Riza could feel her own breathing over the silence. It was excruciating. She closed her eyes and drew her hands around her tighter, preparing herself for the shame, the guilt, the disappointment. The yelling or the disapproval. The talk down she was so sure she'd receive. She wasn't prepared, however, for the two slim arms that embraced her, the blond hair that touched her face, and the small voice, Darlene's voice, who said, "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth!"

"She needs it taken care of," Roy said, with more conviction, his eyes pleading with his aunt.

Darlene took Riza's hands into her own, and Riza could do nothing to stop her breath from shaking. And Darlene, bless her heart, looked at her with sad eyes and a deep understanding and said, "does… does the father know?"

Riza opened her mouth to say something, anything, really. And Roy snapped her eyes to them, ready to reach out for his sister and shake his head. 

"Darlene, don't be a fool…." Vanessa lifted herself up from behind Madame's desk. Her voice trembled slightly, so unnatural for her. 

"You stupid, stupid boy." Madame killed the cigarette in the ashtray as Vanessa moved to a cabinet behind them to pull out a bottle and some glasses. 

Darlene's eyes darted between Riza's and her sister's and finally landed on Roy, who closed his eyes and shook his head, and his face pulled up in a painful wince. 

"Roy?" The petite blonde asked.

"I can't believe you." Vanessa poured the brandy in the glasses, with her eyes trained on her brother, making no mistake who she was addressing. 

Riza had expected then to yell. To shout at her. To chastise her for what she'd done. To judge her for the awful truth they had just heard. She held herself tighter as she straightened her back and took a small step to stand near him. 

"I'm sorry," she spoke with her head tilting down, "it's my fault."

Roy's hand snapped to her to touch her shoulder, in complete abandonment of decorum and pretend. A hand on her shoulder, out where people could see them seemed so childish, so insignificant now. 

Vanessa handed Madame a glass, who lit another cigarette. "Sweetheart, it takes two to make a child." 

Riza could feel her gaze burning her and Roy's hand drawing her to his chest to trace her back and her shoulder. She never felt such a strong urge before to cling to him as tightly as possible, and at the same time, an instinct to push him as far away, to calm her burning cheeks.

"I thought I raised you better, boy, than to let the poor girl think  this  is her fault." 

Roy's eyes snapped up to his aunt, and the girls sighed. Riza searched his face for an answer, a word, something, anything clear and confident. But his face was a mix of sorrow, shame and anger, shifting from one emotion to the other, settling into a wince. He dropped the hand that had rested on Riza's shoulder and pushed past Madame to take two of the glasses on the desk.

"Are you sure you want this, Elizabeth?" Christmas' eyes scanned her from head to toe, and the look of sorrow and pity frightened her.

Riza's head nodded in an instant at the pointed question. Her hand shot to her stomach, and remembering herself, she dropped it by her side. "I can't have the…" she shook her head. Saying it out loud didn't get easier. It never did.

Madame sighed, a long and drown out puff of smoke. Roy handed Riza a glass with an apologetic nod. He looked terrible. She probably looked the same. Darlene's hand reached for her back again to hold her. She was grateful for the girl's support, while her mind fought to reconcile the fact that they hadn't thrown her out, they hadn't looked at her with disgust, nor did they run away. Yet.

"Vanessa," Madame turned to the girl, "call Carmille. Maria will give you the number." 

And Roy's sister nodded before finding Riza's eyes and giving her a slight nod. She pushed past the desk and stopped at Riza's side to pull her slowly, in a tight embrace. Despite her looks, tight dresses, and heels, the older girl had a motherly aura to her that Riza sought out and grabbed onto. She felt her chest contract, the air pushed out of her lungs. She didn't know how to react to the touch, to the embrace. But mostly, she didn't know how to act when her awful sin had been met with kindness instead of bitterness.

"We'll take care of it, don't worry," Vanessa spoke in her hair, low and tranquil, and Riza couldn't help but nod and press her eyes shut as the thin arms left her side and she heard the door close behind her. 

"Thank you." Riza's gaze travelled around the room, and, despite the fear and the remorse, it settled on Madame's sharp eyes.

"Don't  ever  think we wouldn't help you." Christmas sipped her brandy, and Riza felt an urge to do the same, to have something else burn her chest and her throat instead of the sorrow. "You're staying." Not a question, but a clear, concise resolution. 

Riza breathed out, relieved, so relieved that she could finally fill her lungs with air, unlike in the last couple of days, that had taken her life by storm. 

"If it's alright with you, Madame," Roy said.

"Darlene, help Elizabeth settle in." 

And the girl jumped to her feet at Madame's command and grabbed Riza's arm, who snapped her eyes onto Roy.

Mustang placed the empty glass back down on the desk and breathed out a "thank you" before turning on his feet to reach for Riza's hand.

"Not you, boy."

He huffed and dropped his hand by his side. Riza searched his face, and he offered her a quick, reassuring smile and a brief, tight nod, "go ahead, I'll be right up."

Riza didn't move, but her eyes skimmed the room, from Roy's pained and contorted face to Madame's sad eyes. Darlene gestured for her to follow and pulled on her arm.

And as if reading her mind, he laughed and said, "I'll be alright, don't worry."

She nodded and let the girl drag her away, to close the door behind her, as she left Roy to deal with his adoptive mother. The noise in the bar filled her ears again. From the corner of her eye, she could see Vanessa behind the bar, on the phone. She could see the girls entertain the patrons, pouring wine and the man smoking cigars. Her hand shot to her stomach as Darlene took her up the stairs and whispered, "I'm sorry," again and again.

They reached a room, Roy's room, her mind filled in the blanks, and Darlene opened the door for her. 

"I assumed you'll want to sleep together…." Darlene trailed off. 

