(no subject)
Title: Five Ways to Start a Fire
Author: sixpences
Recipient: cinead
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Rebecca Catalina, Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye (implied Roy/Riza)
Summary: It's easier than Rebecca thought to get tangled up in a coup d'etat.
"Numarck! All passengers for Numarck! Change for Aachen and Ectham, please take all personal belongings and small children with you when disembarking the train!" The conductor spins on his heel as he yells; Rebecca makes the mistake of looking at him for a little too long and is "rewarded" with what the man probably considers to be an irresistibly charming wink. She tries to look engrossed in The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous, which is thankfully not too difficult an endeavour.
The train at least seems a bit cleaner than the last time she made the trip to Central but it's still a long, slow journey to make this early in the morning, slugging through grey hills and greyer factory towns with wind rattling the windows, the conductor trying and failing to be entertaining and his skinny, fuzzy-bearded colleague serving sandwiches and lukewarm tea from the trolley. One of these days Rebecca is determined to shell out for first class and have an actual meal, but the thought of the shopping in Central is always a bigger lure when she's standing at the ticket office. Besides, she's only going for the day.
They've spoken on the phone and she's had the odd letter but Rebecca hasn't actually seen Riza since she and Mustang and the rest upped sticks to the capital. Riza is probably the only person Rebecca can imagine who would be unhappy about a promotion to the Fuhrer's personal team (not that Riza has said any such thing outright, but Riza doesn't believe in saying anything outright), though she's also the only person Rebecca knows who'd spent almost seven years building some weird semi-platonic office love nest with her commanding officer.
Rebecca has Grumman's note folded up amongst the receipts in her purse, innocuous as anything. She has a feeling she wasn't supposed to look at it but she memorised it just in case- technically this is a leave day and she's not acting under orders, and Grumman is as likely to just giggle and try to grab her arse again as he is to discipline her in any case, horrible old sod. It's not as if she doesn't know more than enough about what Riza and Mustang are up to, and the General wears his political ambitions almost as openly as his womanising.
She lifts her book up a little higher and tries to return to the "adventures" of Miranda Bradbourne-Winterschiff and her handsome Cretan lover Alexios. Adventures currently involving some quite inventive uses for the kitchen table. The train pulls away from Numarck station with a groan from the engine, smoke billowing past the windows.
The first time she hears from Jean Havoc it's only a simple postcard through the door; there's a picture of a fairly unremarkable clocktower on one side and on the other a few hastily-scrawled and banal lines about readjusting to civilian life, as if she'd been some great friend of his and not just someone he'd made awkward conversation with in the officers' mess from time to time. She props it up on her kitchen counter but largely forgets about it. If this matters, she'll hear from him again.
The second time it's a proper letter, although still hasty in a way that makes her think writing letters- or maybe specifically writing letters to women- is not something he's much fond of. It seems at first glance to be harmless enough, until she reads, P.S. Can you keep a secret from Elizabeth for me? added like an afterthought at the bottom of the page. Is this about her birthday in the spring? she writes back, couched in some nonsense about winter training, and pushes down the fluttering suspicion that she could be wildly off-base. Riza does actually turn twenty-nine at the end of December, but unless Rebecca is entirely mistaken she probably won't mind the delay.
There's no reply for weeks and she's still brushing the snow out of her collar one evening when the phone rings. Rebecca is only half paying attention when she picks it up.
"Uhh, Lieutenant Catalina, hello! Jean Havoc here!"
It's not the most inept greeting she's ever heard from a man, but he deserves some credit for it. "Evening Havoc. I wasn't expecting to hear from you." Then again, it's probably easier to intercept their post than the telephone.
"Well, uh, it seemed like you wanted to get involved with Elizabeth's party." He coughs and Rebecca can hear a radio somewhere in the background. He's living in some backwater town an hour or so to the north, Riza told her, and probably chewing his parents' furniture out of boredom. Rebecca isn't so stupid to think it's better to be killed in the line than injured, but it can hardly be easy to deal with.
