#/ somehow i doubt she's visiting family riza but you know who knows?

[missallanea-archive]

"Major General Armstrong." There is no salute offered, but it is not difficult to see that the woman stands at attention despite that. Old habits, and all that. Slowly, a smile touches over the sniper's expression, "...It's unusual to see you so far south. Visiting family?"

@suchhatred for OLIVIER ARMSTRONG || sc

[lastwagontrainhopper]

Behind every man

Royai week day 4 - Communiqué (I know it’s like Wednesday but due to time zone difference my head is still in Royai Week)

Summary:  

"Al looked up from the newspaper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information. "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes back on the pages. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?" "

---

Behind every great man is a great woman. In Roy's case, there needs to be two: one for the heart and one for the politics.

Words: 4653

Tags: Angst, truly unnecessary angst, Fake Marriage, Roy and Riza can't catch an emotional break, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics

read on aot

"Ed! You're not gonna believe this! ”

Edward was busy with breakfast when he heard his brother call out to him. It was a typical Sunday morning in Resembool, and a joyful racket reigned around the house: the eggs and potatoes were sizzling, the kids were chasing each other between rooms, and metallic clanks coming from outside told them that Winry was already busy in her workshop.

"What?", Ed shouted back over his shoulder. No answer came; he put the pan down, wiped his hand on a towel, and went to peek his head in the living room, where Al sat every morning to read the newspaper. Ever the diplomat, he kept up with Amestrian affairs even during his vacations - unlike his brother who couldn’t care less. "What?" Ed repeated.

Al looked up from the paper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information.  "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes fixed on the newspaper. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?"

Al laid the newspaper flat on the table. "Look: "It is with great pleasure that the Fuhrer-President Roy Alexander Mustang, son of Francis and Lian Mustang, announces his betrothal to Ms. Margaret Evans, daughter of Sir Timothy Evans and Carla Esposito. The ceremony will be held on the 27th of July at the National Opera House in Central. ", etc.  “

Ed reread the sentence several times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never heard that woman's name before. "Margaret Evans...Is that one of Riza's cover name? Or her legal name maybe?"

“I don't find so," Al answered, frowning. "Isn't her full name Elizabeth? That's what they use when they go undercover, anyway."

"This makes no sense." Ed tossed the towel over his shoulder. "I'm gonna give him a call," he said resolutely, walking up to the only phone in the house.

It was Sunday, so he called Roy's apartment. When that got no answer, he called his office on his personal number, where he got a busy signal.

"I'm betting everyone in Central is trying to call him right now," Al said, watching him grow impatient. "It is quite the bombshell to drop in a Sunday newspaper."

Right. Sometime Ed forgot that Roy was the leader of one of the most powerful nation around. "This better not be another of his twisted political scheme," he muttered with his ear on the receiver.

Al crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. "On the contrary, I hope it is. Because otherwise, it would mean that this is a genuine announcement. "He paused and looked up at his brother. "You don't think that it could really be..."

"No," Ed shook his head with confidence. "Of course not."

He had seen Roy and Riza only a few months prior. A couple of times a year, the two of them would find an excuse to come to Resembool for a weekend without any of their personnel. They came to visit Ed and his family, of course, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time away from the public eye and the hectic bustle of Central.

And, of course, a rare opportunity to openly exists as a couple, if only for a few days.

Ed thought back on the way the two of them were behaving on their last visit, and he could not imagine that Roy would truly want to marry anyone other than Riza.

"Roy Mustang speaking."

The voice in the receiver jolted Ed out of his thoughts. "Mustang!" he called out, louder than he intended. "What the hell is this?"

He heard a sight. "Good morning to you too, Edward." Roy’s office seemed busy than usual - Ed had trouble hearing his voice over the noise from the background.

"Let’s cut through the pleasantries, alright? We saw the announcement on the paper."

There was a short pause. "Ah. Well, if this is about my wedding, I accept your congratulations, however unconventional."

Ed's foot tapped on the floor impatiently, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm not calling to congratulate you, Roy, and you know it. I'm calling to ask for an explanation. Since when do you..."

"Edward. " Mustang's voice interrupted him firmly. "It's not very pleasant to have this kind of conversation on the phone. Why don't you come by Central? We could discuss this in person - and I know the Captain would be glad to see you."