They'd never spent the night at Christmas' place before. It somehow didn't seem appropriate, despite Roy's insistence that no one would bat an eye and that they'd give her her own room. He'd showed her his childhood room one time, the first time they'd been here. His room from before he came to stay with her, in Master Hawkeye's house. 

She brushed a hand through her hair and exhaled softly. No point in pretending, she supposed. "Thank you, this is more than fine."

Darlene's hand reached up to her elbow again, and Riza could not remember the last time someone other than Roy had touched her this much. 

"Vanessa will call the doctor, and she'll have it arranged. You don't need to worry," the girl spoke, with a reassuring voice that made her sound older than her 20 years of age. 

"Thank you for everything." Riza nodded and offered Darlene a small smile. 

The girl let her disentangle their hands, and Riza sat on Roy's bed, slowly, almost afraid she'd disturb something she wasn't supposed to. His room was filled with alchemy books, parchment and files. It looked nearly the same as his apartment back in East, always overflowing with absurd alchemical texts and research notes. But the room, and the flat, were both warm and messy and comforting, and  Roy , they were so much like him that her heart ached a little. She felt so out of place, yet so at home, surrounded by his things. 

She only noticed the girl sitting next to her when she reached for her fingers again and spoke slowly, "is it really Roy's?"

Riza stifled a small laugh and relaxed, tired,  so tired , of this, of everything that was happening around her. She couldn't bring herself to lie or to deflect. She didn't have the energy to pull herself together. "Yes, it is."

"He should have married you, in that case." The girl scrunched her nose up and pressed Riza's hand.

"He offered." Riza smiled. She was happy to ease her mind into a simpler, calmer conversation, away from the thoughts of what she had to do tomorrow.

"At least that." Darlene huffed. 

Riza left her eyes wash over the girl. They'd met before, each time she visited with Roy. His sisters had always been lovely, so friendly and welcoming to her, and embraced her and told her they were grateful she watched over their brother and how happy they were he had someone. 

"I'm sorry…." Riza spoke, "I didn't want you all to find out like this." 

"He's the one to blame." Darlene puffed again, giving Riza an assuring look. "He's older than you and should have known better." 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."

"It does." The girl's tone was so stubborn, Riza couldn't help but see a bit of Roy in her. "He's the man. He shouldn't make you worry."

She breathed out a shaky gasp of air. "He does his best."

"Well," the girl pulled her face in a pout, "he's an ass for keeping you away from his family." And before Riza could speak up, she went on, "and for the baby. He should have  known better. " The girl punctuated the last part again.

Riza let her gaze fall down on her knees. She felt her chest tighten again, and her voice choked up in her neck, "we both should have, than to do what we did."

Darlene kept her hands on Riza's, and her voice broke down too, "why don't you want to keep it? We could help you—"

Her chest tightened again. Tired, so tired, of the last few days. The nausea she'd felt on the train returned. "I can't," she shook her head and pressed her eyes closed, "not now."

"If it's about Roy not wanting the—"

"It's not." She shivered, "It's not."

Darlene moved her hand to brush Riza's shoulder as Riza kept her eyes down to avoid Darlene's gaze. She hated breaking down in front of everyone these days. Enough people had already seen her crying. 

"I need to be there for him, as his aid, not..." Riza trailed off.

"You don't want to be with him?" The girl's voice was small, and Riza could pick up a trace of doubt, coated in layers and layers of sadness.

"I do. But it's not easy, not for us," she shook her head. "I wish it were."

The girl nodded, and, to Riza's relief, she stood there silently, by Riza's side, brushing her shoulder and her back, in a silent understanding between two women who loved and cared for the same man. 

Madame poured them another round. She sat behind her desk, and Roy was reminded of how it felt to be 14, waiting to receive a talk down or a smack around the head. Christmas always found the worst way to punish him, to make him feel like a truly dreadful man. Sometimes she'd shout. Sometimes she'd make him sweep the whole bar. But sometimes, the worst of times, she wouldn't yell, she wouldn't shout. She'd stay behind her desk or behind the bar and throw him a disappointed glare that let him know just how bad he'd messed up. And judging by the look and the number of cigarettes she'd had, this time, he'd really done it.

"Does anyone else know?" 

Mustang huffed and took his glass, "my second lieutenant and Riza's friend." Before Madame could ask, he went on, "Riza found out while I was gone in Xing. They were there for her."

Madame shook her head. "And you trust them?"

He nodded, "they would never hurt her, even if they seemed more than happy to snap my neck for it."

Madame puffed out her cigarette smoke. "You deserve it, boy."

Roy let his eyes fall down on the desk, looking aimlessly at the stacks of bills and the brown envelopes. She had a way to slither into his mind and heart and make him feel sorry, so fucking sorry. 

"It was an accident," Roy said. 

"That lasted years?"

"What are you implying…."

"Roy." She puffed out her cigarette, "don't insult me."

"I'm not sure what you're getting at- "

"I've known for years she wasn't your aid."

He crossed his legs on the chair, and his face pulled up in a scowl, "and you didn't say anything?"

"It wasn't my business, boy."

He smiled and dragged on his shirt, "I'm sorry, Madame. I wouldn't have dragged you into this mess if I had another option." 

She scoffed. "You made that poor girl feel like it's her fault." 

The tone in his aunt's voice made him shudder and pull at his skin. Did Riza really think this mess was her mistake? Did she really believe she was the one to blame for-

"You should have known better," Christmas spoke. And he had expected her to shout or to look at him with contempt. But what really shook him was how heartbreaking her eyes looked, how much pity and hurt her voice carried.

Roy let his elbow rest on her desk, and his head fell in his palms. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"She should have quit."

