Elections [Royai, T]

[gaia_lulia]

Title: Elections
Artist/Author: gaia_lulia
Rating: T
Warnings: Spoilers for the end of the series, unfinished work
Prompt: Future story, how far in the future is up to the author. All I ask is that Roy and Riza are together. Maybe a little action/adventure if you’d like. Author’s choice is they’re both in the military still or if someone has retired.
Word Count: 11,723 (so far)
Summary (if necessary): Grumman made the country a democracy before Roy made it to the top. Now, he and his team have an election to win, and Roy and Riza have to figure out where this leaves them.
Disclaimer: This belongs to Arakawa Hiromu, and not me.

Notes: I don't know if the prompter figured out who I was from my profile, but as it happens, I wrote a lengthy future story where Roy and Riza are together. That story (Homecoming, if you're wondering, though you don't need to have read that to follow this) focused on Ed and Al and Winry primarily, with Roy and Riza as side characters. As soon as I saw this prompt, I knew that I was going to write Roy and Riza's story in that universe. This story takes place in 1922, seven years after the Promised Day (and five years before Homecoming). It's heavily political, which my prompter can't have expected. I'm so sorry if you find that boring! I hope there are enough good Royai moments for you to forgive me. Also, it's not finished. I swear that I'll finish it (I think I'm about 9k from the end), and I promise to be prompt in updating the last chapters!

Also, much thanks to mebh_me for her wonderful beta work!


Chapter 1

DEMOCRACY!!

May 8th, 1922

CENTRAL CITY- Amestris changed forever today as Fuhrer Grumman made the announcement that he intends to end the absolute authority of the Fuhrer’s office. “During times of war, Amestris needed the firm hand of the Fuhrer to guide her,” Grumman said to a crowd outside the Fuhrer’s Palace this morning. “But today, Amestris is at peace. It is time to return control of the government to her people.”

Fuhrer Grumman declared that the office of the Fuhrer will remain, but most civil matters will be turned over to Parliament. In addition, he announced the creation of a civil police force, to replace the military police in most functions. Training of the police force will begin later this year, and he expects to be able to turn police functions over to them by the end of 1923.

The Fuhrer also announced that special elections will be held at the end of the year to choose a new Prime Minister and new representatives in most districts. “As the role of Parliament changes, we must make decisions about who is best suited to take up those new responsibilities,” he declared.

Sources in the Fuhrer’s office say that this is a decision that has been coming ever since the attempted coup in 1915 and the assassination of Fuhrer Bradley. According to an unnamed staffer, “Fuhrer Grumman has wanted to return Amestris to a democracy since the beginning, but he’s waited to try to ensure a smooth and peaceful transition.”

Not everyone is pleased with the decision, however. Sources inside Central HQ say that many high-ranking members of the military disagree with the Fuhrer, although for now they seem content to do it privately.

Chapter 2

Roy stood in front of Fuhrer Grumman’s desk, his back straight and his hair combed to gleaming. “I have a request, sir,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a crisp, white envelope. That was one piece of paperwork she hadn’t had to bully him into signing, Riza reflected drily.

Grumman leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I knew this was coming. I assume this goes for you as well, Captain?”

Riza pulled out her own envelope. “Yes, sir,” she said.

Grumman grinned. “Well, I won’t try to talk you two out of it. Besides, I’m pretty sure Olivier’s got her eye on this chair next, and I wouldn’t want to see anyone try to get in her way.”

Roy smiled. “She’s got larger balls than the both of us put together, sir,” he said.

“There’s no need to be vulgar, General,” Riza said, letting her disapproval creep into her voice.

Roy relaxed, and put the letter on Grumman’s desk. He reached up and began unfastening the bars from his shoulders. “You’ll be wanting these,” he said. “And this.” He laid his service weapon on the desk.

Riza had insisted that he carry it- he had had to give up wearing his gloves in uniform after the demilitarization of the State Alchemist program, and she hadn’t wanted him to go unarmed. That was all done with now, though. Roy could start wearing sparkcloth again if he wanted to, she supposed. “Mine as well, sir,” she said, adding her own letter, insignia and weapon to the pile.

Grumman eyed the pile on his desk. “I suppose I accept your resignations,” he said. He reached out and took Riza’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “Good luck to you in civilian life,” he said. He turned to Roy. “Now that you’ll have some time on your hands, I hope you’ll consider that suggestion I made, way back when.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Roy said, nodding.

Grumman grinned, and clapped him on the back. “Now, get out of here!” he said. “I don’t need a pair of civilians loitering around my office.”

Riza stepped out into the hallway, feeling naked. She wasn’t unarmed- her service weapon had never been the only weapon she carried- but her shoulders were achingly bare. She was 32, and she had been in the uniform nearly half her life. Roy looked at her, his eyes dark. His hands went to his collar. “No need to wear this anymore,” he said, and began stripping off his jacket.

