Elections [Royai, T] Part 2
This is chapters 7 & 8 of Elections.
Chapter 7
JE: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is my great honor and pleasure to introduce the candidate for the Amestrian Nationalist Party- my longtime friend and colleague, Antony Davis!
*applause*
AD: Hello. I’m pleased to accept my party’s nomination. I pledge to do my best as a candidate, both for the Dragons and for our country. This is an historic time for Amestris. Under the wise guidance of Fuhrer Grumman, we are entering an era of change. In times like these, the people of Amestris need to know that they can rely on the Fuhrer and the military, just as they always have. As Prime Minister, I intend to work closely with the office of the Fuhrer to ensure just that: that the people of Amestris are well-cared for, and that the military is still closely involved with the affairs of state.
In Amestris, we have always known how to adapt; to shoulder hardship with dignity. In my travels across Amestris, I’ve met countless widows who have lost husbands to the conflicts in the East and South- and countless young men missing limbs and comrades from those same conflicts. We are a people who meet adversity with strength, and terror with endless courage. As we face the unknown together, I know that we will face it with strength, with courage, and with the strong men and women of our military at our backs. Good night.
--------------------------------
PF: So it’s Antony Davis for the Dragons and Franklin Greeley for the DemPops. Carl, what are your thoughts?
CT: It’s much too early to say, Peter. Look, Davis was always Bradley’s man. It’s no secret that he’s never been a fan of Grumman’s, and he’s not happy about the democratization efforts. So he’s dancing on a line here- he’s trying to win an election he probably doesn’t even want to happen. Greeley, on the other hand, is all for democratization.
PF: *laughs* That’s true. He’s been vocal about it for years- although he was quieter during the Bradley administration.
CT: They’re both safe bets for their parties. They’re popular with their bases, they’re experienced MPs. I think the parties don’t know what to make of this election- it doesn’t follow any of their playbooks. So we can’t start picking a winner now; this is a whole new world for Amestrian politics. Anything could happen.
PF: What do you think about the possibility of a dark horse candidate?
CT: Someone breaking ranks and striking out on their own? I’d be surprised if it didn’t happen. Someone’s going to make a grab for it. As for who? Your guess is as good as mine.
---------------------------------
The Resembool Register, excerpt, July 2nd, 1922:
Town Hall Dance
The hall will be turned out for a dance this Friday! Come out to see your neighbors in their finest. Dancing and games; refreshments and music provided. Sponsored by Rockbell Automail and Havoc General Goods.
Chapter 8
Riza twisted, trying to reach behind herself.
“Do you need a hand?” Roy asked, stepping out from behind the dressing screen with a tie in his hand.
“I’ll trade you,” Riza said, and took the tie. She turned her back to him expectantly. She could feel Roy step closer, his fingers tracing the back of her neck.
“I’ve always liked the way you look in blue,” he murmured, his voice low.
“Not disappointed that it’s not a miniskirt?” she commented, tilting her head to expose her neck a little more.
“I can’t help that I appreciate a beautiful pair of legs,” he said, his lips against her neck and his voice rumbling on her skin. “Yours in particular. But the dress is lovely.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Are you sure you should go with a tie?”
“Too formal?” he asked, curling his hand around her waist. He pulled her toward him, the warm cotton of his shirt pressing against the still-bare skin of her back.
“You’ll look like a politician,” she said.
“I am a politician,” he pointed out. He kissed her neck, and then pulled away. He reached down, fiddled with the stuck zipper, and then pulled it up to the nape of her neck. “Or I will be. I hope.”
“You will be,” she said, smiling slightly. She turned. “I think going without the tie will work better here, though.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he allowed.
I usually am, she didn’t have to say.
The Resembool town hall was surprisingly large. It had been built, she was told, when Resembool was a larger and more prosperous place. Then the station had been bombed during the early years of Ishval, and the town had never recovered. Business had gone north or south to towns with a functioning train line. Most of the surviving infrastructure had been repurposed or torn down, but the town hall remained.
She squeezed Roy’s hand, warm in hers. “How should we proceed?” she asked, watching people stream into the hall.
“Petitions next to the pies, right?” he said. He took a deep breath and his face got serious. “Riza,” he said. “I have to convince them that I’m the best man for the job. What if it’s not true?”
Riza cocked her head. “Sir?” she said, blandly.
He shot her a look. “I mean it. We democratized the country. They get to vote now. What if someone else would be a better leader? Am I sure that I’m not just... blindly pursuing my own goals? This was always supposed to be about Amestris, and not about my personal power-”
Riza stepped forward, moving close to him. This was very Roy, to doubt his own intentions. “No one else understands what happened in Ishval; in all of Amestris,” she said. “The country is in flux, and a bad leader could kill the democracy, on purpose or by accident. It needs someone who believes in it. It needs someone who understands that we have to take care of each other. Besides,” she added, dropping her voice, “I may have made new promises, but I never abandoned my old ones. I’m still watching your back.”