"You know her enough to understand she would have never listened," he spoke with a pained, drawn-out voice. 

He huffed in his hands. He wished it were that simple. He wished it were that easy to just quit the damned military and raise a happy family. To just convince Riza to abandon him, to leave him behind, to go and live her life, a full, joyful life, with a good man and a beautiful child. 

"Are you sure about the doctor, boy?"

He raised his eyes to meet his aunt's. "You mean the procedure…" he trailed off.

Madame nodded and sipped her drink. He reached for his, the 3rd, or maybe 4th glass he'd had. It was barely enough to keep him from plunging down into a deep, endless void. It barely held him from the edge.

"I've got no say," he set his glass on the table and gestured Madame to pour him his next one. "Did you arrange it?"

"Tomorrow evening. The clinic runs an honest business during the day. The doctor's a friend."

He nodded and breathed out, relieved. At least that. At least they'd be able to get it done, quick and easy, with someone who they could trust, who he knew was safe. Who'd take care of Riza and make sure she would be fine. Fuck. He barely had time to consider it - the actual implication of what she was about to go through. He'd studied enough biology under Hawkeye to know what it entailed. 

"What hour should we leave?" He toyed with his glass, keeping his eyes stuck to the desk.

"We?"

"Yes, me and Riza-"

"Boy, don't be stupid. You can't be seen with her."

He slammed the glass back on the table and snapped his eyes back to his aunt. "What do you mean?"

"You heard me. You're not coming."

"You can't possibly expect me to stand by and-"

"That's what  men  do. They pull out their wallet, pay, and  wait , while women take care of things that need to get done." She killed her cigarette in the ashtray with enough force to shatter the whole thing. "What would someone say, if an East City Colonel, would take his Lieutenant for a walk, late night, in a Central clinic?"

"It's Central. No one would-"

"Enough people might."

He felt his chest freeze up, his heart beating fast, so fucking fast, in his ribcage. He felt like punching the desk or kicking the chair. Throwing his stupid alchemist watch down towards the bottle cabinet behind her. Pulling his gloves on and setting fire to something, anything. She made enough sense to hold him back. And the alcohol had mellowed his instincts, had snuffed out his anger, enough for him to sit still and consider her words. As if there was anything to consider. 

"I can't do that to her."

"Should have thought of that before."

He lt his palms press on his face, and he drew in a ragged breath. He should have thought of that. He should have thought of the consequences long before today, long before last month. He should have thought of it when he kissed her the night her father was buried. When he left her to go to war. When he met her again, among the bloodied dunes, and he didn't have the decency, the strength, to stay away. He should have thought of the consequences when he slept with her, again and again, even after he had assigned her under him. His shoulder shook with the weight of his actions, and his breath got caught in his throat.

"Roy…" his aunt placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed her standing up or walking to him. But he was grateful for the touch, so thankful to feel something, anything else, but the guilt and the pain.

"I'll take care of her. She'll be safe." And because he didn't speak, couldn't talk, she went on and gently rubbed his shoulder, "Go be with her."

Chapter Text

He didn't expect to find her in his room, among his books, between his things. On his bed, with his sister rubbing her arm. Part of his brain could not reconcile with what he'd been through. What  she had been through . The other part of his mind kept blasting, thought after thought. Worry after worry about what was yet to come. What they still had to do. The doorknob, wooden and worn, felt foreign under his palm. His feet, frozen in the doorway, couldn't move, couldn't get him closer to her, no matter how hard he tried. 

He'd wished so much for his family to know the truth about their relationship. He'd hoped for the world to know just how much she mattered to him, how much he loved her. He wanted to scream it, to flaunt it, to make everyone know that he was hers and she belonged to him. But not like this. Not now, God, not now. In the past, he would have wished nothing but for his sisters to know what he and Riza really shared. Now, the image in front of him hung heavy on his heart, and the instinct to hide and run, honed over years of secrecy, itched in his muscles. 

The women raised their eyes to meet him. Darlene sprung to her feet, more assured and confident than he'd seen her their whole lives. With a breath of air for courage, Roy took a step inside the room,  his room , and placed the small suitcase on the floor. Just running through the motions, trying so hard to clear his mind and ease his chest. His sister marched towards him and her face contorted between anger and despair. It seemed her mind was torn, likely between hating his guts and feeling sorry for them. 

"You better take care of her, Roy." Her face finally set in a slight scowl, and she stood her ground, her face tilted up to set her eyes on his. "I mean it."

Usually, he'd laugh. He'd tell Darlene off, make a crude joke or outright deny any and every implication. But now, with his heart and their secret out on in the open, with the cold hard facts starring him down and weighting his shoulders, the only thing he felt appropriate to do was nod. And nod again, for good measure, more to himself than the girl.

"I know," he said, with a sullen voice, "I know."

Riza shifted on the bed to draw her hands around her front. Darlene considered his words, ran them through her mind and her face softened up. She squeezed his hand. A brief gesture, an olive branch. He knew what it meant. 

"You let me know if you need anything, Elizabeth," the girl spoke over her shoulder, offering Riza one lat comforting smile before she closed the door behind her, leaving the two finally alone. 

He shifted on his legs, with his hands firmly jammed in his pockets. The news he had to give Riza weighed heavy on his heart, and he thought about it, again and again. The right words to say it were lost to him. How could he tell her she'd have to go alone? That he wouldn't be able to come with her? He rubbed his reddened knuckles and his face distorted into a sullen wince. 

"Darlene thought we'd want to sleep in the same room," Riza spoke, at first so quiet that he barely heard her. She cleared her throat and searched his face with her eyes. "I didn't think there was any point-"

"It's alright," he assured her. And finally, he closed the distance between them to sit at her side. "No point pretending anymore." He nodded and took her hands in his. God, her fingers were ice cold.