It was as though he had anticipated that feeling of nakedness, and was saying: if we’re going to do it, at least we’re doing it together. Smiling slightly, she undid the buttons of her own jacket. He reached out an arm, offering to carry it for her. She tucked it neatly over her left arm instead. “Where to now, sir?” she asked. “I suppose you’ll need me to drive you home, unless you prefer to walk.” She’d driven that morning, as she usually did.

“Not sir,” Roy said, looking at her sideways. “Not anymore. What should we call each other now?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Riza said, barely biting down on the habitual sir. “Mr. Mustang,” she said instead, almost experimentally.

Roy winced. “Elizabeth,” he offered, smiling wickedly.

“Surely not,” Riza said, raising an eyebrow.

“Riza then,” he said. “And Roy.”

Riza considered him. “I suppose we could try that,” she said. “Provided that you don’t overdo it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was fresh,” he said.

“I’m well aware of your proclivities,” she said. “Roy,” she added as an afterthought. It felt wrong to call him by his first name, after all these years.

They were approaching the exit, and Riza suddenly wondered whether she would ever walk down this hallway again. “Riza,” Roy said, suddenly, and then seemed to think better of it, too. “Hawkeye,” he said instead. He stopped walking, looking intensely at her. His voice went gruff. “Hawkeye, when we started on this path, you promised to follow me into hell if you had to.” And you did, he didn’t have to say. They’d been through incredible and awful things together, but she’d never left him. She never would. How could she?

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to ask you to walk beside me now, instead,” he said. He looked helplessly at her, his face open in a way that his words weren’t.

Riza froze. She knew what he meant. She always knew what he meant. She opened her mouth to answer, but her throat was dry. Her head felt light and her heart was pounding. But she was a sniper, and she knew how to function even when adrenaline was playing havoc with her body. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Then she leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn’t a good kiss. He was too surprised to reciprocate much. Also, they were still inside HQ, and while kissing in the halls might have been exotically taboo under other circumstances, it was mostly a bit nerve-wracking in practice. Still, when he pulled back, he looked at her as though she’d just solved Boehme’s Conundrum. “That was an excellent answer,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Brief and to the point. Exactly the sort of efficiency I’ve come to expect from you, Hawkeye.”

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll want to discuss the details later, naturally.” It took everything she had to keep her voice even and her body language cool.

“Over dinner, perhaps?” Roy suggested, his voice like velvet. “Eight o’clock? I can pick you up, for a change.”

“That sounds acceptable, Roy,” she said, and winced. “Mr. Mustang? Mustang?”

“We can figure that out later,” he suggested.

They walked out of HQ side by side.

--------------------------

God help him, she was wearing green silk.

If there was a god, which there wasn’t; at least not one Roy would be willing to elicit help from. Which meant that Roy was entirely on his own, at a table with the Captain- with Riza- with Hawkeye? And she was wearing green silk that clung to her body like a glove, and he had no doubt that she was carrying a gun somewhere but he had no idea where. She had also probably accepted his marriage proposal earlier. He would know for certain if only he had been able to work up the guts to say it all out loud. But she’d kissed him, and that was a step in the right direction no matter what else it meant. Riza in green silk across from him in a nice restaurant was also a good sign.

He felt like he was sixteen again. He also felt like an idiot. The two sensations were strangely connected.

Riza sighed. “Mustang?” she said. She seemed to be trying different names on for size, looking for something that fit her tongue the way sir or General used to. The way Captain used to fit his tongue, and Lieutenant before that.

“No, we should really go with Roy,” he insisted. “It’s the best option. Mustang makes me worried that you’re about to scold me, and Mr. Mustang sounds like we’ve never met. Civilians do call each other by first names; it isn’t inappropriate.” He paused. “Particularly if we intend to marry each other.” There. He’d said it.

She nodded. “Roy, then. And you’ll call me Riza.” She fixed him with a stern look.

“Riza,” he echoed. “Yes.” He was suggesting that she change her last name anyway, he reflected. He couldn’t call her “Hawkeye” indefinitely.

She looked down. “We should discuss the timing of the wedding. We have an election to worry about, after all.”

“We could do something quick,” Roy suggested. “Simple.” It was an appealing suggestion. He desperately wanted to be done with waiting. No ceremony could ever matter as much as the commitment they’d been living for years, anyhow.

She shook her head. “We need it to be public,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “We should be as open about our relationship as possible, and as above-board.” She paused. “You’re used to navigating the military hierarchy, but now you’re going to be a politician. A politician needs a wife.”

Roy smiled so that he wouldn’t snarl. “I suppose so,” he said, a little bitterly. There were times when it chafed, twisting his whole life to fit the mission.