Roy nodded, his uncertainty suddenly gone. It was odd how obliquely threatening to kill him was comforting. But she understood- Roy’s greatest fear was becoming a monster or a tyrant. He needed her to assure him that it hadn’t happened yet. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. He leaned up and kissed her, almost chastely, his lips warm against hers.
“We’re not alone,” she reminded him, with humor. “And you have a Parliament seat to win. We should go in.”
Roy nodded. “As long as you’re watching my back,” he said, “I can face anything.”
As they entered the hall, Riza wished she had the same confidence. She wasn’t at all sure that she was prepared to be a political wife. Still, it wasn’t as though she was going to leave Roy on his own. She’d just have to adapt.
“You finally made it!” Edward said, coming up to them. “I know Mustang takes forever in the bathroom, but still.”
Roy grinned. “This level of artfully-tousled doesn’t happen by accident,” he responded gamely, gesturing vaguely at his head.
Edward rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “You’d better make your stupid speech thing.” He dragged Roy off, leaving Riza standing with a smiling Winry.
“It’s weird to see them together like this,” Winry said. “I sort of thought Ed hated Mr. Mustang. He always used to complain about him when he came home to visit. And then after he left the military, he just didn’t talk about it much. I can tell that Ed sort of doesn’t know how to be around him now.”
Riza smiled. “I feel the same way sometimes. I got used to the way things were, but it’s all different now.”
Winry nodded. “It’s good, though, right?” she asked. “You seem happy together. Ed told me that there’d been this... thing between the two of you for forever, but you couldn’t be with each other because of the military rules.”
So even Ed had known, Riza noted dryly. “It is good,” she agreed.
Roy, up at the front of the room, tapped a spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention. He started on his speech- Riza already knew the words by heart, so she found herself paying more attention to the delivery. Roy was very good; earnest and heartfelt. It was amazing that someone who had spent so many years manipulating people could still manage ‘honest’. But then, Roy had always been an idealist. He’d had to hide it in the military, but now, perhaps, he could openly be himself.
Afterward, she and Breda worked the room. It was an endless parade of have you considered signing? and wants what’s best for Resembool and working for the welfare of your people. Riza felt tired after the first few encounters, and more tired thinking that they would be campaigning for days. But this was where the mission led. She had been many things for Roy- a sniper, an aide, a co-conspirator. She wouldn’t fail him now.
“How’re you doing?” Breda asked, coming up alongside her.
“Well enough,” she said, catching sight of Roy across the room. “Heymans?” she asked, suddenly. “Are you happier being a civilian?”
He laughed. “The military wasn’t for me, not really. I hated that stupid wool uniform, and I hated having idiots in authority over me. The General was the reason I stayed in as long as I did; you know that.”
Riza nodded. “I never liked the uniform, either,” she told him, confidentially.
Breda looked sharply at her, and then started laughing again. “No kidding,” he said.
----------------------------
Roy had never been in the Parliament building before. It was near the Fuhrer’s mansion, on the other side of the city from the old HQ building. He’d been busy when he’d been in Central, and he’d never gotten around to it. But now, with the signatures on the petition that made him the MP of Resembool still wet, this was where he worked. Roy straightened his tie and tried not to look up into the gallery where Riza was sitting.
The other MPs had not greeted him happily. They had doubtless guessed that he intended to make a run at the Prime Minister’s office. That wouldn’t win him any friends- some of them resented him for challenging Davis or Greeley; some of them were afraid that he’d steal some of their thunder when they announced their own runs. Roy ignored the glares and sidelong glances. Instead, during the day’s deliberations, he watched the delegates. He paid attention to who they paid attention to, and who they argued with, and who they ignored.
It was an instructive day.
-------------------------------
“Where do you want these?” Havoc drawled, balancing a box of files in one hand. He shifted to put more of his weight onto his cane.
Roy looked around the tiny office he’d been assigned. Resembool, apparently, hadn’t had an MP for well over a decade. By the looks of it, they’d had to clean out a closet to house him. A large-ish closet, to be fair. “Wherever you can fit them,” he said, dryly. Breda followed close after, and Riza and Sciezka after that. They ended up camped on the floor around the single chair, surrounded by stacks of files.
“Voting records,” Breda commented archly. “The last ten years, every currently active MP. Shouldn’t take us long to sort through at all. You alchemists are insane, you know that?”
Roy grinned. “C’mon, Breda,” he teased. “I thought you’d be used to sitting on your ass. The only difference is, you have to use your eyes this time, instead of resting ‘em.”
Breda shot him an obscene gesture. He did angle his body so that Riza didn’t have a clear view of it, though, Roy noted. Not that she didn’t notice. Eyes of a Hawk, after all. “Couldn’t you have just joined a party, boss?” Breda complained.
“Unfortunately,” Roy pointed out, “they all picked out their own candidates while I was still getting eligible. Very inconsiderate. I’m left with no option but to build my own party.” He paused. “I’m considering naming it ‘Amestris for Miniskirts’. What do you think?”