Ed paused and bit down a scathing reply. He let out a defeated sight instead. "Sure. We'll....we'll see you there."

The line went dead before he could hang up. He still slammed the phone on the receiver with force, for good measure.

"I knew it," he said to Al cynically. "It is another one of his schemes: he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. And it seems like Hawkeye’s on it."

Al nodded slowly. "Of course. Roy would never do something like this without her approval.” He looked down on the newspaper with a pensive expression. "I'm guessing he wants to use the wedding to boost his image. But still...I didn't imagine he would go to such length. ”

"I don't know why he's doing this, but he better have a damn good reason. Come on, Al, we're catching the first train to Central."

---

Ed and Al had never seen Central Command in such a state of frenzy. The chaos that reigned on the floor of the presidential office was of a very different kind than the cozy, domestic one they had left : phones were constantly ringing, officers were running around with their arms full of documents; and everyone was shouting to communicate over the tumult. Two soldiers watched the door to Mustang's office. Without a State Alchemist pocket watch or an uniform, Ed and Al were initially denied access; Al had to rummage through his bag for an attestation of his status of diplomat to get them through.

Inside the presidential office, it was even worse. Dodging an officer that came to ask their business, Ed made his way through the crowd like a bulldozer until he reached Roy's desk. The president was on the phone; he nodded to them as he noticed their presence, then returned to his conversation.

A few minutes later, Roy hung up and turned in their direction.

"You got here quickly," he greeted them. "Edward. Alfonse, nice to see you."

"It's been a while," Al replied warmly; Ed nodded. Roy’s attitude was nonchalant, as usual, but he couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes or the tension in his shoulders.

Roy smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mess. As you can imagine, things have been a little hectic since the announcement came out. But," he glanced at his clock and stood up, "it's past noon, so I think I deserve a lunch break. How about we grab something and go eat in my study? I could use a little peace and quiet.”

His study, the only place in Central Command that Roy trusted not to be bugged. Right.

"Riza - I mean Captain Hawkeye isn't here with you?" Al asked, looking as they were leaving his office.

"If you think my office was busy, you should see hers,” Roy answered with a slight smile. “She insisted to be named head of security for the wedding, so she has started coordinating the whole thing. I doubt we'll be able to catch her for dinner - it'll be lucky if I can convince her to get some rest for the night. "His tone was joking, but somehow lacked conviction.

Walking down the hallways, Roy called out to an employee and asked him to bring three lunches to his study. The officer saluted, then ran off to the cafeteria. Perks of being the president, Ed guessed.

As they entered the president’s study, a small but gorgeous room filled with ancient bookshelves, Ed noticed with surprise that Roy had brought a stack of documents with him. He put them down on the varnished wooden desk and began to glance at the one on top, as the employee entered the room to drop off sandwiches. That was unprecedented. Ed and Al had never seen Roy as overworked - but then, in the years they had worked for him, they had rarely seen him work at all.

When the officer had left the room and the door was safely closed behind him, Roy opened one of the drawers at the bottom of his cabinet and rummaged through it for a few seconds, pulling out a messy pile of paper.

"Take a look at this."

He tossed a couple of newspapers on the desk in front of them. They seemed to be from various of the biggest gossip magazine of Central, and even a couple newspapers. The headlines were all short, bold, to the point. "The Fuhrer's string of affairs continues," "The Hawk's Eye: the new presidential scandal?", "Is Mustang sleeping with his staff? Exclusive testimony from ex-military", "Turmoil in Central Command over speculation on Fuhrer-President's relationships". They covered a period of several months, the earliest going back half a year.

Ed frowned and let the papers fall back on the desk. "So? This isn't an explanation."

Roy looked up from the document he was reading. "I heard you were pretty smart, Edward. I'm sure you can figure out the rest." Now that they were in private, his tone had become noticeably less polite and more snappy - even more during their usual exchange, it seemed.

"What, you're upset that some journalists are writing about you and Riza, so you're marrying someone else to throw them off? Are you insane?" Ed shook his head with frustration. "Since when do you care about what the media says about you anyway?"

Roy didn’t raise his eyes. "I’ve cared about it ever since it started threatening my position, Edward.”