Riza shrugged. “Particularly with your reputation,” she said. “Voters won’t like a candidate who can’t commit. Your skirt-chasing was useful for making the brass dismiss you, but we need to make you look reliable now. Showing that you’re committed to one woman will help with that.”

She was entirely right, of course. “And having a large wedding will emphasize that,” he said, sighing.

She nodded. “It probably won’t be until after the election, but we definitely can’t just have a quick civil ceremony. People will assume that I’m carrying your love child.” Her eyes sparkled, and the corner of her mouth quirked up just a little.

Roy laughed. “We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” he said, smirking.

“We should avoid scandal,” she said, drily.

“But you feel that we should make our relationship public?” he clarified.

“It would be politically useful,” she said.

“I see,” Roy said. He stood up, tapping his nearly-empty wine glass with his fork. “Excuse me!” he said, addressing the restaurant. “Your attention, please!”

Slowly, conversation ground to a halt as the other diners turned to stare at him. Riza, Roy noted, had flushed a becoming shade of pink. Well, he thought, that’s what she gets for insisting on public. “Hello,” Roy said, smiling his most charming smile. “I have a question to ask, and I was hoping you might lend me a little encouragement.” He turned and dropped to a knee. The crowd gasped and awwwed a bit. “Riza Hawkeye,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I haven’t been free to say this until today, but I am now. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old. No other woman has ever truly mattered to me, and none ever will. Marry me.”

She looked down at him with an expression that might have passed for stunned or pleased to someone who knew Riza Hawkeye less well. To Roy, it read at best bemused, but possibly homicidally irritated. “Please?” Roy added, starting to panic in her continued silence.

Her expression shifted, and this one Roy knew. Intimately. Oh, you think you’re clever, do you? “I already knew,” she said. “You’re not exactly subtle, Roy Mustang.” Which, of course, could also be taken as a comment on the current situation. Riza stood and held out a hand. He took it and let her pull him to standing. “Yes,” she said, simply. Then she kissed him. The room exploded into applause, but Roy barely heard it.

It went much better this time. He managed to kiss her back at least, which was a marked improvement on last time’s dismal showing. She pressed into his arms, all warm flesh and silk and the smell of Riza. “How was that?” he whispered, as she finally pulled away.

“Very effective,” she whispered back.

Later, walking out of the restaurant, Roy caught her by the hand. “Riza,” he said.

“Roy?” she asked, looking up. She seemed to be getting more comfortable with his first name now.

He cleared his throat. “A politician may need a wife,” he said. “But I need you.”

Her eyes softened. “I know,” she said.

Chapter 3

May 16th, 1922

CENTRAL CITY- Major General Roy Mustang announced his retirement from the military today. General Mustang is perhaps most well-known for his service as a State Alchemist in the Ishvalan Conflict in the late aughts, and for being a central figure in the Eclipse Riots and the end of the Bradley administration. A staunch Bradley supporter, many thought that Mustang might take the Fuhrership after the late Fuhrer’s assassination. He did not contest Fuhrer Grumman’s ascension to office, however. According to a statement released by the Fuhrer’s office, “General Mustang has served the Amestrian people faithfully for many years. We are sorry to see him leave, but wish him fortune in his endeavours in civilian life.”

Until 1918, when the State Alchemist program was demilitarized, Mustang was known as the Flame Alchemist. However, Mustang gave up his watch and remained in the military rather, despite the fact that other prominent alchemists- Strong-Arm and Freezing notable among them- chose to remain State Alchemists, giving up their military rank. Mustang’s exit now from the military comes as a surprise. Many Central City pundits suspect that, given the recent announcements about democratization, Mustang intends to run for public office. Mustang himself has made no statement about his future intentions and has not been available for comment.

----------------------

DP: This is Den Peters on CKEW, and we’re back with Major Benjamin Humber and political analyst Dr. Floyd Riddick. Gentlemen- what do you think of this announcement?

BH: I’m not sure what there is to say about it, honestly. You have to remember that General Mustang has been in the military since he was a teenager. He became a State Alchemist at the age of twenty- the youngest on record, at least until Fullmetal. I think he just wants to get on with his life.

FR: You’re being naive. Mustang has always been a ladder-climber, and it’s a thinly-veiled secret how high he wants to climb. The only reason he didn’t go after the Fuhrer’s office after Bradley died is because Grumman out-maneuvered him. He wouldn’t make this move unless he had something planned.

BH: And you’re not being fair. General Mustang served under Fuhrer Grumman in East City for years, and by all accounts, they’re friends. He might have been angling for the office, but he’s been loyal to the Fuhrer.

FR: That’s beside the point. He has no life outside his job, unless you count philandering. If he’s left the military, it’s because he thinks he’s going to climb higher somewhere else. It’s no mistake that this comes on the heels of the election announcement last week. Obviously, he’s angling for parliament.