Havoc grinned. “I’d vote for that.”
“We can discuss the name later,” Riza said, with that sir-I-may-have-to-shoot-you tone of voice. She indicated the boxes pointedly. “We have to actually build the party first. We should probably start with the independents and the DemPops,” she said. “We’re more likely to be able to convince some of them to join us. The Dragons are notoriously close-ranked. Havoc, start sorting the files by party. Breda, you and I will start making a list of the key votes for us to look at- votes that are related to our issues. We want to look for MPs who voted with our positions; particularly if they voted against their own parties.” She sighed. “It would be nice to have Falman here now.”
Sciezka spoke up for the first time, adjusting her glasses nervously. “Ma’am?” she said. “I don’t have the same sort of memory that Lieutenant Falman has, but if I read something, I’ll remember it. Why don’t I start reading the files, and once you figure out what the issues are, I can tell you who voted which way?”
Riza nodded. “That will be immensely helpful,” she said. “All right- everyone to work. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Don’t I get a job?” Roy asked, amused.
Riza smiled, just a little. “We could use some coffee,” she said, deadpan.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, laughing. “And then I’ll help you and Breda sort out the key votes.”
Riza nodded. “And then you’ll be off making friends with the other MPs while we finish this.”
-------------------------------
Roy sat across from the other man, and smiled. “Please, call me Roy.”
Walter Calhoun looked dubiously at him. He was, perhaps, thirty years older than Roy. He’d been an MP for nearly forty years. He’d been a member of the Democratic Populist Party since its creation, fifteen years ago. He’d also voted against his party three times in the last two years, all on issues having to do with social services.
“I’d rather not,” he said, firmly.
Roy smiled wider. “I see, Mr. Calhoun. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Calhoun tented his fingers and looked over the desk at Roy. “Get to the point,” he said. “I don’t have time to waste, with you or otherwise. What do you want?”
Roy cocked his head. “I want you to help me form a new political party.”
Calhoun sputtered. “Why would I do that? You haven’t been in Parliament two weeks, and you come in here, trying to get me to abandon the party I helped build-”
“That’s exactly it,” Roy said, leaning forward. “You’ve built parties before. And the DemPops aren’t really your party anymore, are they?” He looked Calhoun straight in the eye. “I’ve studied your voting record. You care about the people of Amestris, don’t you, Mr. Calhoun? The others in Parliament are mostly just politicians. But you- you’re here because you hoped to make things better for the people in your district. The DemPops were founded because you wanted to push for the people to have more of a voice in their government. The DemPops have strayed from that path, and you know it. But those are my goals, too. I’ve worked for the democratization, and now I want to protect it-”
“You?” Calhoun exploded. “You’re nothing but a jack-booted thug! You marched to Bradley’s tune for more than a decade- you were the Fuhrer’s golden boy. The hero of Ishval,” he spat, his face almost purple with rage. “You’re a murderer, and you’d be a tyrant in the Prime Minister’s office. And you want me to help you get there!”
Roy nodded, solemnly. He hadn’t expected this outburst, but he might be able to use it. “You lost your son in Ishval, didn’t you?” he said. It wasn’t really a question; Sciezka had researched Calhoun thoroughly. “I’m sorry. Too many good men died there. Too many on both sides.” Roy breathed carefully. “That’s why I’m doing this, actually,” he continued, his voice rough. “I won’t defend what I did in the war. It was unforgivable. And it can never be allowed to happen again.” He paused. “Someone that I trust reminded me recently that that’s why I have to do this- someone who wasn’t there wouldn’t understand. They might forget what an atrocity it really was. They might not understand how evil the Fuhrer’s regime really was. But I understand.” He looked directly at Calhoun. “You understand, too.” Roy stood. “Think about it, Mr. Calhoun. But I swear to you- we want the same things.”
Calhoun leaned back in his chair, his face twisted with emotion. “Get out of my office,” he said, finally.
“Just think about what I said,” Roy said.
---------------------------
Riza tucked a stray lock of her hair back. “My name is Riza Hawkeye, Ms. Wilkinson. I work for Roy Mustang’s office.”
The other woman frowned. “And what does our newest Member of Parliament want with me, Ms. Hawkeye?” She was several years older than Riza, with frizzy red hair braided back into a bun. She was also an independent and a loose cannon and one of only three women currently serving in Parliament. When they had divided up interviews, Riza had asked for her.
“We were hoping to recruit your support in the upcoming election,” Riza said. “It’s probably no secret, but Mr. Mustang intends to make a run for the Prime Minister’s position. He’s trying to build a coalition, and we were hoping that you’d be part of it. I think you’ll find that we have a lot in common with you, politically.”
Wilkinson crossed her arms. “But he sent you rather than come speak to me himself?”
“I asked to be the one to meet with you, in fact,” Riza said, coolly. “But if you’d rather speak to Mr. Mustang, I can arrange a meeting.”
