Chapter Text
“Where’s my kid’s gift, loverboy?”
Roy makes a face, and hands Maes a small paperbag. Maes raises an eyebrow. “I had the understanding it would be a living breathing thing?”
“They’re not here yet,” he says, “look, be glad I’m here. Do you see any other friend of yours making the time—“
“Uncle Rooooy!”
Roy whips his head and smiles; but it drops just as soon as it bloomed on his face. The small, familiar voice comes from far above and he comes face-to-face with a very big and very formidable figure. Major Armstrong, in all his brilliant and well-groomed mustache glory, walks up to him with Elycia situated far above, perched on his left shoulder looking as giddy and happy as ever. “Major Armstrong, you’re here.”
“I couldn’t possibly miss the little one’s very important sixth birthday, could I?” He booms. With only one hand securing Elycia—God Hughes need to be a bit more cautious about the people he lets carry Elycia around, look at how tall she’s sitting on up there—he clasps Roy’s free hand and grips it as tightly as ever. Roy winces. “Good to see you, Agent Mustang, very good! I’ll never be used to calling you that.”
“Yes, well, it’s what it is now,” he says noncommittally. “Having fun, El? How’s the weather up there, kid?”
“It’s bright up here and breezy,” Elycia answers happily, “Uncle Alex can I come down?”
“Down you go,” Armstrong cheerily says, and Elycia holds to his hands with a gleeful giggle. Once her feet touches the ground she zooms to Roy with her arms spread, and Roy reflexively lowers himself to welcome her into a hug.
“Uncle Roy where’s my gift?”
Roy chuckles, fixing his hold on his goddaughter as he carries her in Armstrong’s stead, and follows Maes deeper into the house. He hears laughters of children and the clamor and buzzes of the birthday party as he does so. He’ll never admit it to anyone, least of all Hughes, but Maes’ is probably the closest to an ideal life he wants for his future. He lets everyone, and himself, believes he’s a ladies’ man, forever a bachelor by heart, living to chase a good life in his career but his upbringing and the nature of his old and current occupations had made his vision shift into some of the more domestic aspects of life.
So yes, he complains to Maes about having to attend his kid’s birthday party, but really, he’s somewhat glad to be there.
“In it for the prize, aren’t you? El, don’t you miss me?” He teases, shaking Elycia slightly in his arms. He gets a kiss on the cheek as response.
“I do! Where’s my gift?”
“Your kid’s quite the charmer,” he says as he approaches Gracia and Maes, in the process of cutting the cake—it’s quite the horror to see, the well-made face of a cartoon princess he can’t be bothered to remember the name of that’s been cut away irregularly. “Hey, Gracia. How are you?”
“I’m great, Roy, thanks for making the time.” Gracia notes his stare and she smiles sheepishly. “Look, stop sending me a judging stare, the princess’ face is hard to cut.”
Roy grins, and lets Elycia down so Maes can give her his gift. “What matters is all the layers under.”
“You mean all the sugar,” Gracia retorts, “you ought to tone it down, you know, you’ll get pre-diabetes.”
“It’s so cute and fluffy,” Elycia shrieks as she holds the white plush dog Roy got her before he can defend his culinary inclinations to Gracia. “Uncle Roy, thank you!”
“My pleasure, kid,” he says, fluffing her hair as Elycia hugs him before running off. “Wait until I give her the real puppy and watch that number one uncle place be mine until the day she gets married.”
“Ambitious,” Gracia laughs, handing him a plate of white cake that he immediately stabs with his fork to gobble down. Roy savours the sweetness of the whipped cream, mixed with the slight sour of cream cheese. In hindsight, maybe there’s a simpler reason why he, an unmarried thirty-something with no kid, is glad to be at a six year old birthday party other than the good company and the comfortable, laid-back domestic vibe. Cake.
“There’s plenty of time until she gets married for you to get replaced by literally anyone. You know, you should go make a kid of your own before you try to steal mine,” Maes grouses, and both Roy and Gracia snorts. “Speaking of making kids, Orion—“
“Orion?”