BH: So what if he is? He was a good leader in the military. He’d probably make a good leader in the new government, too. His people are notoriously loyal to him; there has to be a reason for that.

FR: People were loyal to Father Cornello, too-

BH: You can’t honestly be comparing General Mustang to that lunatic!

FR: Mustang’s not a lunatic, I’ll give you that. He’s smart and ambitious. If he doesn’t announce a run for parliament by August, I’ll come back on the air and eat my hat for all the listeners.

BH: If he runs for Central’s MP, I might vote for him.

FR: I think he’s dangerously charismatic and politically volatile. His political history paints him as an extreme conservative, but his involvement in the Ishvalan Accords makes him look like a liberal. Until I know who Roy Mustang is, I’ll never vote for him.

DP: Gentlemen, we have to break now for a short commercial interruption. After the hour, we’ll return for your thoughts on the Fuhrer’s latest proposals for the October elections. This is Den Peters for Thoughts on the Nation, and you’re tuned in to CKEW.

-----------------------

ON SOCIETY

All the little birds are a-twitter about a scene between one retired ex-general who we’ll only call R.M. and his equally-retired ex-subordinate, R.H. They were spotted together at a popular Central eatery last week. The birdies tell us that R.M. got on one knee and proposed! The answer was yes, so everyone’s hearts are intact- except for all the girls who never got their chance with Central’s most eligible (ex?) bachelor. Are wedding bells really in R.M.’s future? Maybe, but either way, R.H. has her hands full.

Chapter 4

The taste of Roy Mustang’s lips was electric, like sparks across her tongue. So was the smell of his skin, and the feel of his silky black hair under her fingertips. His lips trailed down her neck and into the hollow of her throat, and she buried her nose in his hair. She let her hands wander down the warm cotton of his shirt-

There was a discreet cough, and she and Roy retreated hastily to opposite ends of the couch.

Gracia entered the room and shot them both a bemused smile before beginning to set out refreshments. “Do you need a hand?” Riza offered, only a little awkwardly.

“Oh, no,” Gracia said, her eyes twinkling, “I’ve got it. You just go back to what you were doing.” With a grin, she swept back into the kitchen.

“I think she’s on to us,” Roy said, his voice low as he closed the distance between them.

“I suspect she approves,” Riza said, as he took her hand in his.

She felt silly, making out with Roy on the couch like a teenager. Still, it wasn’t as though either of them had had the chance for that when they had actually been teenagers. Roy had been consumed by alchemy, and Riza had been desperately trying to take care of her increasingly sick father. And then her father died, and then there was the war. And since then, nothing had mattered as much as the mission. She had given that part of herself up for the sake of it. But now, the mission no longer required that she and Roy deny themselves. She reached out with both hands and pulled him close.

This time, it was a knocking on the front door that pulled them apart.

Havoc was the first to arrive, leaning on his cane. Rebecca followed him, their baby on her hip. “Riza!” she squealed, and shoved the baby into Roy’s somewhat bewildered arms before hugging Riza enthusiastically. The others trickled in after- Breda and Fuery and a nervous-looking Falman. Sciezka, Ross, Brosh. Armstrong, with a large bouquet of flowers for Gracia. Madame Christmas was the last to arrive, sailing into the room with a bow-wrapped bottle of brandy and Vanessa at her side. She settled herself into a chair and stared expectantly at Roy.

With a wry smile, Roy stood. The friendly chatter in the room died down. “I suppose you all know why I asked you to come,” he said, a little awkwardly. “As you all know, Hawkeye and I officially resigned from the military yesterday. It’s time for us to take the next step.” He paused. “I can’t ask any of you to give up your careers to follow me into the civil government. Anything that any of you ever owed me, you’ve repaid a thousand times over. But I will need people that I can trust, and I’d be honored to have any of you on my team again.”

“I think the store can spare me,” Havoc drawled. “Besides, Becky’s been bored.”

“You’re not going to need any weapons-running this time, though, are you?” Rebecca said, grinning. “Darn. Me and Ross were so good at it.”

Ross looked up. “Ah-” she said, awkwardly. “I don’t think I’d make a good politician, General.” She stopped, flustered. “I mean... Mr. Mustang?”

“Roy,” he said. “All of you have earned that right. And as for the other- we’ll need to have allies in the military. Putting power into the hands of the civil government is going to be hard enough without good people on the other side of the fence. If you’re staying in, then we can use that.”

“Sir?” Fuery spoke up, his face flushing red. “I’m staying in, too. If you can do without me. It’s just- the military has the best equipment, sir, and I don’t think you’ll need a comms officer anymore.”

“I might consult with you in your off hours,” Roy warned him, smiling. Riza knew that he was disappointed; he would have wanted to have Fuery along. But if Fuery wanted to stay in the military, Roy wouldn’t try to talk him out of it.