“What exactly do you do for Mr. Mustang?” Wilkinson asked. Her tone was challenging, and Riza wasn’t sure why.
Riza also wasn’t sure what the answer to her question was. Roy hadn’t exactly assigned anyone job titles. “I’m his aide,” she said, after a pause. “Essentially. The office hasn’t been entirely organized yet. Is there some sort of problem?”
Wilkinson snorted. “I’ll be blunt,” she said. “I don’t appreciate your boss sending a glorified secretary after me.”
Riza blinked. “Is that what you think is going on here?” she asked. She leaned her head back, meeting Wilkinson’s eyes. “I’m sorry to disagree with you, but I don’t think you understand how Mr. Mustang operates.”
Wilkinson looked dubious. “How does he operate?”
“Not efficiently,” Riza said, unable to keep some of the humor out of her voice, “But thoughtfully. He listens to his subordinates. When I told him I think Ellen Wilkinson will join us, and I think we could do great things together, he agreed. When I told him Let me approach her; she’ll appreciate someone who speaks plainly, he agreed to that, too.” She straightened her back. “I wasn’t just saying that earlier, about our politics. I’ve seen your voting record. Social services and women’s rights are your hotbutton issues. They’re our issues, too. I’ve left a policy brief with your aide, if you’d like to look it over at your leisure.”
“Roy Mustang cares about women’s rights?” Wilkinson asked, sarcastically. Because, of course, Roy had a reputation.
Wilkinson needed the truth. Riza knew that it wasn’t a truth that would get Roy killed anymore, but it was still difficult to come out and say it. Riza gathered herself, leaning forward. “Roy Mustang cares about human rights,” she said. “I’ve followed him for over a decade. He wants the office because he’s seen what’s happened in this country, and he knows that the government and the military are corrupt. He knows that the only way to change things is to be on top of the whole pile. That’s the only way he can look out for everyone. He’s risked his life for that, and so have I.” She sat up straight. “And if you doubt that- that’s all the more reason to join. He needs people to remind him of what he stands for. You could be one of those voices.”
Wilkinson looked thoughtful. “I’ll consider it,” she said, slowly.
“See that you do,” Riza told her.
----------------------------
Riza pulled her kettle off the hook. She debated with herself between coffee and tea, and finally settled on coffee. As much as she drank in a day, it probably wouldn’t even keep her up. She was so tired. She’d had five meetings that day, and each one had been a struggle. She lit the burner on the stove with a match and set the kettle on it. She leaned against the counter. Hayate bumped his head against her shin, and she reached down to pat him.
She had lived through much worse, she reminded herself. These trials were neither terrifying nor life-threatening. They were just irritating. She could certainly be forgiven for wishing, for just a moment, to be given an enemy that she could shoot at.
The kettle whistled. She turned the burner off and reached for her press. As she picked up the kettle, a knock came at the door.
Riza frowned. No one ever visited her. Carefully, she set down the kettle and made her way to the front door. Hayate stood guard silently across from her, his ears pricked and alert. Riza peered out of the peephole- and then relaxed. She unbolted the door. “Roy,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes tired. “I needed to see you,” he said, softly. Please let me come in, he didn’t say.
She stood aside and let him enter. “You really shouldn’t be here,” she told him.
“I won’t stay long enough to cause a scandal,” he promised. He stopped in the entry to the living room, as if uncertain where he should go from there.
“I was just making coffee,” she offered.
He shook his head. “Just-” he started. He caught her hand in his. “Just-”
She stilled. “Roy?” she asked.
He pulled her close and leaned into her shoulder. “It was a long day,” he said, finally.
Tentatively, she reached up and stroked his hair. “Sit down,” she told him.
She went to see to the coffee, and he settled onto her couch. “Calhoun,” he said, and sighed.
Riza nodded. “It didn’t go well?” she asked.
“He accused me of being a baby-killer and a thug,” Roy said, wryly. “Then he told me to get out. My other meetings went reasonably well today, but not that one.”
“What did you do?” Riza asked, sitting down beside him.
Roy huffed out his breath. “What could I do?” he said. “It’s true, isn’t it? And we knew that was the risk of throwing ourselves in with Bradley during the cover-up on the Promised Day. Now we have damage control to do.”
“We expected that,” she agreed. “And either Calhoun will come around, or we’ll make do without him.”
Roy nodded, silently. He leaned forward, his fingers laced together and his lips curled down in a frown.
Riza brushed his cheek with her fingertips. He startled, turning towards her. “We survived Ishval,” she said. “We survived the homunculi and the Promised Day. I’m relatively certain that we will survive this.” She leaned over and kissed him gently.
He breathed out, a long slow exhale, and leaned against her. I love you, he didn’t say. Of course, she didn’t answer.
In the stillness, the phone rang. Riza got up- a visit, and now a phone call. It was a night for exceptions, apparently.
There was a woman’s voice on the other end of the phone when she answered. “Ms. Hawkeye?”
“Yes,” Riza said. “How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the nameless woman said, “But your grandfather is dead.”