Maes grins. “I can’t let it go. Y’know Orion was blinded in Chios because—?”
“I’m perfectly aware,” Roy sniffs, taking offence, “I took Xerxian myth in high school too, asshole.”
“Keep your mouths clean, this is a six-year-old’s birthday party,” Gracia chides, and whips her head over to the door, where the bell rings, “is that her? I’ll get her. Maes is going to scare her off home.”
“Hey!”
You’re a lifesaver, Roy says around his mouthful of cake, and hastily swallows, half a mind realising he probably should, well, try to keep up appearances a little bit. Maes raises an eyebrow as he considerably straightens himself and eats the princess cake in a way that’s a little too-dignified compared to before. Roy ignores him.
Gracia re-emerges, then, and Roy sees Riza follow behind her with a slightly tense look on her face; he feels a little bad, but she relaxes into a smile as they got into each other’s line of view, and he beckons her to come near him. “Maes, Gracia, this is Riza Hawkeye.”
“Sorry I got held up, I had to take a call,” Riza says, shaking Maes’ hand.
“Heard a lot about you,” says Maes, and Roy rolls his eyes while Riza chuckles.
“I hope all good things,” she says, sending a look his way. She looks so pretty today, he thinks, in an airy light blue dress that falls modestly below her knees, her hair tied up in a sensible ponytail. “I heard some about you too. Nice to meet both of you, Maes and Gracia.”
“Definitely not good things,” Maes grins, “so, Miss Hawkeye—“
“Riza, please.”
“Watch it,” Roy warns. Maes snorts.
“You all really are way too stifling on me,” he says, “I just want to congratulate her on her last gold. I have to say we binged some of your top Olympics performances. You’re incredible, certainly a pride to the country.”
“Thank you,” Riza says modestly, “I try.”
“Don’t be too intimidating on her, you’re a little intense,” Gracia lightly says with a kiss on Maes’ cheek, as she rounds up the table. She cocks her head towards Roy but smiles to Riza. “Do you share Roy’s five-year-old palate or are you a normal adult like the rest of us?”
Riza grins, ignoring his indignant protests. “Definitely a normal adult,” she answers, and gracefully accepts Gracia’s platter of panna cotta. “Thank you. This looks great.”
“It is great,” Hughes pipes in, and Roy groans at his direction. “What! You agree. Gracia makes some sinful panna cotta, you said this verbatim. By the way,” he reaches out to hook his arm around Gracia’s waist, and pulls his wife close, “thank you for actually making the time to come.”
“Yes,” Gracia agrees with a soft smile, “I know a kid’s birthday party is hardly a fun one, despite their beliefs otherwise.”
Roy had been a little bit apprehensive to follow through Maes’ suggestion to bring Riza. They haven’t been together for long—it’s only been about two months since he returned from South City to pick up Lady at the pet hotel and subsequently met her. They’ve been going at a leisurely pace, slowly learning about each other and while meeting with friends is normally far from meet-your-family level, Maes is, after all, his closest friend; he was best man in his and Gracia’s wedding, and he’s also named godfather. There’s some substance there, and he’d feared it might intimidate, or worse, scare her off; feared she would think it too soon. But at the same time, he was sort of eager to ease her further into his life—there’s just this small voice at the back of his head that tells him this—them—Riza Hawkeye, might be it.
Well. Curse him for being a romantic.
But she had took his carefully casual, nonchalant, don’t-worry-no-presure-you-totally-don’t-have-to invitation in stride, even going so far as to personally pick out a gift for Elycia. It surprised him. Pleasantly. Immensely.
“No, no,” Riza shakes her head, “it sounded pretty fun, actually.”
It was what she told him, too, when he asked her if she wanted to go. Sure, it sounds nice. And she’s your goddaughter, so she must hope you to come. He hesitated, and told her with a grin, it’ll be rambunctious. She sent him a small smile. I’ve never been to a six-year-old birthday party before. It sounds pretty fun.