Breda leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m with you, sir,” he said, grinning. “I’ve been waiting years to tell the military to go to hell.”

Falman ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I’m still serving under General Armstrong, sir,” he said. “She hasn’t released me.”

Roy nodded. “There’s every probability that General Armstrong will become the next Fuhrer. You’re a good man, Vato, and you may be the only person that the both of us trust. We’ll need that.”

Sciezka blushed and allowed that she’d like to join Roy’s office if she’d have him. Brosh decided to stay with Ross. No surprise- the poor boy had carried a torch for her for years, even knowing that she didn’t play for his team (so to speak). Armstrong assured Roy that he had his support, but he intended to remain in the ranks of the State Alchemists.

When they were all accounted for, Madame Christmas humphed. “A politician doesn’t need a mother like me,” she said. “We’d better carry on as we’ve been. You know that the girls and I will back you however you need it, Roy-boy.”

Roy nodded. “Thank you all,” he said, and then he looked down, shyly. Shy didn’t suit him, Riza thought. "I have one more announcement,” he added. “Yesterday, I asked Riza to marry me. She said yes.”

The room erupted into noise and questions and people laughing and hugging them and patting them on the back. About time was the main sentiment, which seemed a bit unfair to Riza; Roy had asked her at almost the first possible moment, after all. Armstrong burst into tears and started declaiming poetry about the beauty of love, but that was only to be expected.

Later, after everyone had gone, Gracia cornered the two of them. “Maes would have been so happy for you,” she told them, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “He always wished...”

“He was such a romantic,” Roy said. “Being married to you made him so happy, and he wanted everyone else to have that same happiness.” It was a kind thing to say, Riza thought. Roy was many things, but he so rarely had the luxury of being kind.

He turned to Riza. “I suppose I should say my goodbyes,” he said, with just a touch of self-mockery in his voice. He didn’t want to leave her, she knew. They were in the public eye now, though- or would be soon- and they couldn’t risk being caught in improprieties. It was a bit like still being caught by the fraternization laws- except that they were allowed something. Touches and promises and making out on the couch. This had to be better.

“Good night, Roy,” Gracia said. “Drive safely.” She embraced Roy, and then retreated to the kitchen, a wistful look in her eye.

Riza smiled and stepped forward. “I will be very put out if you don’t get home safely,” she said, sternly.

“Well,” he said, “Since you’ve given me my marching orders, I suppose I have no choice in the matter.”

She leaned up and curled a hand around the back of his neck, nuzzling his cheek. “Good,” she whispered, and nipped his earlobe with her teeth, pressing herself close to him.

He groaned. “If you start that,” he said, hoarsely, “I’m going to be a very distracted driver.” He pulled away, and then leaned down and kissed her solidly on the mouth. “Good night,” he said, softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone. Gracia came back in the room. “It’s going to be a long wait for the wedding, isn’t it?” she said, with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.

Riza smiled. “We’ll work something out,” she said.

------------------------------

The advantage to putting off the wedding was that he could pretend it wasn’t going to happen.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Riza; that had been established so long ago that it barely occurred to him to consider it a question. But the idea of getting married, of holding a wedding and standing in front of a judge and everyone they knew- that made him reflexively want to run for the hills. His preferred way of dealing with the problem would have been to walk into a court tomorrow and marry Riza with absolutely no pomp. Given that that wasn’t an option, he supposed this was the next best thing: spending his time trying to become the properly-elected civil leader of Amestris, and hoping that his eventual wedding would take care of itself.

“The first problem is eligibility,” Breda said. “You have to hold an MP seat to run for Prime Minister in the general election. And since the Fuhrer has frozen all local elections until October, you can’t exactly run for Central’s seat now.”

Roy grinned. “We were aware of that, actually,” he said. “Riza, do you have the list of empty seats?”

She nodded. “Many of the smaller districts’ seats are sitting empty,” she explained. “With Parliament how it was, many of the rural districts have had uncontested or empty elections for the last several years. Technically, the Fuhrer can appoint an MP in those cases, but neither Bradley nor Grumman has ever bothered.”

Roy waved a hand toward the folder in her arms. “But with a petition signed by a two-thirds majority of the residents of a district, an off-election appointment is automatic. Riza spent most of yesterday digging up a list of empty districts without residency requirements for MP’s.”

Breda grinned. “Well, that changes things. Help me look these over, Havo,” he said, and tossed half the file into Havoc’s lap.