Chapter 7
JE: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is my great honor and pleasure to introduce the candidate for the Amestrian Nationalist Party- my longtime friend and colleague, Antony Davis!
*applause*
AD: Hello. I’m pleased to accept my party’s nomination. I pledge to do my best as a candidate, both for the Dragons and for our country. This is an historic time for Amestris. Under the wise guidance of Fuhrer Grumman, we are entering an era of change. In times like these, the people of Amestris need to know that they can rely on the Fuhrer and the military, just as they always have. As Prime Minister, I intend to work closely with the office of the Fuhrer to ensure just that: that the people of Amestris are well-cared for, and that the military is still closely involved with the affairs of state.
In Amestris, we have always known how to adapt; to shoulder hardship with dignity. In my travels across Amestris, I’ve met countless widows who have lost husbands to the conflicts in the East and South- and countless young men missing limbs and comrades from those same conflicts. We are a people who meet adversity with strength, and terror with endless courage. As we face the unknown together, I know that we will face it with strength, with courage, and with the strong men and women of our military at our backs. Good night.
--------------------------------
PF: So it’s Antony Davis for the Dragons and Franklin Greeley for the DemPops. Carl, what are your thoughts?
CT: It’s much too early to say, Peter. Look, Davis was always Bradley’s man. It’s no secret that he’s never been a fan of Grumman’s, and he’s not happy about the democratization efforts. So he’s dancing on a line here- he’s trying to win an election he probably doesn’t even want to happen. Greeley, on the other hand, is all for democratization.
PF: *laughs* That’s true. He’s been vocal about it for years- although he was quieter during the Bradley administration.
CT: They’re both safe bets for their parties. They’re popular with their bases, they’re experienced MPs. I think the parties don’t know what to make of this election- it doesn’t follow any of their playbooks. So we can’t start picking a winner now; this is a whole new world for Amestrian politics. Anything could happen.
PF: What do you think about the possibility of a dark horse candidate?
CT: Someone breaking ranks and striking out on their own? I’d be surprised if it didn’t happen. Someone’s going to make a grab for it. As for who? Your guess is as good as mine.
---------------------------------
The Resembool Register, excerpt, July 2nd, 1922:
Town Hall Dance
The hall will be turned out for a dance this Friday! Come out to see your neighbors in their finest. Dancing and games; refreshments and music provided. Sponsored by Rockbell Automail and Havoc General Goods.
Chapter 8
Riza twisted, trying to reach behind herself.
“Do you need a hand?” Roy asked, stepping out from behind the dressing screen with a tie in his hand.
“I’ll trade you,” Riza said, and took the tie. She turned her back to him expectantly. She could feel Roy step closer, his fingers tracing the back of her neck.
“I’ve always liked the way you look in blue,” he murmured, his voice low.
“Not disappointed that it’s not a miniskirt?” she commented, tilting her head to expose her neck a little more.
“I can’t help that I appreciate a beautiful pair of legs,” he said, his lips against her neck and his voice rumbling on her skin. “Yours in particular. But the dress is lovely.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Are you sure you should go with a tie?”
“Too formal?” he asked, curling his hand around her waist. He pulled her toward him, the warm cotton of his shirt pressing against the still-bare skin of her back.
“You’ll look like a politician,” she said.
“I am a politician,” he pointed out. He kissed her neck, and then pulled away. He reached down, fiddled with the stuck zipper, and then pulled it up to the nape of her neck. “Or I will be. I hope.”
“You will be,” she said, smiling slightly. She turned. “I think going without the tie will work better here, though.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he allowed.
I usually am, she didn’t have to say.
The Resembool town hall was surprisingly large. It had been built, she was told, when Resembool was a larger and more prosperous place. Then the station had been bombed during the early years of Ishval, and the town had never recovered. Business had gone north or south to towns with a functioning train line. Most of the surviving infrastructure had been repurposed or torn down, but the town hall remained.
She squeezed Roy’s hand, warm in hers. “How should we proceed?” she asked, watching people stream into the hall.
“Petitions next to the pies, right?” he said. He took a deep breath and his face got serious. “Riza,” he said. “I have to convince them that I’m the best man for the job. What if it’s not true?”
Riza cocked her head. “Sir?” she said, blandly.
He shot her a look. “I mean it. We democratized the country. They get to vote now. What if someone else would be a better leader? Am I sure that I’m not just... blindly pursuing my own goals? This was always supposed to be about Amestris, and not about my personal power-”
Riza stepped forward, moving close to him. This was very Roy, to doubt his own intentions. “No one else understands what happened in Ishval; in all of Amestris,” she said. “The country is in flux, and a bad leader could kill the democracy, on purpose or by accident. It needs someone who believes in it. It needs someone who understands that we have to take care of each other. Besides,” she added, dropping her voice, “I may have made new promises, but I never abandoned my old ones. I’m still watching your back.”