"Your position is not democratically elected yet, as far as I know," Ed replied stubbornly.

He growled. “It’s not that simple, Ed.” Roy put down his document for good, resting his forearms on the desk. The sandwiches laid next to him, already forgotten. "Listen. Since I've entered the military, I've purposely built a reputation as a womanizer and a slacker, so that the higher up wouldn't feel threatened by me." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "It worked a bit too well, I guess. Now, the nationalists are trying to portray me as a depraved, scandalous man with no respect for traditions, so that they can discredit my democratic reforms in the same way.” He frowned, and his expression darkened. “They've already exposed my relationship with Chris all over the newspapers, smearing her bar and her reputation. Now, they’re using Chris’ informants to paint me as a skirt-chaser who constantly sleep around – and not to mention with his subordinates.”

"But there have always been rumors, right? " Al asked cautiously. "Even in Xin, I've heard about it several times.”

"Yes, but never of that magnitude. And never targeting Riza so precisely." He looked away, embarrassed. "We got careless. Journalists caught me leaving her apartment one morning, and the rumors have been crazy ever since." Ed winced. They had always been worried that something like that would happen. "You know, this is not just for my career. When the rumors were at their peak, reporters were scrutinizing our routines from morning till night. It was unbearable; we couldn't even see each other without risking getting caught." Roy took a long look at the both of them, one after the other. “This is only a temporary arrangement to make our lives easier. I know this may seem wrong, but it is the best option we have."

Al nodded slowly. He didn't seem that surprised by this whole affair; but after all, he must have witness similar - or worse - situations in the Xinese Court.

Ed wished he could take it as well as Al, but he couldn’t help feeling shocked. Roy's explanation was perfectly rational; he understood why they were doing this. But just imagining being in the same situation – and putting Winry through it – was making him feel sick.

"I can't believe you’ve convinced yourself that this your best solution." Roy gave him what seemed to be an exasperated look, which angered Ed even more. He raised his voice. "Isn't it bad enough that you and Riza can't live together? You really have to push the charade even further, marrying someone else? To, to spend years pretending to lead a normal family life of which Riza is not part off,  while she still has to work by your side?” Ed was on the edge of his seat, almost yelling now. "I mean, how can you do something like that to her? ”

"Edward!" Roy slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off. He had properly shouted, but his voice was low with anger. "It was her idea to begin with. She insisted on going through with this."

Ed paused, taken aback. "Really?"

Roy looked him straight in the eye. His tone was sharp as a knife. "Do you really think I would suggest a plan like this?"

No, of course not, Ed realized. He felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It seemed obvious now: Roy would never make Riza go through something like this of his own volition. Despite his impassive persona, even Ed knew how soft-hearted he was when it came to those close to him. She had always been the one taking the harsh decisions in that regard.

"You're right,” he mumbled, sitting back. “Sorry."

Roy sighed, his anger replaced by weariness. "Don't worry about it. Everyone we told reacted that way."

After a moment, Al broke the silence. "You think people are gonna buy this? The wedding?"

"They are, if we do it right,” answered Roy without a doubt. “This operation has been long in the making. Margot and I started to go on dates a few months ago, making ourselves seen; we made sure those newspapers were writing about her well before we announced the engagement."

"And who's this poor girl who thinks she'll be marrying the President?" Ed asked with a scowl.

Roy gave him a long look. "Again, you have a very poor opinion of me if you think that this is what I would do, Edward." Ed felt a blush creep up his face, but he held Roy’s gaze. "No, Margot is a contact from Chris – thankfully, no one knows their connection.” He searched another of his drawers for a moment and placed what appeared to be a pamphlet for a theater play on the desk. “She's a lifesaver, to be honest: this plan would have fallen through if we hadn't found someone like her that perfectly fitted our needs."

"An actress, huh? Isn't that a bit obvious?" Ed picked up the pamphlet. On the front page was a picture of a woman in her thirties, long brown hair framing a round friendly face.

"She's an opera singer," Roy rectified. "But she has done acting, so she'll be able to play the part. She's sympathetic to our situation, and also her own interest in this matter: the marriage will give her some publicity to launch her career. And, most importantly, Chris trust her, which means we can." He put his hands together, elbows on the table, the posture he took when he gave orders to his subordinates. "I don't need to tell you how devastating it would be if her, or anyone, leaked out to the press the truth behind this wedding. All our careers would be over in an instant. Which is why I need you two to be extremely careful."