Between the four of them, they started sorting the files- likely, possible, and not-a-chance. They discussed things occasionally, but mostly they were quiet as they read and considered. Roy found himself watching Riza- the way her wrist curved and she turned a page; the color of her eyes in the light. It wasn’t that he had never watched her before. But it was different, now. Now, if he was caught, it didn’t matter. She was his to watch. His breath caught in his throat, and she looked up. Their eyes met, and the edges of her eyes crinkled in amusement. You’re being foolish, sir, he could almost hear her saying. Get back to work. He shot her his best rakish grin, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

On the other side of the table, Breda starting laughing.

Roy started. “What?” he said, defensively, before realizing that Breda was laughing at something in one of the files, and not at him at all.

“Resembool,” Breda said, grinning. “Did you notice that Fullmetal’s hometown was on your list, Hawkeye?”

Riza nodded. “I agree,” she said. “I was hoping you’d think so.”

“Wait, what?” Havoc said. “Why are we talking about Fullmetal?”

“The seat for Resembool is one of the ones sitting open,” she explained. “It’s a good choice for Roy.”

“The boss is a boy from East,” Breda continued. “So Resembool isn’t completely foreign territory. And we have allies there.”

“Edward is well-respected by his neighbors,” Riza said, shrewdly. “Or so I’m given to understand. If we can recruit him, then he could make this much simpler than it might otherwise be. Isn’t he in Central at the moment?”

Havoc nodded. “He’s living in the University dorms right now,” he said. “But Winry is in Resembool.”

Roy smiled. “We’ll talk to Edward,” he said. “That brat still owes me money.”

“It’s a good start,” Breda said. “If we can manage the appointment within the next six weeks, we’ll be in plenty of time to put together a campaign for PM. Although, you’ll really need to figure out which party is willing to back you.”

Roy shook his head. “We’ll come to that,” he said. There were only two real parties right now- the pro-Bradley Dragons and the DemPops (in reality neither democratic nor populist)- and neither of them would touch him with a ten-foot pole. “I do have some contacts in Parliament. And that’s part of what Madame Christmas is working on.”

Riza shook her head. “We’ll need to register your party affiliation before the general election,” she said. “We can leave you as an independent for the seat in Resembool if we have to, but an independent wouldn’t have a chance at Prime Minister. We’ll need support in Parliament.”

“Baby steps,” Roy said. “Let’s talk to Edward first. I promise I’ll find a party in time.”

“I have every faith,” Riza said, dryly.

Chapter 5

May 15th, 1922

CENTRAL CITY - Fuhrer Grumman has officially announced that General Olivier Mira Armstrong will be his successor to the Fuhrer’s seat. “General Armstrong has had a long and distinguished career of military service,” he said in a press conference earlier today. “I have every confidence in her ability to lead Amestris through this time of change.”

For her part, General Armstrong was pleased with the new appointment, saying “I’m honored that Fuhrer Grumman intends to pass on the Fuhrership to me. I promise that when I take over the office- hopefully many years from now- I will do my best to serve the people of Amestris.”

General Armstrong has served as the commander of Fort Briggs for nearly twenty-five years, and is a member of the prestigious Armstrong family. She comes from a long history of
military service, including her father, General Philip Gargantos Armstrong, and her brother, the Strong-Arm Alchemist. General Armstrong was also involved in the events surrounding the end of the Bradley regime. It was initially thought that she was behind the military coup and the assassination of Fuhrer Bradley, but it was later discovered that she was acting against the conspiracy of rogue members within the higher staff.

General Armstrong hasn’t answered any questions regarding her position on October’s elections and the passing of civil authority to Parliament, but analysts expect her to take a more conservative stance.

Chapter 6

They found Edward in the students’ lounge in the History Department. There were a number of students sitting around, absorbed in books and notes. Edward didn’t notice them as they arrived. Roy reached out and knocked on the door frame to get his attention. “Fullmetal,” he said. “How have you been?”

Edward’s head shot up, his face locked into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing here, Mustang?” he asked. “I’m busy. And that’s not my name anymore.”

Roy sauntered into the room, ignoring the stares and whispers from Edward’s fellow students. “You owe me money,” he said. “I want my 520 cenz.”

Edward rolled his eyes and closed his book. “You are such a cheapskate, Mustang,” he said, breaking into a grin.

The whispering reached a fever pitch, finally attracting Edward’s attention. He twisted around in his chair to face them. “Yeah, guys- this is Roy Mustang,” he said. “He’s kind of a jerk in real life, so stop staring at him like you want to pull out your autograph books. Now, if you want to be impressed by somebody, that’s Riza Hawkeye. She can kick all our asses combined.” He grinned again.

“No argument from me,” Roy said, smiling. He could almost feel Riza’s glare, without even looking at her. “Who are your friends, Edward?”

Edward shrugged. “Students,” he answered, helpfully. He started pointing. “Mustang and Hawkeye, this is Frank- he does ancient Aerugian history, for all the use that is. That’s Len, who works on Ishval, which is why he’s staring like that. Yes, Len, he’s a signatory on the Ishvalan Accords. Stop drooling. And over there is Pollack, who’s a family law guy.”