"I'm sorry, Roy." And before he could shake his head no, she squeezed his hands and continued, "you fought with your family because of me."

On instinct, he moved closer to Riza to press their sides together and draw her into an embrace, guiding her head to lean on his chest while his leaned on top of her golden locks. "We fought because I'm an idiot."

She smiled under his hand, and he felt her shift, mover her frozen hands to brush his arm. He tightened his hold on her and pressed a kiss on top of her hair while his mind fought to steady itself, to not let it run in circles.

"I am, aren't I?"

"Don't."

"I am. I let you think this was your burden. Fuck, I let you take the fall for everything I do." And even if he didn't think it was possible, he squeezed her tighter until he could feel her racing heartbeat and the shaky, uneven rise of her chest. "Every time I fuck up, I bring you down with me." 

His mind screamed to let her go. To put some distance between them, the space he was never strong enough to enforce. His senses shouted to get away, leave her alone, that it was getting dangerous, too dangerous, and his flames would burn her the most. His hands twitched and moved to disentangle their bodies, but before he could build up his resolve, she brought him in again, clashing her lips to his, destroying the last attempt he might have had to be a good man and do the right thing. She kissed him with such force, his feelings ran wild, burning away to ash any self-control he might have had left. His hands shot back to her hair to brush her head, to caress her cheeks, to trail her neck. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

She broke the kiss, but his lips searched hers again. Again and again. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. He kissed her neck, and his hands brushed her back, over the scars he knew were there, the scar's his very hands had caused. And she leaned in, into his touch, in his lips, like she would always do. Maybe she didn't have the strength to tell him no either. Perhaps she couldn't keep her hands away, her feelings in check, as her fingers brushed his face and smoothed over his shirt. He had to pull away. He had to brush her hands off, to set a line in the sand. To disentangle their bodies. They'd sinned enough already. They'd stolen enough and had already paid their toll. His hand skimmed over her side, over her belly, and his mind snapped back into place.

He moved away from her neck and caught her arms in his hands. "Riza, we can't," he spoke, but his throat choked with every word, "not anymore."

Her face mirrored his expression of guilt. Of grief. Of longing for something more than they could have. Her face turned into a painful wince, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and a decisive shake of her head brought his hands back on her face. "I think it's too late for that."

His face softened, and his fingers trailed her jaw. His voice, above a whisper, begged her, "you have to push me away. Tell me to fuck off." But his finger tightened their hold on her, and his body stayed pressed to hers. "I've hurt you enough."

She trailed her fingers over his jaw, which still carried a faint bruise. Her hands were warm now, burning his skin. "I've hurt you so much too."

Roy pressed his eyes shut tightly, afraid to look at her. And his mouth pulled in a hundred expressions, overwhelmed with the millions of things he wanted to say. And because he couldn't say any of them, because she was warm and she clung to him like she did all these years, he brought his lips down onto her again while she breathed out against his mouth, her heart thudding in her chest. And he kissed her like there'd be no tomorrow and like there was no today. Because with what they were doing, there might be no future. Not this time, not this life. 

He felt her fingers on his shirt again, working his buttons. She kissed him back like she understood him perfectly, without the words, without the explanation. She knew what he felt because she felt it too. And he wanted,  fuck , he wanted to grab her hands and stop her. To tell her that what they're doing is wrong. That people like them didn't deserve to be happy, not after what they've done in that cursed war, not after what they've done every day since they returned. He wanted to tell her to leave him, to quit the military. But his chest hurt so much at the mere thought that the only thing he could do was kiss her back and push her down in his bed. 

She never told him to stop. She never pushed him away.

Her hands drew around him, bringing him closer, pulling him in. He felt the need in her touch, in her hold, in her lips. Maybe she needed him as much as he needed her. Perhaps she needed to feel loved and cared for. She needed to feel happy. Just for a moment, if nothing more. Just one blissful flash, stolen in the panic, hidden away between duty and honour. Just like they had needed to feel solace back in her tent when she was just 18 but already a decorated sniper. When he was just short of 21 and had already burned through dozen of corpses. They needed each other to feel something else, something, anything but  that , just like he needed her now, to feel that their lives were more than just war, orders, and obedience. 

He let her take as much as she needed, and he took as much comforting in her as he could. He wished again that she would stop him because he didn't have the strength to stop by himself. Just like her, he needed just as much to forget, for a moment, that she was pregnant with his child, a child that could never be because of who their mother and their father were. A child that would never come to live because of how fucked their parents' lives had been. His lips burned her, and his fingers traced her back, her sides, her front. Everything. He wanted to feel everything but the grief at what they were losing. What was never theirs to have.

She was gone. So was the booze. 

His feet dragged down on the street, thankful for how noisy the nights in Central were. He couldn't stand to hear his thoughts. Who knows what they might have to say? About him, about her? He wanted to drown them, smother them in a glass.

But Vanessa had cut him off after he nearly finished a bottle of Drachman vodka by himself. Why couldn't she understand he couldn't be sober, not while he had to sit tight and wait? Wait for Riza and Madame to return, wait to breathe out, relieved that she was safe and they were fine. Wait to hold her again. Wait until this whole fiasco was over. 

Roy stifled a laugh as he passed by the shops and the cafes and took a left turn down another nameless street. 

Wait until it was over.

And When would that be? Would they ever be out of the woods, free to be themselves, allowed to love each other? Would he ever be able to just hold her hand and walk down this damned street? Would it ever be safe for them to get a house, marry and have…

He kicked a crumpled newspaper down the road. He couldn't be here, just like he couldn't be in the bar. There was just one place where he needed to be. Damn her. Madame didn't even give him the address despite how much he argued. She knew him better than he'd thought. But he couldn't just sit around, chat up his sisters and sleep through the night while Riza was out there, alone, afraid. Suffering because of him.