“Well,” Gracia says pleasantly, “we do get the champagnes out for the adults when it gets too hectic.”
“Thats wonderful,” Riza tells her after scooping a small amount of panna cotta. She closes her eyes and hums as the soft dessert enters her mouth, and Roy’s mind goes blank. “Wow. This is sinful.”
You know what’s sinful, he thinks dryly, is what’s in my mind while I’m at my goddaughter’s birthday party.
Maes sends him a knowing smirk, but his saving grace, Elycia, re-emerges running towards them with a barrage of UncleRoyUncleRoyUncleRoy, and, god bless the kid for keeping his brain on track. Roy shoves a last spoonful of cake into his mouth, averting his eyes from Riza, before turning to the little girl. “Uncle Roy who do you think I should name him?”
“I don’t know,” he says after he finishes swallowing the cake, and he bends down again to carry Elycia though she doesn’t prompt him too. “What do you have in mind? Gosh, you’re getting heavy. How many plates of cake did you eat?”
“Just one,” Elycia cheerfully says. She turns, then, and gasps, before leaning to whisper—really, scream-whisper, as kids do—to his ear, “who is she?”
“Elycia, sweetheart,” Gracia says, “say hi, this is Miss Riza Hawkeye. She’s Uncle Roy’s, uh—“
“Girlfriend,” he whispers to Elycia conspiratorially, and from the corner of his eyes he catches Riza rolling hers. Elycia giggles at that. “Hey, actually, she’s the one who got you the plush dog. You wanna say hi and thank you?”
“Uncle Roy is your girlfriend a princess? She looks like one.” His goddaughter asks, and hell, there’s no bigger boost of pride than that. He whirls to face Riza, Elycia still in his arms, and grins.
Riza’s eyes flash in realisation and she tilts her head, exasperated and warning. “Roy, don’t you dare—“
“Nope, she’s a goddess,” he says, to which Riza heaves a defeated sigh, a faint blush on her cheeks. Elycia’s eyes go wide.
“But Uncle Roy, you’re not even a prince,” she accuses. Roy winces. Well, that, he isn’t, and he’d retort back but he should be the adult here, even if he has to bear being the brunt of the joke, as Maes and Gracia laughs heartily and Riza’s mouth turn upwards into a lovely smile. His heart does a terrible somersault. Maybe it’s the cake. Maybe it’s time to ask Gracia to whip out that champagne.
Kids. Honest to a fault.
+
Roy was supposed to meet her at the restaurant after work, but half an hour into her waiting he called to let her know he was stumped with work. So Riza tells him to eat dinner and rest well, then decides to get her food to take out. She eats her dinner at home and finishes Hayate’s business and walk, and settles onto her settee to read a novel after a relaxing bath. She had practice at the range the whole afternoon, and the warm bubbled bath does wonders on her muscles. Her next competition’s not in another six month, and her training schedule’s still somewhat sparse; she loves the feel of getting competitive and the hyper-focus that goes into all that, but these relaxing times are equally cherished.
So why she is opening her door to her frazzled boyfriend at about two AM with an armful of flowers is beyond her.
“Wha—“ she stutters, eyes wide, “what are you doing?”
“Riza I’m so sorry,” he says, “I didn’t want to stand you up but I really was backlogged at work, and I know you reserved the restaurant already and you had to eat alone and sorry I barged in late, I don’t want you to get mad—“
“Roy,” she gently interjects, “Roy, I’m—I’m not mad?”
“You’re not?”
Riza blinks. “Yes? Why would I be? You told me you can’t come because of work. It happens,” her eyes travel downwards to the red flowers in his hand, and her stare grows incredulous. “Where did you even get that at this hour? And why—because you thought I’m angry?”
Roy grins, sheepish and all too self-conscious, and Riza feels her chest fill with something rapidly expansive and wholly overcoming so suddenly she almost staggers backwards in its intensity. This man—my god, she thinks, suddenly panicking herself—is a fool.