Ed winced as he thought back on what he had almost shouted over the phone this morning, or in Roy’s office. That would take some adjusting on his part.

He also guessed that Roy and Riza would have to stop their visits to Resembool for a while.

He cleared his throat. "And how long do you plan on keeping this up?"

"Not a moment longer than we need to, I can assure you. When my democratic reforms are implanted and solid, I will step down as President - that was already the plan." Roy stood and went to look out the study’s window, hands in his pockets. A smirk appeared on his lips. "If it was up to me, I’d file for divorce the instant I walk down the stairs of Central Command, but Riza think it would be too obvious - not to mention a bit improper, considering I plan to propose to her afterwards." He chuckled, then his face fell. "She thinks we shouldn't get married at all. That it would prove the rumors about us and tarnish my legacy - with those of my reforms. " He sighed and turned toward them. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. ”

He walked back to his desk and laid his hands flat on it.

"In the meanwhile, while you don’t have to, we would appreciate it if you came to the wedding." Ed shot him a confused look. "You're still pretty popular with the people,", Roy explained, "and everyone knows you've worked with me in the past. The more of our actual entourage come to the ceremony, the more believable it will be."

Al glanced sideways at Ed. "Of course. We can be there; I imagine Ling will want to hear details about the wedding anyway. And, um," he addressed his brother more than Roy, "hopefully we can keep Riza company for a bit.”

Roy gave him a smile, the first genuine one since the start of the conversation. "Thank you."

----

Riza spent the week before the wedding having to repeat the same things over and over again like a broken record. She was fine; it didn’t bother her ; that was her idea to begin with. She told that to her old team, to the Elric brothers, to Rebecca; and most of all she told that to Roy.  She felt constantly on edge; she couldn’t stand the way people looked at her, as if they expected her to break down crying at any moment. "If you give me that sorry look one more time," she snapped at Roy one evening, "I'll lock you in your office until the wedding.”

It was driving her crazy. She didn't have time to waste with these conversations: she was the head of security for a national wedding, and she had so many tasks to deal with that she didn't know where to give her attention. Every moment of those days she spent on her feet, going from meetings to meetings, keeping tabs on the dozens of teams that were handling the various parts of the organization, making sure no detail was overlooked. Her days were so full that she didn't have time to stop and think; and in the evening she would collapse into her single bed, exhausted, and fall asleep almost immediately.

On top of all the logistics, she had to accompany the President and the would-be First Lady through the media whirlwind that preceded the wedding. Margaret was unknown to the public, and all of Central was desperate to catch a glimpse of the woman who had finally managed to tame Roy Mustang, the famous womanizer, and make him settle down. Both played their roles to perfection: Margot was charming, distinguished but not haughty, teasing Roy fondly; he played the helpless romantic, laughing with a bit of mischievous embarrassment when his scandalous past was brought up. They were funny, complicit, shy when they needed to be - as if they had a real private life they wanted to keep for themselves - and most of all, they were oh so in love.

Riza received a few interview requests herself, but only from the most shameless magazines, the same ones that had cheerfully dragged her name through the mud a couple of months earlier. She hadn’t bothered to decline.

---

The Central Times: There were… rumors, a bit unflattering if I may add, going around about the President turbulent love life. Has that ever been a concern to you, Ms. Evans?

ME: I had certainly heard about it, like everyone else. In fact, I almost refused his first invitation to dinner precisely because of that. (laughs) But it became clear to me very quickly that Roy...did not act the way I expected him to. And I think that realization convinced me to put my cards on the table. I told him, on our second date, that the type of behavior talked about in the papers was not acceptable to me. And that I would rather cut things off immediately if he was not willing to leave that lifestyle behind.

TCT : On your second date! You certainly know what you want.

(Both laugh)

RM: That is one way to put it! I think that was one of the moments I realized what kind of woman Margot was. And - I'm gonna be honest with you for a moment - as a Fuhrer, who spend his days ordering people around, I certainly appreciate a woman that can hold her own.