Roy nodded, his uncertainty suddenly gone. It was odd how obliquely threatening to kill him was comforting. But she understood- Roy’s greatest fear was becoming a monster or a tyrant. He needed her to assure him that it hadn’t happened yet. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. He leaned up and kissed her, almost chastely, his lips warm against hers.
“We’re not alone,” she reminded him, with humor. “And you have a Parliament seat to win. We should go in.”
Roy nodded. “As long as you’re watching my back,” he said, “I can face anything.”
As they entered the hall, Riza wished she had the same confidence. She wasn’t at all sure that she was prepared to be a political wife. Still, it wasn’t as though she was going to leave Roy on his own. She’d just have to adapt.
“You finally made it!” Edward said, coming up to them. “I know Mustang takes forever in the bathroom, but still.”
Roy grinned. “This level of artfully-tousled doesn’t happen by accident,” he responded gamely, gesturing vaguely at his head.
Edward rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “You’d better make your stupid speech thing.” He dragged Roy off, leaving Riza standing with a smiling Winry.
“It’s weird to see them together like this,” Winry said. “I sort of thought Ed hated Mr. Mustang. He always used to complain about him when he came home to visit. And then after he left the military, he just didn’t talk about it much. I can tell that Ed sort of doesn’t know how to be around him now.”
Riza smiled. “I feel the same way sometimes. I got used to the way things were, but it’s all different now.”
Winry nodded. “It’s good, though, right?” she asked. “You seem happy together. Ed told me that there’d been this... thing between the two of you for forever, but you couldn’t be with each other because of the military rules.”
So even Ed had known, Riza noted dryly. “It is good,” she agreed.
Roy, up at the front of the room, tapped a spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention. He started on his speech- Riza already knew the words by heart, so she found herself paying more attention to the delivery. Roy was very good; earnest and heartfelt. It was amazing that someone who had spent so many years manipulating people could still manage ‘honest’. But then, Roy had always been an idealist. He’d had to hide it in the military, but now, perhaps, he could openly be himself.
Afterward, she and Breda worked the room. It was an endless parade of have you considered signing? and wants what’s best for Resembool and working for the welfare of your people. Riza felt tired after the first few encounters, and more tired thinking that they would be campaigning for days. But this was where the mission led. She had been many things for Roy- a sniper, an aide, a co-conspirator. She wouldn’t fail him now.
“How’re you doing?” Breda asked, coming up alongside her.
“Well enough,” she said, catching sight of Roy across the room. “Heymans?” she asked, suddenly. “Are you happier being a civilian?”
He laughed. “The military wasn’t for me, not really. I hated that stupid wool uniform, and I hated having idiots in authority over me. The General was the reason I stayed in as long as I did; you know that.”
Riza nodded. “I never liked the uniform, either,” she told him, confidentially.
Breda looked sharply at her, and then started laughing again. “No kidding,” he said.
----------------------------
Roy had never been in the Parliament building before. It was near the Fuhrer’s mansion, on the other side of the city from the old HQ building. He’d been busy when he’d been in Central, and he’d never gotten around to it. But now, with the signatures on the petition that made him the MP of Resembool still wet, this was where he worked. Roy straightened his tie and tried not to look up into the gallery where Riza was sitting.
The other MPs had not greeted him happily. They had doubtless guessed that he intended to make a run at the Prime Minister’s office. That wouldn’t win him any friends- some of them resented him for challenging Davis or Greeley; some of them were afraid that he’d steal some of their thunder when they announced their own runs. Roy ignored the glares and sidelong glances. Instead, during the day’s deliberations, he watched the delegates. He paid attention to who they paid attention to, and who they argued with, and who they ignored.
It was an instructive day.
-------------------------------
“Where do you want these?” Havoc drawled, balancing a box of files in one hand. He shifted to put more of his weight onto his cane.
Roy looked around the tiny office he’d been assigned. Resembool, apparently, hadn’t had an MP for well over a decade. By the looks of it, they’d had to clean out a closet to house him. A large-ish closet, to be fair. “Wherever you can fit them,” he said, dryly. Breda followed close after, and Riza and Sciezka after that. They ended up camped on the floor around the single chair, surrounded by stacks of files.
“Voting records,” Breda commented archly. “The last ten years, every currently active MP. Shouldn’t take us long to sort through at all. You alchemists are insane, you know that?”
Roy grinned. “C’mon, Breda,” he teased. “I thought you’d be used to sitting on your ass. The only difference is, you have to use your eyes this time, instead of resting ‘em.”
Breda shot him an obscene gesture. He did angle his body so that Riza didn’t have a clear view of it, though, Roy noted. Not that she didn’t notice. Eyes of a Hawk, after all. “Couldn’t you have just joined a party, boss?” Breda complained.
“Unfortunately,” Roy pointed out, “they all picked out their own candidates while I was still getting eligible. Very inconsiderate. I’m left with no option but to build my own party.” He paused. “I’m considering naming it ‘Amestris for Miniskirts’. What do you think?”