“Hello,” Roy said, with his most charming expression. “I’m afraid that Edward hasn’t got any manners, but you were probably aware of that. I’m pleased to meet you all. Might I borrow him for a moment? I’d like to discuss some things with him.”

Edward sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s get coffee.” He put his papers into a cubby in the wall and then locked it with a key around his neck. “Hello, Captain Hawkeye,” he said politely, as he tucked the key away. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well,” Riza said, as they made their way out into the street. “Still adjusting to civilian life- you needn’t call me Captain anymore, you know.” She smiled slightly. “We’ve all got different names now.”

“I never thought you guys would retire,” Edward said, smiling back. “Still, the world changes, huh?”

Roy nodded. “To put it mildly,” he said. They sat down at a café across the street and ordered drinks. “The university suits you. Are you enjoying it?”

Edward scowled at him. “I’m in the middle of my candidacy exams right now, so what do you think? But the sooner I finish this, the sooner I can go back to Resembool. Speaking of which, what are you doing here?”

Roy smiled at him in that way that Riza knew he was picking a fight. “I told you,” he said. “You owe me money.”

Edward snorted. “Not unless you just became Fuhrer,” he said. “And last I heard, General Armstrong was next in line for that.” The drinks came, and they distributed them.

“It’s not my fault things happened out of order,” Roy said. “We democratized the country before I made Fuhrer, so you’ll have to count ‘Prime Minister’ as equivalent.”

Edward gave him a calculating look. “You don’t qualify for a PM run this year,” he said. “You have to be a Member of Parliament before you can be the Prime Minister. And there are no elections between now and October.”

It seemed odd for Edward to be aware of that sort of detail; as a child, he’d always been so divorced from military politics. The mostly-completed doctorate in political history was evidence, though, that the world had changed as much for Edward as it had for her and Roy.

“Not if I try for an appointment to an empty seat,” Roy was saying, throwing out their plan like he was one-upping Edward.

Edward snorted. “I wondered if you’d think of that,” he said.

Riza tilted her head. “Resembool is one of the empty seats,” she said.

Edward turned to her, leaning back against his chair. “Huh,” he said, his body language tense.

“That 520 cenz,” Roy said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Help me get appointed in Resembool, and we’ll call it even.”

Edward’s face went stormy. “You don’t get to use my hometown as a stepping stone,” he said. “Resembool deserves to have an MP who gives a shit about it now that Parliament is going to actually mean something.”

“Edward,” Riza said, her tone just a little disapproving. Edward flinched. “For all of Roy’s many faults, he’s always been meticulous about keeping his promises.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “And he never leaves anyone behind,” she added.

Edward jumped up, his arms crossed, and walked away. Riza looked over at Roy. His face was wry. I’ve left people behind, it said. Too many. Too many.

Riza met his eyes, unflinching. I know what you are, she thought. I meant what I said.

Edward returned after a moment, his face hard. “Okay,” he said. “But you promise me that you’ll really be Resembool’s MP, first, before everything else.”

Roy nodded. “I promise,” he said. “I never intended anything different.”

“Alright,” Edward said. Then he grinned. “You don’t need to talk to me,” he said. “You need to talk to Granny Pinako. She knows everyone in the district, and they’re all afraid of her. I’m going home to visit Winry this weekend. You can come with me if you want.”

“Thank you, Edward,” Riza said.

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Pinako Rockbell was snickering.

Roy took a deep breath, smiled, and waited.

Winry rolled her eyes and glared. “Granny,” she protested, shifting in her chair to better accommodate her belly. It was funny, Roy thought, that he seemed to mainly cross paths with her when she was pregnant. The last time Roy had seen her had been Fullmetal’s wedding, and she’d been eight months gone then.

“Calm down, Winry,” Pinako told her. “I’m entitled to a little amusement where I can get it.”

“I’m with the hag,” Edward said, grinning. “It’s hilarious. Wanna hold a barn dance, Mustang? We can put petitions next to the punch bowl.”

“Next to the pies, surely,” Riza murmured. “They’d get splashed if we put them next to the punch.”

Roy cocked his head. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “We couldn’t pay for it out of the campaign’s funds, of course- that might be considered buying votes.”

Pinako snorted. “You’re already out here pulling shenanigans to get into the general election,” she pointed out. “But a little impropriety with the money? We wouldn’t want that.”

Roy shrugged. “I need to be able to earn the voters’ trust,” he said. “We’re too used to corruption. We have to fight that.”

“That’s the least of your problems,” Pinako said, leaning over the table. “Do you know why there’s no MP for Resembool?” She leaned back, her eyes gone sharp. “Because it never mattered. No one around here thinks that’s going to change, and they don’t especially want it to, either. Things were mostly fine here under the Fuhrer.”