---

The big day finally arrived. Roy had insisted she didn't have to be there, that she could fake an illness or an emergency. Riza knew that wasn’t the case. The most persistent rumors were those that linked Roy to his bodyguard; her absence at this wedding would have been nothing short of glaring. In any case, Riza was so busy overseeing the course of the day’s event that she didn't even get to visit the soon-to-be-wed couple before they appeared during the ceremony.

They were gorgeous, of course: two attractive people in the elegance of their middle age, dressed by the best designers in Central, resplendent in their happiness. Roy wore the kind of suit he preferred, all black, very chic; Margot had a white satin dress with a long front and back neckline, the kind of dress Riza could never wear on similar occasions.

The kiss, the one everyone was waiting for, was as spectacular as the rest. They went all in, Roy tilting Margot backward until it looked like they were both about to fall down. It didn't bother Riza as much as she would have thought. Roy had never kissed her this way; this was an embrace for the show, for the cameras, while the ones they shared were always strictly for each other. The whole world had seen how the extravagant Flame Alchemist and Hero of Ishval kissed someone, and it had matched their expectations, but only Riza knew the way Roy Mustang kissed someone like he meant it.

She was grateful Roy went that way. She wasn't sure if she could have borne watching him kiss Margot with the same mannerism he kissed her.

And after that came the reception, the dinner, the dance. Dozens of people lined up to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple – mostly members of the aristocracy or the military who had never talked to either of them before - and Roy and Margot accepted their wishes with courtesy, pretending to be touched or delighted by their conversations.

Not for the first time, Riza thought to herself how she would dislike being in Margot's shoes right now. Having to maintain a facade of politeness throughout her wedding day, spending it with opportunistic strangers instead of her loved ones...she couldn’t have done it.

Truly, she was more comfortable behind the scenes as head of security than under the spotlight as the bride.

She watched them eat next to each other, chatting pleasantly with the other guests. She watched them open the dance, arms in arms, and even she felt touched by how beautiful of a sight they were, two stunning dancers gracefully moving across the ballroom like they were floating about the ground, weightless.

Some of her friends and comrades came to subtly check on her, asking again how she was doing. Many insisted to keep her company; but she was on duty, and too many tasks required her attention for her to be able to simply enjoy the night, she told them. At no moment during the evening did she let her guard down, checking in regularly with the security personnel, running patrols even as the evening calmed down and guests slowly started to trickle away, the married couple leaving to their private quarters and the staff starting to take the decorations down.

All night long, she remained the very image of professionalism.

---

Rebecca was the one who found her. She had taken refuge in a place where no one would dare come looking for her, in the bathroom of her hotel room, both doors locked. Obviously, this was not enough to keep her closest friend away.

Rebecca opened the bathroom door to find her curled up on the tile floor, her back against the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even here, hidden from the world, Riza was still trying to control herself; but her body was shaking with shuddering sobs, silent tears running down her face and rolling over her fingers.

Even Rebecca had rarely seen her in such a state, at least not since her return from Ishval.

Her heart broke at the sight, as well as her voice. "Oh, Riza."

She fell down on the floor beside her. Riza raised her head and tried to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"I'm fine," she began immediately. She could hear how silly it sounded, for her to say that with her strangled voice and her hiccups. "I'm okay, it's just.....It's stupid." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I'm the one who suggested this. I don't get why I'm reacting like that, when I know that it doesn't mean anything..."

"Riza." Rebecca interrupted her with a voice thick with emotion but firm. "I'm gonna need you to shut up right now."

She complied and Rebecca put her arms around her, drawing her closer. Riza buried her head against her shoulders. For a few minutes, only the muffled sound of her cries broke the silence.  

"When are you seeing him?" Rebecca asked her softly after she had calmed down, stroking her back.

Suddenly, Riza felt an urge to talk to Roy. She had avoided him as much as she could for the past few days, unable to bear the way he looked at her, the guilt that transpired in his every move, his need to tell her those sappy things they never had to say before - how much he loved her, and only her, and how that would never change. But right now, for the first time, she needed to hear those silly, stupid words all over again.

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Too risky. We'll see how closely the journalists watch his house after the wedding, and decide when it's safe for me to visit him again."

Rebecca said nothing, still rubbing her back. Riza was already getting back to her normal, composed self, forcing her breaths to be long and steady.