Havoc grinned. “I’d vote for that.”
“We can discuss the name later,” Riza said, with that sir-I-may-have-to-shoot-you tone of voice. She indicated the boxes pointedly. “We have to actually build the party first. We should probably start with the independents and the DemPops,” she said. “We’re more likely to be able to convince some of them to join us. The Dragons are notoriously close-ranked. Havoc, start sorting the files by party. Breda, you and I will start making a list of the key votes for us to look at- votes that are related to our issues. We want to look for MPs who voted with our positions; particularly if they voted against their own parties.” She sighed. “It would be nice to have Falman here now.”
Sciezka spoke up for the first time, adjusting her glasses nervously. “Ma’am?” she said. “I don’t have the same sort of memory that Lieutenant Falman has, but if I read something, I’ll remember it. Why don’t I start reading the files, and once you figure out what the issues are, I can tell you who voted which way?”
Riza nodded. “That will be immensely helpful,” she said. “All right- everyone to work. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Don’t I get a job?” Roy asked, amused.
Riza smiled, just a little. “We could use some coffee,” she said, deadpan.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, laughing. “And then I’ll help you and Breda sort out the key votes.”
Riza nodded. “And then you’ll be off making friends with the other MPs while we finish this.”
-------------------------------
Roy sat across from the other man, and smiled. “Please, call me Roy.”
Walter Calhoun looked dubiously at him. He was, perhaps, thirty years older than Roy. He’d been an MP for nearly forty years. He’d been a member of the Democratic Populist Party since its creation, fifteen years ago. He’d also voted against his party three times in the last two years, all on issues having to do with social services.
“I’d rather not,” he said, firmly.
Roy smiled wider. “I see, Mr. Calhoun. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Calhoun tented his fingers and looked over the desk at Roy. “Get to the point,” he said. “I don’t have time to waste, with you or otherwise. What do you want?”
Roy cocked his head. “I want you to help me form a new political party.”
Calhoun sputtered. “Why would I do that? You haven’t been in Parliament two weeks, and you come in here, trying to get me to abandon the party I helped build-”
“That’s exactly it,” Roy said, leaning forward. “You’ve built parties before. And the DemPops aren’t really your party anymore, are they?” He looked Calhoun straight in the eye. “I’ve studied your voting record. You care about the people of Amestris, don’t you, Mr. Calhoun? The others in Parliament are mostly just politicians. But you- you’re here because you hoped to make things better for the people in your district. The DemPops were founded because you wanted to push for the people to have more of a voice in their government. The DemPops have strayed from that path, and you know it. But those are my goals, too. I’ve worked for the democratization, and now I want to protect it-”
“You?” Calhoun exploded. “You’re nothing but a jack-booted thug! You marched to Bradley’s tune for more than a decade- you were the Fuhrer’s golden boy. The hero of Ishval,” he spat, his face almost purple with rage. “You’re a murderer, and you’d be a tyrant in the Prime Minister’s office. And you want me to help you get there!”
Roy nodded, solemnly. He hadn’t expected this outburst, but he might be able to use it. “You lost your son in Ishval, didn’t you?” he said. It wasn’t really a question; Sciezka had researched Calhoun thoroughly. “I’m sorry. Too many good men died there. Too many on both sides.” Roy breathed carefully. “That’s why I’m doing this, actually,” he continued, his voice rough. “I won’t defend what I did in the war. It was unforgivable. And it can never be allowed to happen again.” He paused. “Someone that I trust reminded me recently that that’s why I have to do this- someone who wasn’t there wouldn’t understand. They might forget what an atrocity it really was. They might not understand how evil the Fuhrer’s regime really was. But I understand.” He looked directly at Calhoun. “You understand, too.” Roy stood. “Think about it, Mr. Calhoun. But I swear to you- we want the same things.”
Calhoun leaned back in his chair, his face twisted with emotion. “Get out of my office,” he said, finally.
“Just think about what I said,” Roy said.
---------------------------
Riza tucked a stray lock of her hair back. “My name is Riza Hawkeye, Ms. Wilkinson. I work for Roy Mustang’s office.”
The other woman frowned. “And what does our newest Member of Parliament want with me, Ms. Hawkeye?” She was several years older than Riza, with frizzy red hair braided back into a bun. She was also an independent and a loose cannon and one of only three women currently serving in Parliament. When they had divided up interviews, Riza had asked for her.
“We were hoping to recruit your support in the upcoming election,” Riza said. “It’s probably no secret, but Mr. Mustang intends to make a run for the Prime Minister’s position. He’s trying to build a coalition, and we were hoping that you’d be part of it. I think you’ll find that we have a lot in common with you, politically.”
Wilkinson crossed her arms. “But he sent you rather than come speak to me himself?”
“I asked to be the one to meet with you, in fact,” Riza said, coolly. “But if you’d rather speak to Mr. Mustang, I can arrange a meeting.”
“What exactly do you do for Mr. Mustang?” Wilkinson asked. Her tone was challenging, and Riza wasn’t sure why.