"Happy to do anything for a friend," she says as lightly as she can. It's not impossible that "They" are tapping his line, and it's true enough anyway. Rebecca's never been that interested in politics, but she'll shuck bullets- or take them- for Riza if that's what her friend needs.
"Well I thought it might be best to keep her boyfriend out of the loop too- you know how he runs at the mouth." Havoc's chuckle sounds only a little forced. "I heard from some of his old buddies around East though- they seem to have had some things, uh, cooking on the old man's orders anyway."
"Good of you to sort out the catering, Havoc."
That elicits a genuine laugh. "Yeah, but I might need your help delivering it. I just don't have the wheels."
Rebecca shucks off her coat with one hand and pulls over a chair so she can sit down by the phone. "I just want to make sure Elizabeth has a really happy birthday."
"Me too," Havoc lowers his voice conspiratorially. "There's a couple of men I'd like you to contact for me."
"There's a few more of these places that don't officially exist, Lieutenant Catalina," Charlie says, passing her a Winchester for inspection, "although this is probably the biggest."
Rebecca runs a hand over the rifle, still looking around the interior of the little cottage. She prefers bolt- to lever-action but it's new and solid; like most of the things lining the walls she would hazard a guess that the gun never even passed through goods in at East HQ.
"How much does the general think he's going to need?"
The sergeant shrugs. "He probably wants us to hold some by in case things things go bad at HQ or… or out on the line, but eh." He lifts the lid off a case of hand grenades, flourishing his hand like a trader at a market. "What Colonel Mustang needs, he gets, and that's your job, right?"
"Apparently." Rebecca hefts the rifle back onto the rack it came from and follows him further down the narrow aisle between ammunition boxes and grenade launchers. For all he seemed to get griped at by everyone at Captain or higher, Mustang had always been popular amongst the enlisted men; popular the same way heavy artillery is popular among soldiers on the front lines, maybe, but it had earned him this little gaggle of men willing to stockpile stolen arms for him, which seems like a pretty valuable asset if you're planning a coup.
"Have you seen a lot of urban warfare, Lieutenant?" Dino asks casually from the corner where he's unloading a case of rifle cartridges. Rebecca tries not to roll her eyes. Even the gap between officer and enlisted isn't quite enough to overcome the unspoken sense of we-were-in-Ishval-and-you-weren't that's hovered around every time she's met these men, the same goddamn mystique that Riza and Mustang like to pull for their most private little chinwags.
"I was in Liore before Central took over, and you might remember the hostage situation in Colchia two years ago," she says as lightly as she can, stopping to inspect a small box of flashbangs; Amestrian make, never a good sign.
"Colchia?" There's a new note of respect in Charlie's voice. "That was a bad scene."
Rebecca opts for a cool, "Yeah," and pulls one of the flashbangs out to inspect it. "You know, I know someone who knows someone with very good Xingese contacts. I'm pretty sure you can do better than this."
"Keep 'em for yourself, we probably won't need them. Uh, at East HQ."
"I really hope you aren't discussing anything about this operation where any normal human beings can hear you, Sergeant, because you're a terrible liar."
Charlie has the grace to blush at that. "Fresh orders from the general, sir. We only just got wind of his new plans the other day."
"As long as he's not striking out too far on his own."
"Oh I very much doubt the Colonel will object," he says with a grin. "Now come and have a look at these grenades."
Rebecca's ear is starting to get a little sore from holding the phone, but she just tips her head back against the sofa cushions and carries on. Riza's been on the phone for almost an hour now, but for once it seems like she only wants to carry on talking.
"You definitely need to take any chance you can get there, Riza, even if they didn't pick you for, well, the usual reasons."
Riza barks a laugh, "That's one way of putting it."
"Hell, how many women officers are there that close to the Führer? Seize the day, honey, get yourself out there. You know out of the pair of us you've got the best chance of making it to Major or Colonel, maybe higher."
Riza goes rather quiet then and Rebecca wonders if "Colonel" was the best choice of words. She clears her throat and says more softly, "It's okay to hate your job. Just don't let it make you short-sighted."