"And…please don't tell him you saw me like this."

There was a silence, then Rebecca sighed. She shook her head.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why you two seem so determined to remain unhappy for the rest of your lives.”

Riza knew how to answer this. There were things that had to be done; work that had to be finished before Roy and her could be allowed to live for themselves. Damages they had to repair, sins to atone for.

But for once, these words seemed too heavy to say, and she was so, so tired. So, she said nothing.

[tsaritsa]

a strange fate with wandering limbs / ch xi

this fic can also be found on ff.net or ao3

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

On June 19th, Riza Hawkeye falls asleep at approximately 11:28pm. On June 20th, she doesn’t wake up.

The sky is a ridiculous blue when his youngest grandchild is buried, in a small cemetery on the outskirts of village an hour from East City.

It is a simple ceremony. There is no fanfare or frivolity. It is what she would have wanted.

It is not what he wants.

Grumman has attended many funerals in his career – it is a hazard of the job when you are responsible for so many lives – but none have been quite as tragic as this. He realises that he is not just mourning for his granddaughter, as he watches her coffin approach across the grass. He is also mourning for his little girl – sweet, beautiful, delicate Caroline, whom he never saw again after that awful argument.

He is mourning for the family he has lost. For the family he will never regain.

Grumman had such high hopes for the two of them.

His gaze shifts to where Mustang is, surrounded by his men and next to him, his aunt. They’re easily the largest group in attendance – at least a hundred of them, Madame Christmas the only one standing out amongst the sea of blue and black in a dark burgundy coat with a white fur trim. She’s not entirely ostentatious on her own, but then Grumman notices the small groups of women dotted elsewhere in the cemetery, with beautiful curls and dark veils. They look like the little porcelain dolls he used to buy for his daughter, all immaculate and still and slightly unnerving.

A cool breeze shifts through the cemetery and he drags his attention back to the hole before him in the ground. He is grateful that she isn’t being buried alongside her mother and him. He wasn’t even aware of this borough before he pulled up with his personal detail – tucked away behind the Cremil Ranges, next to a small village with a small but steady economy based upon sheep, cattle, and curious city-folk. The air is cleaner here, cooler than the likes of East City, and Grumman wonders what exactly led her to buy a grave plot in a place that by all accounts she has never visited nor has any discernable ties to.

As he has learned in his old age, wasting time on regrets or missed opportunities gets you nowhere – but there is an uncomfortable sting as he realises how little he actually understood his grandchild, all things considered. He had tried to – but at the time she had been young and scared and grieving for the blood on her hands and no amount of we’re family now, Riza could convince her that he could be that to her – that family could mean something different than shut doors, silence and a fucking tattoo.

Subject has a large, partially burned back tattoo than spans from the shoulders to lower back. Appears to be alchemic in nature, though further research would need to be conducted to ascertain what it is referring to. Burns are from several years ago, affecting the upper and lower dermis of the skin, though not to the point of the muscles. Bleeding of the ink implies either an amateur job, or done when the subject was still in puberty – marks of growth affect the emblem and Latin somewhat.

The tattoo is unlikely to be the cause of death, though the lack of its mention in other accompanying health records gives cause to be suspicious.

Chris had been far too dismissive when he had called her, the death report from the coroner crushed and torn in his hands as he fought not to cry or yell or scream down the receiver. When did this happen? he had asked, hands shaking and voice cracking under the stress of finding out that she was every bit a stranger to him as he had feared and it was all because of him.

When she was a teenager, I imagine. The rest was burned after Ishval.

And you knew?

Of course I knew, George. Who do you think smuggled the morphine so she wouldn’t have to go to hospital?

The rumours this week had been awful. He truly had underestimated what Central was capable of – Central, which only has the barest of ties with the Eastern district even at the best of times – had still managed to find out the day after she died.

They had not been kind.

Everything from suicide to murder had been hotly discussed – and though he didn’t hear the brunt of it, thank every god and goddess and saint – his presence here today would only fuel those rumours even more.

He wouldn’t be surprised if his connection to her was common knowledge before the week is out. He doesn’t care, really. It will not affect him in the slightest.