Fuck this. Another nameless street passed by his front, but Roy could barely take it all in. Just houses upon houses. When he'd stormed out of the bar, fed up with the music, the laughter, the cheer, he'd hoped the walk would help him clear his head. Sober him enough that when he'd return, Vanessa would take pity on him and pour him another round. Rinse and repeat until morning, until she'd be back. Because his thoughts, damn them, kept returning to her and their child. Kept picturing her in pain. Kept making his knees buckle and his stomach turn. He stopped, leaning against a fence, to draw some air in, and steady his legs. And life never gave him a damn break because his feet had dragged him to a street he knew. 

Roy pulled his silver watch out from his coat and checked it four times until his eyes and his mind could catch the time. Just a few minutes shy of 2300. He pushed on with a new sense of direction. The silver felt cold, so cold under his fingers, and he threw the damn thing on the ground, hoping it would shatter. He eyed it carefully, like staring down a piece of rubbish at his feet. He considered walking forward, leaving that darn alchemist watch there. But remembering himself, he picked it up, almost falling down the street. The cursed thing wasn't even broken. 

God. He was a mess. 

He thought about going home to empty his guts and sleep it off until she returned. And then his mind was back on her, Riza, and he couldn't be alone. He couldn't bear to be alone with his thoughts, with the feeling of trepidation ready to take over his body at any time. Any minute now. So he stumbled forward, like the drunk that he was until he reached a brick townhouse with a small fence and a lovely front yard. The kind of house he wished he could buy for Riza. Where they could live together, and he'd wake up to her every day. The sort of house where they could raise a child or two. She could finally get a dog as she'd always wanted, and he could finally have a study to stash away the alchemy books she so much disliked. Unlike his shoddy East City rental, a house that would be a home for two. 

And he wished the lights would have been off because then he could have turned away and crawled back to Christmas'. But something inside him, the pain, or perhaps the fear, compelled him to push open the fence that squeaked with enough force to wake up the whole neighbourhood. A knock on the door. He'd count to five and turn away if by that time no one would—

The door opened with a slow creek, and a bolt shot up Roy's chest. The alcohol in his blood muddled his senses, and his stomach stirred dangerously. He had to lean on the brickwork to steady his knees, and his eyes trailed up to search his friend's face. 

"Roy?!"

"Hughes." Roy lifted a hand in a weak attempt at a casual salute. His face looked nothing close to fine, and he was sure no amount of faking would make the alcohol on his skin fade away.

Hughes' hand left the door to shoot up to Roy's shoulder. "Are you alright?! I thought you were in Xing...." 

Roy pushed the feelings stuck in his throat down and straightened his back, leaning into Maes' touch a bit more than he would have liked. "I'm back," he spoke with a gruff voice.

Behind his friend, Gracia poked her head through, dressed in a nightgown and holding a robe tightly to her front. "Roy… Come in," she pleaded with him. And he took a long look at her, and his knees softened up again when he saw her hand rest on top of her round belly.

"No, no. I'm good." Despite Hughes' attempt to hold him up, Roy plumped down on their front steps. He floated somewhere between piss drunk and a strange sense of soberness that tasted like bile and felt like shit. He'd much rather have the first one. 

"Roy, what happened?" The worry in his voice was as palpable as it could have been. And because Roy didn't answer and just waved his hand around, dismissing the thought, Hughes leaned in and pressed on, "where's Hawkeye? Is she alright?"

Roy shook his head, placing his face in his palms and dragging his breath. They shared the silence until a dog howled in the distance, and the noises of the city filled the air around them. Finally, he lifted his head up, pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled, "can I please have a drink?"

And this time, it was Gracia's voice that broke the silence, as she reached out a shaky hand, almost afraid to touch him, "where's the lieutenant?"

The bile in his stomach raised again, and the only gesture he could muster was yet another shake of his head. "Please," Roy pleaded again, resting his head back in his hands. 

Focusing was hard. He regretted knocking from the moment he saw Gracia, pregnant and worried, standing in the doorway, behind his best friend. What the hell was he thinking? It was late in the night. He wasn't even supposed to be in Central. The Lieutenant,  Riza , who had always been a step behind him wherever he went, was on the other side of the town, fixing his fucking mistakes. Of course, Hughes and Gracia would be worried, seeing him like this, so fucking out of it. What a mess.

A jolt of fear ran through his muscles when he felt Gracia's hand on his arm, and when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, Hughes was nowhere to be seen. "Come inside. You can sleep it off."

"I don't want to disturb you, Gracia," his eyes trailed down to her swollen belly, and his chest tightened painfully. "You and the baby need the rest." He brushed his hair in a stupid attempt to sober up, to cover the fact that his voice had wavered and he looked like shit. He could barely bring himself to look at her out of fear that he might actually break down, spill his guts and cry. He caught his mind slipping back to Riza. Was she alright? Was she safe? 

"I'll stay with him for a bit," Hughes spoke to his wife, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. Roy diverted his gaze, setting it on the low fence in front of him. He focused on the sound Gracia's nightgown made when Hughes released her from his arms, the clink of the door when it closed slowly behind her and finally, the pop of the bottle cork and the sound of alcohol hitting a glass.

"I know you're not a fan of wine—"

"Thank you, Hughes." 

Hughes let out a slow sight, then spoke, "what happened with you? It's worrying." He offered Roy the glass and placed the bottle down on the step, where he sat next to his friend. 