"You should look into motivational speaking, Catalina," Riza says, and the tremor in her voice is almost undetectable. Sarcasm is Riza's first line of defence, a well-oiled pistol is the second.
"Well since I'm apparently the only one who remembers that you've wanted to work for the Führer all along, Hawkeye." Rebecca makes a face at her empty living room. "Just because you don't want to trip this one into your bed-"
"Rebecca!" Riza almost shrieks, and Rebecca snorts with laughter. "Did you have to make me think of that, damn you, ugh."
"Hey, I bet it makes him less intimidating." When Riza is silent she adds, "You do realise glaring doesn't work over the phone?"
"Well I certainly wish it- no, get down Hayate!"
"Hey Hayate!" Rebecca calls, and is rewarded with a muffled bark.
"Well all right, you can get on the sofa just this once. Okay, yes, in my lap, make yourself at home." Riza huffs into the phone as if she doesn't let that dog climb all over the furniture whenever he likes. "Anyway, what about you? Are you still going out with that lawyer?"
It's familiar territory, easy to slip into, and Rebecca turns around to sling her feet lazily up onto the sofa and takes a deep breath. "Oh you are weeks behind, Riza, weeks, he was an absolute workaholic, worse than you, but I was out with my sister and her flatmate the other night and I met this divinely handsome Aerugian gentleman, he works for their railways you see…"
There's nearly 300 miles and a lot of coiled and twisted telephone cable between them but Rebecca's sure she can hear Riza relaxing a little, her breath slowing, the small sleepy sounds from Hayate in her lap. There's war brewing dark and heavy on their horizon again, but they can stave it off a little longer. Rebecca tightens her hand around the phone cord. It's only a few more months until the spring.
"It's an ice cream van."
"Selling all the finest munitions to keep you bleeding on a hot summer's day," says Havoc, wheeling himself carefully along the rough little track towards the road. "You'll have all the children running after you."
"It's still an ice cream van."
"Would you rather we paint 'supply vehicle for treacherous coup' on the side?"
Rebecca rolls her eyes. "As long as you didn't get uniforms to match."
"Out of stock," he says sadly.
She can't say she knew Havoc that well before he got injured- except as 'the only guy in Riza's office who wasn't a giant geek', which is hardly a stellar personal description- but he seems different now, though it's not a bad thing. He looks smaller out of uniform- most people do- but easier too, and if his hands still slip on the wheels of his chair he seems to be adapting to forced civilian life a lot better than most retirees she's known. Of course it can't hurt to spend your convalescence plotting a coup.
"So you got some flashbangs and tear gas from your Xingese supplier?"
"Yeah, much better quality than the stuff our- your lot make. Plus I got all that gear from the Colonel's old buddies, pretty impressive stockpile they had up there."
"The rifles?"
"Bolt-action, just how you ladies like 'em." He turns his head to wink at her, though if that was supposed to be an innuendo the man has a lot of work to do.
The van is hidden as best it can be in a passing-place off the road, dappled with shade from the new leaves sprouting on the trees. Havoc stops short a few feet away from it and Rebecca almost walks into the back of him. He holds up one gloved hand.
"Also I should probably tell you… not everything we got from Xing is explosive."
"Really." Rebecca raises an eyebrow as she rights herself, dust rising from the road around her boots. "Havoc, If this is going to turn into a sword joke…" She trails off as the door of the van's cab opens and a figure in a hooded white coat slips out. She feels her shoulders tense out of instinct, suddenly aware of the gun holstered at her waist, and tries to tamp the feelings down.
"I thought the Colonel wouldn't mind me calling in a few favours," says Havoc. The figure draws nearer to them and lifts its hands to pull back its hood and Rebecca can't quite catch the gasp that slips out of her mouth. Mustang might be an alchemist but she'd never really believed in raising the dead.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Catalina," says the apparently entirely corporeal Maria Ross, grinning at Havoc before stepping around him to extend a hand to Rebecca.
"Well there's a first time for everything," Rebecca says, grabbing Maria's hand and squeezing it hard. "Let's go and find Riza."