Riza also wasn’t sure what the answer to her question was. Roy hadn’t exactly assigned anyone job titles. “I’m his aide,” she said, after a pause. “Essentially. The office hasn’t been entirely organized yet. Is there some sort of problem?”
Wilkinson snorted. “I’ll be blunt,” she said. “I don’t appreciate your boss sending a glorified secretary after me.”
Riza blinked. “Is that what you think is going on here?” she asked. She leaned her head back, meeting Wilkinson’s eyes. “I’m sorry to disagree with you, but I don’t think you understand how Mr. Mustang operates.”
Wilkinson looked dubious. “How does he operate?”
“Not efficiently,” Riza said, unable to keep some of the humor out of her voice, “But thoughtfully. He listens to his subordinates. When I told him I think Ellen Wilkinson will join us, and I think we could do great things together, he agreed. When I told him Let me approach her; she’ll appreciate someone who speaks plainly, he agreed to that, too.” She straightened her back. “I wasn’t just saying that earlier, about our politics. I’ve seen your voting record. Social services and women’s rights are your hotbutton issues. They’re our issues, too. I’ve left a policy brief with your aide, if you’d like to look it over at your leisure.”
“Roy Mustang cares about women’s rights?” Wilkinson asked, sarcastically. Because, of course, Roy had a reputation.
Wilkinson needed the truth. Riza knew that it wasn’t a truth that would get Roy killed anymore, but it was still difficult to come out and say it. Riza gathered herself, leaning forward. “Roy Mustang cares about human rights,” she said. “I’ve followed him for over a decade. He wants the office because he’s seen what’s happened in this country, and he knows that the government and the military are corrupt. He knows that the only way to change things is to be on top of the whole pile. That’s the only way he can look out for everyone. He’s risked his life for that, and so have I.” She sat up straight. “And if you doubt that- that’s all the more reason to join. He needs people to remind him of what he stands for. You could be one of those voices.”
Wilkinson looked thoughtful. “I’ll consider it,” she said, slowly.
“See that you do,” Riza told her.
----------------------------
Riza pulled her kettle off the hook. She debated with herself between coffee and tea, and finally settled on coffee. As much as she drank in a day, it probably wouldn’t even keep her up. She was so tired. She’d had five meetings that day, and each one had been a struggle. She lit the burner on the stove with a match and set the kettle on it. She leaned against the counter. Hayate bumped his head against her shin, and she reached down to pat him.
She had lived through much worse, she reminded herself. These trials were neither terrifying nor life-threatening. They were just irritating. She could certainly be forgiven for wishing, for just a moment, to be given an enemy that she could shoot at.
The kettle whistled. She turned the burner off and reached for her press. As she picked up the kettle, a knock came at the door.
Riza frowned. No one ever visited her. Carefully, she set down the kettle and made her way to the front door. Hayate stood guard silently across from her, his ears pricked and alert. Riza peered out of the peephole- and then relaxed. She unbolted the door. “Roy,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes tired. “I needed to see you,” he said, softly. Please let me come in, he didn’t say.
She stood aside and let him enter. “You really shouldn’t be here,” she told him.
“I won’t stay long enough to cause a scandal,” he promised. He stopped in the entry to the living room, as if uncertain where he should go from there.
“I was just making coffee,” she offered.
He shook his head. “Just-” he started. He caught her hand in his. “Just-”
She stilled. “Roy?” she asked.
He pulled her close and leaned into her shoulder. “It was a long day,” he said, finally.
Tentatively, she reached up and stroked his hair. “Sit down,” she told him.
She went to see to the coffee, and he settled onto her couch. “Calhoun,” he said, and sighed.
Riza nodded. “It didn’t go well?” she asked.
“He accused me of being a baby-killer and a thug,” Roy said, wryly. “Then he told me to get out. My other meetings went reasonably well today, but not that one.”
“What did you do?” Riza asked, sitting down beside him.
Roy huffed out his breath. “What could I do?” he said. “It’s true, isn’t it? And we knew that was the risk of throwing ourselves in with Bradley during the cover-up on the Promised Day. Now we have damage control to do.”
“We expected that,” she agreed. “And either Calhoun will come around, or we’ll make do without him.”
Roy nodded, silently. He leaned forward, his fingers laced together and his lips curled down in a frown.
Riza brushed his cheek with her fingertips. He startled, turning towards her. “We survived Ishval,” she said. “We survived the homunculi and the Promised Day. I’m relatively certain that we will survive this.” She leaned over and kissed him gently.
He breathed out, a long slow exhale, and leaned against her. I love you, he didn’t say. Of course, she didn’t answer.
In the stillness, the phone rang. Riza got up- a visit, and now a phone call. It was a night for exceptions, apparently.
There was a woman’s voice on the other end of the phone when she answered. “Ms. Hawkeye?”
“Yes,” Riza said. “How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the nameless woman said, “But your grandfather is dead.”