Roy took a swig, a big one, and with alcohol on his lips, he felt his mind slip back closer to a haze, a place neither here nor there, where he wanted to be, to avoid thinking, to avoid worrying. But the fear wasn't going away and the need for space, for air, never dulled down. He felt alone tonight, so fucking alone. Alone with the burden, the shame, the guilt. Alone with the worry, the panic. He wanted someone to tell him it would be fine. He wanted someone to tell him they'd be alright. That she'd be safe and taken care of.

And Hughes, damn him, he went straight for the kill, sensing the discomfort and the worry, as he pressed on, "Roy, where's the lieutenant? Is she hurt? Is that why you're in Central?"

"She's…" he trailed on, his throat closing up at the mere thought of speaking the words. And he considered lying and shaking his head to cover up yet again. But he was tired and heartbroken, afraid and raw, so instead, he opened up and said, "she, she's not fine. Fuck, she's not fine."

His breath wavered, and he stopped to take another swing of wine before his mind raced and raced. His chest felt lighter, with the words out, out in the open where someone else could hear them and understand them. Where someone else could take some of the immense burden he carried. Fuck, Riza wasn't fine. And damn,  they  weren't fine. And before he could stop, he spoke again, "I'm not fine."

"Is she…" Hughes trailed off too, unsure of how to ask, as Roy took the bottle and poured himself another glass. "Is she in the hospital? A gunshot?"

"No, God, no! No gunshot. No hospital, but," Roy shook his head, and Hughes breathed out slowly, "she's…" he tried again, but the words, as much as he wanted them out, wouldn't leave his throat. So instead, he dropped his head down and shook his head again. "I fucked up, so badly, Hughes. You can't even imagine."

 "Hey, I mean, if she's not hurt and you're not either, how bad can it be?" 

Roy took a long drown out-breath and slowly released it, considering if he should tell Hughes. Because Catalina and Havoc already knew. His aunt knew. Many people were already involved, drawn into their mess, who would have to cover and lie for them. So many people had lashed out at him when they found out. Screamed his ear off. His jaw still ached from Havoc's fist. His heart still hurt for how all of them regarded him with suspicion and apprehension like he'd done something wrong and forbidden. And he didn't blame them because he had done something wrong, so fucking wrong. 

"Roy," Maes started carefully and placed a hand on Roy's shoulder, whose face was pulled in a strained, tiered look, "if it's about you and Hawkeye…."

Roy felt like he should pull his shoulder back, set the glass down and leave. Go sleep the alcohol off, or at least try, while he'd lay awake in an empty bed, waiting for her to return. But Hughe's hand on his shoulder was making his skin itch for the touch, for the understanding. It made his heart yearn for comfort, the simple alleviation of telling someone the truth.

No, not someone. His friend. 

His friend, who could understand him. His friend who'd never assume he pushed himself on her or that she'd sleep with him for the promotion. His friend knew who she was and what they'd been through. Who'd been with them in Ishavl and knew the utter horror they had lived through and somehow survived. So he stayed, downed his glass and leaned into Maes' touch as he cleared his throat and finally, with a shaky voice that threatened to fizzle anytime, he spoke, barley above of a whisper, "Maes, she's pregnant."

Hughes dropped his fingers to his side and slowly exhaled. Then, grabbing the bottle of wine, he took a healthy swig. Roy hoped the earth might open up and swallow him whole. 

"Yours?"

Roy nodded. "Mine." He set his empty glass on the stair, and Hughes passed him the bottle.

"Are you going to finally marry the girl?"

The pang of guilt hit him harder than Havoc's punch. Harder than Rebeccas shrieking or his aunt's harsh words. It made the wine on his lips taste like bile, and the alcohol in his blood burned. It made him nauseous and lightheaded. "You know why we can't…."

"She's pregnant, Roy. You can't walk away from that."

"I would never. Fuck, I'd never." He shook his head and gave the bottle another tug. "But she's not… we can't have the kid. We can't." 

Maes placed his hand back on Roy's shoulder, and he was so grateful for the gesture. So thankful for the acceptance and comfort, for the simple fact that he was not alone, with the thoughts that had tormented him all night. That he could talk, and take them out, everything. The anger, the sadness, the guilt. He could lay them all out so his heart could stop hurting like he might just have a heart attack. To lay them out, so his lungs could fill with air again, so his shoulders could shake off the weight, so his mind could finally rest. 

"You know we can't." Roy shook his head again. "She's having it taken care of." He waved his hand in a gesture that died mid trough, and his arm fell limp at his side. 

"Tonight?"

"Right now." He nodded. 

Maes expression shifted, again and again. He opened his mouth to say something and quickly closed it again, while Roy fidgeted uncomfortably, holding the bottle in his hand. The silence was deafening. The tension was painful, and he wondered if he'd made a mistake, coming here tonight, spilling his guts out to his friend. But then the hand on his shoulder pulled on his coat and brought Roy in a tight embrace, which left him shocked and conflicted. His arms came to hug Hughes back, so clumsily at first as if he'd forgotten how to hug another human, then with a bit more courage and finally with need.

"I'm sorry, Roy. I really am." 

Abd Roy could only nod and hold on to his friend, take comfort in the heat, and let his heart hurt until his arms felt heavy, and Hughes let go of him. His eyelashes were wet, and he rubbed at his eyes, shielding his face away. 

"How did it feel?" Roy asked, with a shaky, uneven voice that threatened to break at any point. "When you and Gracia found out?"

Hughes face pulled in a sad, uncomfortable smile. His eyes remained trained on Roy, who took another sip of the wine and gave the bottle back. He took a swig of it himself before finally opening up, "I couldn't believe it. It was like the earth underneath disappeared. My angel, giving me another angel, half me, half her. A beautiful child…" he trailed off, and stopped. 

Roy lifted his eyes to meet Hughes' and offered him a pained smile. His heart ached, but he urged Maes to go on, "and Gracia?"