Author: sixpences
Recipient: cinead
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Rebecca Catalina, Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye (implied Roy/Riza)
Summary: It's easier than Rebecca thought to get tangled up in a coup d'etat.
"Numarck! All passengers for Numarck! Change for Aachen and Ectham, please take all personal belongings and small children with you when disembarking the train!" The conductor spins on his heel as he yells; Rebecca makes the mistake of looking at him for a little too long and is "rewarded" with what the man probably considers to be an irresistibly charming wink. She tries to look engrossed in The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous, which is thankfully not too difficult an endeavour.
The train at least seems a bit cleaner than the last time she made the trip to Central but it's still a long, slow journey to make this early in the morning, slugging through grey hills and greyer factory towns with wind rattling the windows, the conductor trying and failing to be entertaining and his skinny, fuzzy-bearded colleague serving sandwiches and lukewarm tea from the trolley. One of these days Rebecca is determined to shell out for first class and have an actual meal, but the thought of the shopping in Central is always a bigger lure when she's standing at the ticket office. Besides, she's only going for the day.
They've spoken on the phone and she's had the odd letter but Rebecca hasn't actually seen Riza since she and Mustang and the rest upped sticks to the capital. Riza is probably the only person Rebecca can imagine who would be unhappy about a promotion to the Fuhrer's personal team (not that Riza has said any such thing outright, but Riza doesn't believe in saying anything outright), though she's also the only person Rebecca knows who'd spent almost seven years building some weird semi-platonic office love nest with her commanding officer.
Rebecca has Grumman's note folded up amongst the receipts in her purse, innocuous as anything. She has a feeling she wasn't supposed to look at it but she memorised it just in case- technically this is a leave day and she's not acting under orders, and Grumman is as likely to just giggle and try to grab her arse again as he is to discipline her in any case, horrible old sod. It's not as if she doesn't know more than enough about what Riza and Mustang are up to, and the General wears his political ambitions almost as openly as his womanising.
She lifts her book up a little higher and tries to return to the "adventures" of Miranda Bradbourne-Winterschiff and her handsome Cretan lover Alexios. Adventures currently involving some quite inventive uses for the kitchen table. The train pulls away from Numarck station with a groan from the engine, smoke billowing past the windows.
The first time she hears from Jean Havoc it's only a simple postcard through the door; there's a picture of a fairly unremarkable clocktower on one side and on the other a few hastily-scrawled and banal lines about readjusting to civilian life, as if she'd been some great friend of his and not just someone he'd made awkward conversation with in the officers' mess from time to time. She props it up on her kitchen counter but largely forgets about it. If this matters, she'll hear from him again.
The second time it's a proper letter, although still hasty in a way that makes her think writing letters- or maybe specifically writing letters to women- is not something he's much fond of. It seems at first glance to be harmless enough, until she reads, P.S. Can you keep a secret from Elizabeth for me? added like an afterthought at the bottom of the page. Is this about her birthday in the spring? she writes back, couched in some nonsense about winter training, and pushes down the fluttering suspicion that she could be wildly off-base. Riza does actually turn twenty-nine at the end of December, but unless Rebecca is entirely mistaken she probably won't mind the delay.
There's no reply for weeks and she's still brushing the snow out of her collar one evening when the phone rings. Rebecca is only half paying attention when she picks it up.
"Uhh, Lieutenant Catalina, hello! Jean Havoc here!"
It's not the most inept greeting she's ever heard from a man, but he deserves some credit for it. "Evening Havoc. I wasn't expecting to hear from you." Then again, it's probably easier to intercept their post than the telephone.
"Well, uh, it seemed like you wanted to get involved with Elizabeth's party." He coughs and Rebecca can hear a radio somewhere in the background. He's living in some backwater town an hour or so to the north, Riza told her, and probably chewing his parents' furniture out of boredom. Rebecca isn't so stupid to think it's better to be killed in the line than injured, but it can hardly be easy to deal with.