And she thinks she’s in love with him, and not only a little bit.
“You know,” she says, trying to sound light and not barely restraining herself to pull him by the throat to kiss him, because, what an idiot, “it didn’t cross your mind that I might be angrier to be waken at this ungodly hour?”
“I didn’t really think this through, to be perfectly honest,” he admits. Riza thinks a tired and overworked and slightly silly man of thirty shouldn’t be this endearing, but he is. “Sorry.”
She takes a step forward and brushes his bangs back and away from his face, ignoring how it petulantly falls back as she rests her hand on his nape. “For a man of your record, you’re a bit of an idiot,” she truthfully tells him, deliberately letting her immense fondness seep through the words, “do you have a bad dating history or something?”
“A little bit of both,” he says, looping his arms around her to pull her close by the waist. Riza can feel the weight of the bouquet, bulky and slightly prickling, on her back. “Not that I have much of that, but, yeah. And Havoc got a rise out of me. I should’ve known better you wouldn’t be that unreasonable.”
He scowls, and Riza can’t help it. She laughs, and pulls him down to kiss him squarely on the mouth, welcoming the feel of his lips against hers, the soft swipe of his tongue. She pulls back, and affectionately holds both his cheeks in her hands, letting him lean onto her palms. “Where’s Lady?”
“In my car,” he says, eyes fluttering to a close at her touch.
“Good,” she grins, forcing him to open his eyes by a soft squeeze on either of his cheeks, which prompts him into a boyish pout, “bring her in, we’re having a double-date.”
+
He wakes up feeling oddly well-rested despite having slept for barely three hours, according to the sleek digital clock on the bedside table. It’s six-thirty-five, and yes, he did arrive at her house somewhere around two but she seemed to be rather endeared by his stupid feat that they ended up engaging in, well, activities until somewhere after three. The thought brings a grin to his face, one that gets even wider as he feels her stir in his arms.
Riza turns and blinks sleepy rich brown eyes up to him, lips slightly parted, lightly chapped, but still, Roy can’t not dive down and kiss them. There’s a soft noise, like a sigh only sweeter, that tumbles out of her lips into his and it ignites something that makes him push his tongue over her lips and then into her mouth; something so proud and possessive that has him taking her first breath of the day for himself. When he finally pulls back she’s breathless and dazed, and it makes him smile.
“Good morning,” she greets him dazedly. Roy kisses her nose and forehead and cheeks in successions as a response, and grins when the soft pink blush spreads over her face. “Do you have to go to work today?”
Roy groans. “I wish I don’t,” he says, and he means it. “But I think we’re actually going to get busier, now.”
“What time?” Riza asks, burrowing her face into his chest and letting him hug her close. Her hair smells like faint fresh citrus and vanilla, and she shivers when Roy’s fingers softly touch the uneven scars on her back. It had been a surprise, and it had been a point of apprehension on her part last night, but Roy managed to soothe her with a light bravado on his part—Don’t worry, I have a lot of those, he told her, carefully maintaining a charming smile, and in between their hungry touches that followed she slipped soft, featherlight touches of wonder on his scars. It wasn’t patronizing, her curiosity, her soft and this? to a wound courtesy of a stray bullet. She was careful in her touches, her questions, and likewise, he tried to remain reverent in his.
“Eight,” he sighs. “Or nine. Havoc will understand.”
“Sounds like a nice friend,” she hums, pushing back, and Roy mourns from even the slight part from her soft, soft, skin. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
She slips off the bed before he can protest, and Roy sighs before going off to clean up and dress. He takes both the dogs out, and when he returns Riza has procured an extra bowl for Lady plus an extra portion of raw meat and some other ingredients normally would go into his plate rather than his dog’s, but he can’t really complain if she’s going to pamper his dog with some real food rather than kibble. His own pancakes and omelette are ready anyways, lightly steamy and looking good.