"She was smiling so wide. Smiling and crying," Hughes spoke, and a small laugh escaped his lips. "She was so beautiful, so happy. She always wanted to be a mom." 

His mind drifted to Riza. Of course, it did. How she found out alone, terrified. How sick she looked when he returned, how tired and glum. How painful it must have been to know that she carried the burden of their mistake, that the child they'd made could never be. He thought of himself too. How he also felt like the earth beneath his feet had disappeared. But instead of floating in the air like Maes, he'd felt like a hole had opened up, pulling him in under, snuffling out the very air in his lungs. 

"I want to see her like that too," Roy said, holding his hand out for the wine. "But she was so scared. She looked like the world had collapsed on her. She… she apologised, said it was her fault."

"Roy—"

"And I tried to tell her, it's not, it's not. It's mine, but she wouldn't listen."

"Roy, stop—"

"I knocked her up and left her to believe she was at fault. I want her to be happy, but I just cannot…."

And for a while, Hughes didn't say anything. Because what could he, really. What was there left to say? The bottle hit the ground, making an empty clank against the stone. Roy's heart ached for something they couldn't have, for something he didn't have to give her, as much as he hoped he could. 

But then, Hughes spoke again, "you're an idiot."

"I know—" Roy tried to argue.

"You're an idiot, alright? I've been telling you for years to hurry up and marry."

"Hughes, I can't tell her to quit."

"So hurry up and make damn Fuhrer already," Hughes spoke and kept his eyes pointed forward at the small iron fence while Roy's head hung limply. "Hurry up and make Fuhrer, so you can marry Hawkeye. So you two can have a child. So you can make her happy."

Roy huffed and brushed his eyes, wiping away a stray tear. "And until then? What?"

Hughes' mouth pulled in a thin line, and the look in his eyes shifted to reflect Roy's wounded, mournful gaze. "I'll bring another bottle." He lifted himself up, swaying slightly. "I'll stay with you till morning."

"Your heartbeat is normal. Breathing seems alright. Tension is a bit high, but nothing too worrisome. Has the pain eased up?"

Riza nodded. 

"The bleeding might continue throughout the next days. Take it easy." The short, stubby doctor pulled his gloves off and sat up. "Alright, that's it then."

That's it then.

She lifted up from the examination table and ignored her pain. Her chest filled with air, and she could finally breathe. Her feet felt shaky from the anaesthesia, but the adrenaline kept her going. With trembling hands, she grabbed her clothes and slipped them on. She finally felt like she could close her eyes and expand her chest and inhale and exhale without the world coming down on her. 

It was done.

No child. No proof. No tie to her commanding officer being more, much, much more than he should be. Other than the chain of command, no link between Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Mustang. No bond. No relationship. At least none that could be proven, none they could accuse her of, none anyone could trial him for. 

As she pulled her jacket on, she thought again about a small girl with Roy's hair and her eyes. A daughter they'd never have. Not now. Not in this lifetime. And the space she made to breathe soon filled up with a strong wave of pain, a sadness that washed over her like a cold icy shower and left her breath trembling. She was so relieved to be out of the woods, to be free of the danger of being found out. To have dealt with the consequences of what they'd done. But when the fear left, the grief took its place. A heartache so strong, not for the child she'd lost, but for the one that could have been. In a different life, if they'd be different people.

No child.  She nodded, to herself, more than to anyone, to drill it in her head that this was never to be. Not for her, not for them. They couldn't be stupid, not like they'd been until now. Her hand shot up to her shoulder, still sore and a little red after the contraceptive shot. If last night proved anything, she couldn't keep him away. She needed him like fire needed oxygen to burn. She needed him like he needed her. Because he made her feel something. Something else than pain, and anguish, something more than regret and penance. He made her life a little easier to live and made her duty easier to carry. And if she were to be honest, it was worth the risk, the anguish and the worry. She'd take the scraps life threw at her, and hold on to them, keep them as close as possible because it was better to have him like this than not have him at all.

She didn't feel like talking. Not to the doctor, not to the nurse. Not even to Christmas, who she was immensely grateful for, but couldn't stomach the questions that came. Was she alright? Was the pregnancy gone? Was she in pain? And she had a feeling that Christmas was not referring to the shooting pain right above her left hipbone, but to the heartache, she must have known Riza was feeling. But she was too tired to answer. The procedure, the waves of pain, the sadness, it all made it a bit too much to bear, and the anaesthesia and the pills have left her mind raw and her bones feeling like lead, heavy and cumbersome. So she was happy to sit and close her eyes as Madame drove them home.

Home to Roy.

She hoped she'd find him sleeping, tucked in his bed. So she could slide in next to him and pretend none of it happened. That the past week had been a dream, a horrible one at that, but a dream none the less, that would fizzle out come morning. That Rebecca and Havoc had never found out. That Christmas didn't drive her down from a clinic at 5 am in the morning. That her and Roy hadn't been careless and gambled with their future. 

But as the car pulled up near the bar, she saw him sitting on the steps, dressed the same way she'd seen him when they left last night. With his head slumped down and a cup of coffee near him. If not for the pain and the way her body ached with the worry and the tiredness, she would have rushed to him. Instead, she waved her hand, and he shot up to his feet and, in a second, had crossed the distance between them and had her in his arms. In front of the club, out on the street. And she didn't care that Christmas was there or that people might pass by. She didn't care he smelled of vodka and wine. She squeezed him back so tightly, enough that she could feel how real he was. And his arms didn't leave her side, checking her again and again.

"If you squeeze her like that, boy, you'll hurt her," Christmas said. 

But he just nodded and kissed her head and never left her side. And she felt the same relief she'd felt earlier in the clinic. That maybe it was finally all in the past. A bad dream, nothing more.