It will affect Mustang, however. Though his detractors have kept very quiet this week (and that in itself is already suspicious), they won’t stay that way for long. Mustang is a talented soldier – that cannot be disputed, but Grumman will not deny that he has held a soft spot for the kid – a soft spot that was put there by his granddaughter. From the few, stilted conversations they had over the years, he was able to gather that it was Mustang that took care of her, even when that man was still alive.

He has a lot to thank the General for, but right now, he can only feel anger. Logically, he knows it’s not his fault – no one’s fault but her own, really – but he had to find out through his secretary gossiping to someone on the phone and he doesn’t think he will be able to forgive the Mustang’s for that for a very long time.

The soldiers who carry her casket come to a stop in front of the small crowd. A man – someone Grumman doesn’t recognise – drones on for a bit about how tragic it was that she was taken so young, but yet that they should all take solace in knowing that her life was not lived in vain. Mustang at this point looks like he’s either going to hurl or collapse as the balding man continues, listing her achievements and medals won in the Ishvallan civil war like he is reading the morning’s weather report.

It is entirely too blasé for him – for many of the soldiers, Grumman notices, who are all glaring at the speaker as if to kill him with the sheer power of their expressions alone. Grumman was relatively aware of the work that they had completed in helping rebuild the Ishvallan district, but yet it’s only now he notices how many of the other attendees have the conspicuous red eyes or ashen hair. They blend in well in their Amestrian formalwear – perhaps as a sign of respect, he concedes.

The speaker finishes on some awful comment about the idea of life after death and Grumman grimaces as they lower her casket into the ground. He watches as they all shuffle by, raining handfuls of dirt over her. He spies the Elric boys, accompanied by two women – one looks distinctly uncomfortable as she nears the open grave, the other pauses before fiddling at her ears before dropping the jewellery down instead of the dirt. Grumman is faintly scandalised but the moment passes and he feels a hand at his elbow as one of his new bodyguards – Elana? Eloise? – gestures towards the waiting car at the fringes of the cemetery.

“We need to go now, sir.” Her tone is firm, but polite and he heaves his shoulders a little bit, but nods and adjusts his cap and turns away from the awaiting congregation. He hears the faintest of whispers as he passes but he pays them no mind. Let them talk, let them gossip. If they were smart enough to realise the connection, they would also be smart enough to realise why continuing to talk would be dangerous for their careers.

The ride back to East City is quiet and his other bodyguard – Fiona? – reads a book as the car winds back through paddocks of sheep and pumpkins. It isn’t until he spots the familiar skyline of East City that he finally places this odd feeling that’s settled in his gut since the two of them arrived at his office that morning.

Eloise has done her job perfectly – she looked and acted the part exactly, but Fiona hadn’t lost all the vestiges of her glamorous other life – and he knows that particular perfume anywhere. It’s hard to shake off wealth when you’re accustomed to it, and he would bet on his life that Fiona is one of the new girls – this being her first assignment to see if she can cut it as person other than herself.

“How much is the Madame paying you today?” he asks casually, enjoying how Fiona’s fingers still on the pages of her book and Eloise’s hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, knuckles whitening. Neither woman responds.

Grumman nods his head and feels the anger settle slightly in his clenched jaw. His whole body is tense and it takes every ounce of what frayed willpower he has left not to slam his hand down on the plush leather interior of the car.

“Enough not to talk?” he manages. “Well, that’s alright then. The General and I will have a little chat about this later.” There’s only the slightest tremor in his voice and he feels his ears beginning to warm. He is angry and embarrassed and insulted – how dare he be removed from this moment of grief before he is ready; how dare Madame Christmas have the audacity to dictate how and when he should mourn for his grandchild.

“He doesn’t know,” Eloise says quickly, eyes firmly on the road ahead. “You will need to bring it up with the Madame. She orchestrated it all. Your security is severely lacking, sir.” There’s venom in her timbre and Grumman is a little taken aback at how vehement her response is to a man who could do more than just hurt her – all he needs a single phone call and the both of them will disappear from the face of this earth with hardly a sound: and Grumman doubts that somehow the Madame will make a fuss over either of their sudden and silent departures from her establishment with more than a blink of her eyes and a quiet sigh.

His gloved hands ball into tight fists and Grumman focuses on his breathing. In. Out.

In.

Out.

Eloise keeps driving.