"Happy to do anything for a friend," she says as lightly as she can. It's not impossible that "They" are tapping his line, and it's true enough anyway. Rebecca's never been that interested in politics, but she'll shuck bullets- or take them- for Riza if that's what her friend needs.
"Well I thought it might be best to keep her boyfriend out of the loop too- you know how he runs at the mouth." Havoc's chuckle sounds only a little forced. "I heard from some of his old buddies around East though- they seem to have had some things, uh, cooking on the old man's orders anyway."
"Good of you to sort out the catering, Havoc."
That elicits a genuine laugh. "Yeah, but I might need your help delivering it. I just don't have the wheels."
Rebecca shucks off her coat with one hand and pulls over a chair so she can sit down by the phone. "I just want to make sure Elizabeth has a really happy birthday."
"Me too," Havoc lowers his voice conspiratorially. "There's a couple of men I'd like you to contact for me."
"There's a few more of these places that don't officially exist, Lieutenant Catalina," Charlie says, passing her a Winchester for inspection, "although this is probably the biggest."
Rebecca runs a hand over the rifle, still looking around the interior of the little cottage. She prefers bolt- to lever-action but it's new and solid; like most of the things lining the walls she would hazard a guess that the gun never even passed through goods in at East HQ.
"How much does the general think he's going to need?"
The sergeant shrugs. "He probably wants us to hold some by in case things things go bad at HQ or… or out on the line, but eh." He lifts the lid off a case of hand grenades, flourishing his hand like a trader at a market. "What Colonel Mustang needs, he gets, and that's your job, right?"
"Apparently." Rebecca hefts the rifle back onto the rack it came from and follows him further down the narrow aisle between ammunition boxes and grenade launchers. For all he seemed to get griped at by everyone at Captain or higher, Mustang had always been popular amongst the enlisted men; popular the same way heavy artillery is popular among soldiers on the front lines, maybe, but it had earned him this little gaggle of men willing to stockpile stolen arms for him, which seems like a pretty valuable asset if you're planning a coup.
"Have you seen a lot of urban warfare, Lieutenant?" Dino asks casually from the corner where he's unloading a case of rifle cartridges. Rebecca tries not to roll her eyes. Even the gap between officer and enlisted isn't quite enough to overcome the unspoken sense of we-were-in-Ishval-and-you-weren't that's hovered around every time she's met these men, the same goddamn mystique that Riza and Mustang like to pull for their most private little chinwags.
"I was in Liore before Central took over, and you might remember the hostage situation in Colchia two years ago," she says as lightly as she can, stopping to inspect a small box of flashbangs; Amestrian make, never a good sign.
"Colchia?" There's a new note of respect in Charlie's voice. "That was a bad scene."
Rebecca opts for a cool, "Yeah," and pulls one of the flashbangs out to inspect it. "You know, I know someone who knows someone with very good Xingese contacts. I'm pretty sure you can do better than this."
"Keep 'em for yourself, we probably won't need them. Uh, at East HQ."
"I really hope you aren't discussing anything about this operation where any normal human beings can hear you, Sergeant, because you're a terrible liar."
Charlie has the grace to blush at that. "Fresh orders from the general, sir. We only just got wind of his new plans the other day."
"As long as he's not striking out too far on his own."
"Oh I very much doubt the Colonel will object," he says with a grin. "Now come and have a look at these grenades."
Rebecca's ear is starting to get a little sore from holding the phone, but she just tips her head back against the sofa cushions and carries on. Riza's been on the phone for almost an hour now, but for once it seems like she only wants to carry on talking.
"You definitely need to take any chance you can get there, Riza, even if they didn't pick you for, well, the usual reasons."
Riza barks a laugh, "That's one way of putting it."
"Hell, how many women officers are there that close to the Führer? Seize the day, honey, get yourself out there. You know out of the pair of us you've got the best chance of making it to Major or Colonel, maybe higher."
Riza goes rather quiet then and Rebecca wonders if "Colonel" was the best choice of words. She clears her throat and says more softly, "It's okay to hate your job. Just don't let it make you short-sighted."