"I'll buy you a nice house, with brick walls and ivy growing on the side. When I make Fuhrer, I'll get you the nicest home you could wish for." Roy brushed her hair slowly, dragging out every move on her golden locks that spilt over his chest.

Riza shifted, drawing closer to him and pulling the cover tighter against them. The morning light cast his teenage bedroom in an eerie glow that made her feel like they were suspended in time. "I don't want you to buy me a house."

"I'll buy it anyways. And after that, I'll get you a ring, the proper kind."

Her fingers trailed his chest under his open shirt. "I don't want a ring either."

"I'll ask you to marry me," he nodded with conviction, ignoring her disapproval, "and you'd say yes?"

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. He still smelled like wine and she of antiseptic. He felt sick from all the alcohol, while her heart still ached and her stomach caused her pain. What a pair the two of them were, embracing on his bed, in his aunt's bar. After all they've done. After everything they've been through. And he still asked her that.

"I would," she spoke because she knew he needed to hear it.

He lifted his head slowly to place a kiss in her hair, and his fingers held her tightly to his chest. 

"And then?" she asked.

"Then," his fingers trailed over her abdomen, and she shuddered a little under his touch, "then, we'd have another chance to have that kid. A real chance."

Her heart ached painfully. She closed her eyes and let him stroke her hair, calming her down. Right here, right now, between night and day, under the covers, she allowed herself to feel the pain for what they'd lost, mixed with the hope for what could be. Not now. Not right now, but someday, maybe they'd get another chance. After they'd atoned for their sins, after they'd fixed all the wrongs, they'd perhaps be allowed to be happy and give life instead of taking it. 

"A boy and a girl," he continued.

"Two?"

"At least!"

She smiled, and her hand itched up to trail his jaw and brush his face. "I don't know about that…."

He laughed and kissed her head, again and again, his arms squeezing her to him. "It's my domestic fantasy. Indulge me a little."

"Alright. A boy and a girl." She said.

"They'd be the smartest kids, too smart for their own good."

"Like their father?"

"And, they'd be as stubborn as their mother."

"I hope not," she said, but her lips pulled in a smile. "Will the whole house be overrun with alchemy books?"

He shook his head, and his hands shot up to her back. She shivered under the sudden touch and felt him stiffen under her as his face pulled in a painful wince. "No alchemy."

A jolt of pain travelled up her body and settled in her chest, weighing her down with the heavy grief of what he was implying. She lifted herself up on her elbows to hover over him and look in his eyes, where she found a sadness she knew reflected in her own gaze. Her hand stroked his hair now while her lips pressed to Roy's in a slow, chaste kiss. And she whispered against his skin, "it's alright if they do."

His breath was rough, and the fingers that held her arms were cold. Shaky. He closed his eyes and leaned in her touch. "If they want to, I'll find them a teacher. Someone good and soft," and his lips finally relaxed and pulled in a small, teary smile, "someone like Armstrong."

"You wouldn't teach them?"

"No," he shook his head. "No. I've done enough damage already. No flame alchemy. Never. I promise you that."

She pressed her forehead to his and nodded, "no flame alchemy."

They stayed like that for a while before he caught her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that amplified the pain in her chest and the ache in her muscles. He trailed his lips up her face and guided her head back on his chest, where he kissed the top of her hair again. 

"In my fantasy, they all like guns, and I'm the worst shot in the house."

"That's not a high bar," she spoke and smiled against his chest.

"Anyways." He laughed, and her heart warmed at the sound. "They follow their mom around all day, and I can barely get a moment alone with her." His hands brushed her locks again as he continued, "so when I do, I really gotta make it count."

"I thought this was a domestic fantasy."

"Well, it's my version of it." 

He laughed and kissed her head again as his fingers traced her shoulders, her back. The place where he knew the scars ran deep under her shirt. She shifted, to be closer to him, as close as possible, and let her eyes shut slowly, as her mind drifted to a family, a real one, with a mother who was well and alive, a father who was loving and around, and a cheerful kid. The kind of family neither she nor him ever had.

"Do you think we'll ever…" she trailed off, unsure of what to even ask, as the pain in her chest moved to rest in her throat, making the words sound hurt, "if we'll ever have that?"

He sighed and moved them on the bed so they both lay on their sides. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it slowly, letting his eyes close too. "I don't know, Riza. I'm sorry, I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"I'm sorry too, I really am," and her eyes drifted down to her own stomach and the kid that could have been. The life they could have had. If she was not a soldier, and he was not her colonel. 

"Sometimes, I think I don't deserve that. But sometimes, there's nothing more that I'd want," Roy said.

Riza nodded because she understood, and there was nothing that she could say. Not because he was right, not because he didn't deserve a family, but because she knew how that felt. She'd been living with the thoughts herself, and deep down, knew no word, no prayer, and no daydreaming could heal the wounds left in her soul by her father, by the war, by what they did. 

And then, Roy spoke again, "but you're enough as you are," and her hands shot up to him because she felt something inside her soul break.

She nodded again and again in his arms. And she whispered, "you are more than enough, too." 

Because he was enough. He was more than enough, even if they'd have to keep it a secret their whole life. Even if she could never marry him, they could never have that kid. Even though he'd never buy her that brick house, and they'd never have a kiss in public. Even then, she'd still love him, and it was enough because he loved her too. And maybe if things had been different for them, another time, another life, they'd get their happy family. But them, the real them, they'd have to do with the broken pieces and the secrets, the touches in the dark, and dream about the day where they could just be. 

Until then… Until then, she'd kiss his lips and hold his hand. She'd keep him safe and protect his dream. She'd be by his side whenever he'd need her. And one day, some other time, some different life, they'd get their peace.