“Fine?” Edward protested, before Roy could respond. “What about Ishval? And Liore? What about the fucking bombings here in Resembool? That was all the Fuhrer. Was that fine?”

Pinako shot Edward a withering look. “I’m not an idiot, Ed,” she said. “I know that. But that’s the argument he’s going to have to make if he wants to get his petition signed.” She pulled her pipe out of her mouth and tapped the ashes into a little bowl.

Roy nodded. “We Amestrians aren’t used to real elections. We’re used to a government that tells us what to do. We’re used to being afraid to speak our minds openly. That’s changed a little since Grumman took office, but it’s going to have to change more if this is really going to work.” He laced his fingers together. “I guess Resembool can be a test case that way.”

Pinako looked him over carefully. She sniffed. “You sound like a politician already,” she said. “Fine. I’ll take you around to meet some people tomorrow. You’ll need to stay here for the night, though; there’s not really an inn anywhere nearby.” She grinned at him suddenly. “Am I making up one room, or two?”

Winry looked mortified. Edward choked. Riza smiled. “One,” she replied, coolly.

Edward’s face was a delight to behold. His eyes goggling, he turned quickly to stare at Riza, then back to Roy, then back to Riza. Then, as if in dawning comprehension, his face broke into a wide grin. “You son of a bitch!” he said, looking at Roy. “Finally.” He turned to Hawkeye. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or commiserate,” he said, cheerfully. “Damn! Really?”

“We intend to have the wedding after the election,” Riza said, calmly. “You can expect an invitation.”

And then Winry squealed and hugged a surprised Riza while Edward pounded Roy on the back. “I’ve glad to know I have your approval, Fullmetal,” Roy said, dryly.

Edward grinned. “Let me know if you need any advice,” he said, cocky.

Winry rolled her eyes and smacked him. “You’re so rude, Ed!” she complained.

“I meant on the wedding!” Edward protested, and then the argument was off and running.

Riza’s eyes, brown and cool and beautiful, caught his across the room. I am going to be sharing a bed with Riza Hawkeye tonight, he suddenly thought. It made his mouth go dry.

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It was a risk, on some level. But Amestris wasn’t as prudish as, say, Drachma; Riza and Roy were both adults and professionals, and as long as they weren’t obvious, their private lives should stay private. And if staying in the same home as a young former subordinate, his wife, her grandmother, and their two-year-old son didn’t count as chaperoned as far as the public was concerned...

Except that they weren’t chaperoned. They had been put into one of the rooms in the otherwise empty patient section of the house. Fullmetal, the little bastard, had taken the opportunity to point out the soundproofing between the residence areas and the patient rooms- so the baby didn’t disturb anyone, he said. And they’d all gone upstairs, and Roy and Riza had been left downstairs, and goddammit, he was Roy Mustang. He wasn’t some blushing adolescent. Except, apparently, his body seemed to be under the impression that he was.

Riza set her case down on the old dresser next to the bed. She turned back to look at him, the curve of her cheek silhouetted against the lamp. “There’s no need to be so nervous,” she told him, her voice heavy with dry amusement. “I promise to be gentle.”

“It’s hardly my first time,” he answered. But the terrible thought suddenly occurred to Roy- was it hers? They’d never managed to get that far, back when she had been his alchemy master’s daughter. In the years that they’d been working together, he’d never known her to date. Admittedly, he’d never inquired very closely on that subject, either- but her back would have made any sort of casual romance complicated- “I suppose I should ask...” he said, trailing off uncertainly.

Riza raised the corner of her mouth. “Is it mine?” she asked. She shook her head. “No. Though I can’t say that I’m all that experienced. You’ll have to supply some of the practical knowledge.”

Roy nodded, feeling relief, mostly. Part of him, the territorial part, wanted to look at her and say mine, and banish all other men from her life forever and retroactively. But Roy knew that was unfair. Much of his notorious love life in the long years leading up to the Promised Day had been fabricated, but not all of it. And there had been women he had cared for, even if he’d been careful never to string any of them along with promises of more than he could give. If Riza had found someone to give her that sort of comfort, he was mostly grateful for it. “I certainly have that to offer,” he said, at last.

Riza closed her bag and sat down on the bed opposite him. “This transition is difficult,” she said, smiling slightly. “I’ve followed you for so long. I’m not sure of my place now that everything’s changed.”

Roy reached out and took her hand. “With me,” he said, his voice low. “Always.”

“I suppose I’ll get used to it,” she said. Hesitantly, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair. Her fingertips left trails of sensation tingling across his scalp.

His breath hitched in his chest. “Riza,” he started, softly, and then he didn’t seem to be able to continue.

“Roy,” she whispered, and pulled him close.

Chapters 7 and 8 are here.