"You should look into motivational speaking, Catalina," Riza says, and the tremor in her voice is almost undetectable. Sarcasm is Riza's first line of defence, a well-oiled pistol is the second.
"Well since I'm apparently the only one who remembers that you've wanted to work for the Führer all along, Hawkeye." Rebecca makes a face at her empty living room. "Just because you don't want to trip this one into your bed-"
"Rebecca!" Riza almost shrieks, and Rebecca snorts with laughter. "Did you have to make me think of that, damn you, ugh."
"Hey, I bet it makes him less intimidating." When Riza is silent she adds, "You do realise glaring doesn't work over the phone?"
"Well I certainly wish it- no, get down Hayate!"
"Hey Hayate!" Rebecca calls, and is rewarded with a muffled bark.
"Well all right, you can get on the sofa just this once. Okay, yes, in my lap, make yourself at home." Riza huffs into the phone as if she doesn't let that dog climb all over the furniture whenever he likes. "Anyway, what about you? Are you still going out with that lawyer?"
It's familiar territory, easy to slip into, and Rebecca turns around to sling her feet lazily up onto the sofa and takes a deep breath. "Oh you are weeks behind, Riza, weeks, he was an absolute workaholic, worse than you, but I was out with my sister and her flatmate the other night and I met this divinely handsome Aerugian gentleman, he works for their railways you see…"
There's nearly 300 miles and a lot of coiled and twisted telephone cable between them but Rebecca's sure she can hear Riza relaxing a little, her breath slowing, the small sleepy sounds from Hayate in her lap. There's war brewing dark and heavy on their horizon again, but they can stave it off a little longer. Rebecca tightens her hand around the phone cord. It's only a few more months until the spring.
"It's an ice cream van."
"Selling all the finest munitions to keep you bleeding on a hot summer's day," says Havoc, wheeling himself carefully along the rough little track towards the road. "You'll have all the children running after you."
"It's still an ice cream van."
"Would you rather we paint 'supply vehicle for treacherous coup' on the side?"
Rebecca rolls her eyes. "As long as you didn't get uniforms to match."
"Out of stock," he says sadly.
She can't say she knew Havoc that well before he got injured- except as 'the only guy in Riza's office who wasn't a giant geek', which is hardly a stellar personal description- but he seems different now, though it's not a bad thing. He looks smaller out of uniform- most people do- but easier too, and if his hands still slip on the wheels of his chair he seems to be adapting to forced civilian life a lot better than most retirees she's known. Of course it can't hurt to spend your convalescence plotting a coup.
"So you got some flashbangs and tear gas from your Xingese supplier?"
"Yeah, much better quality than the stuff our- your lot make. Plus I got all that gear from the Colonel's old buddies, pretty impressive stockpile they had up there."
"The rifles?"
"Bolt-action, just how you ladies like 'em." He turns his head to wink at her, though if that was supposed to be an innuendo the man has a lot of work to do.
The van is hidden as best it can be in a passing-place off the road, dappled with shade from the new leaves sprouting on the trees. Havoc stops short a few feet away from it and Rebecca almost walks into the back of him. He holds up one gloved hand.
"Also I should probably tell you… not everything we got from Xing is explosive."
"Really." Rebecca raises an eyebrow as she rights herself, dust rising from the road around her boots. "Havoc, If this is going to turn into a sword joke…" She trails off as the door of the van's cab opens and a figure in a hooded white coat slips out. She feels her shoulders tense out of instinct, suddenly aware of the gun holstered at her waist, and tries to tamp the feelings down.
"I thought the Colonel wouldn't mind me calling in a few favours," says Havoc. The figure draws nearer to them and lifts its hands to pull back its hood and Rebecca can't quite catch the gasp that slips out of her mouth. Mustang might be an alchemist but she'd never really believed in raising the dead.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Catalina," says the apparently entirely corporeal Maria Ross, grinning at Havoc before stepping around him to extend a hand to Rebecca.
"Well there's a first time for everything," Rebecca says, grabbing Maria's hand and squeezing it hard. "Let's go and find Riza."