When he realizes he has instinctively slid into her kitchen—larger than his bachelor pad could ever offer, more lived-in, more cooked-in—to hug her from behind and kiss the top of her head, it sinks in that he is in trouble.
“Thanks for breakfast,” he tells her, voice strained, and she senses it, because she turns around to raise an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“It’s fine,” he shrugs, clearing his throat and ducking down to kiss her lightly on the lips. “I get hoarse in the mornings.”
He shovels his food down like he’s eating pancakes and eggs for the first time, idly watching the dogs eat with considerable enthusiasm, and remembers something interesting that can finally distract him, somewhat. “I saw that you almost have a whole arena for Hayate in the backyard,” he says, and Riza shrugs. “What, he used to compete too or something?”
“Not really,” she says, “he’s actually pretty lazy. I just thought he’d like to play, if he gets bored.”
“And I saw his toy baskets,” he adds, “he has three. Hawkeye, I named my dog Lady but your dog lives like a prince.”
Riza laughs, the sound short and sweet. “I think he deserves it. Hayate’s a good boy.”
“Like hell he is,” he retorts, and she snorts, “you do not have any rights to call me ridiculous about my dog, Miss. You spoil yours rotten—”
She rolls her eyes, and suddenly puts a piece of her own pancake into his mouth, forcing him to chew. “I’ll spoil him all I want, he’s my dog.”
Hayate yips, and goes to rub his face on Riza’s leg. She bends down to bring him up to her lap and fondly pats him. “Real gentleman,” he says dryly, pointing a lazy fork towards the dog. He responds in a loll of his tongue. “Getting back to Mama when your wife’s right there. You’re lucky your mom’s cute.”
She kicks him out at eight, despite him not really caring to hurry before Havoc rings him. She tells him to leave Lady with her, and he complies, because, really, it’ll probably be like a spa day for his dog in Riza’s house. Roy drives right to work, opting to just change clothes with his spare in the office rather than going home, and ponders why it feels so natural to kiss Riza goodbye in the morning and to think about coming home to her sometime later in the evening. He thinks he knows why.
+
It’s eleven PM and Kain is supposed to get blacked-out-drunk (not that he does it often but that’s precisely the point, he doesn’t do this often) instead of running so he can get the last train, which, he shouldn’t have worried about because his apartment is some ten-minutes walk away from the bar. But he’s not even halfway that drunk yet and here he is in panting in the train carriage.
His thesis defense went great. He felt like on cloud nine, Professor Hughes was positively beaming and he had that small inkling that this might be a good gateway to his career. So sue him for finally relenting to his friends’ peer pressure to join them and get smashed because hell yes, he’s now Kain Fuery, B.SE-CS, M.Sc-ICT; bachelor of science in engineering of computer science, and master of science in info-comm tech, baby.
“I’m not even that drunk yet,” he tells Sheska over the phone. She laughs at him.
“Like you actually care about getting drunk at all, Kain. I mean, getting your master’s degree is drunk-worthy, don’t get me wrong, but I know you. Anyways, do you want me to come?”
“Exactly, this is a once-in-a-blue-moon kinda thing. And no,” he says sulkily as he leans his head to the railing, “just go back to sleep. Is this what doctors feel like?”
“Probably. Give Miss Hawkeye my regards.”
“Have breakfast with me tomorrow?” He asks impulsively; he may not be (as) drunk (as he wanted to), but since his very first time drinking alcohol (and hers), that hangover breakfast is kind of a tradition. A rare one, since neither really like getting drunk that much, but Kain likes it. “Do you have to be at the library early?”
“No, let’s go. If you want to go to Tenner’s at four for a hangover meal I’ll even accompany you. Just call me. Are you hungover? You don’t sound hungover.”
Kain sighs. He loves her.
“Sure, Kain, love you too. Hope the puppies and the mom are all safe!”
His brain short-circuits. Wha—did he—did she— “Fuuuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck.” Okay, maybe he’s a bit drunk.
He arrives in front of Miss Hawkeye’s door in a daze, and the woman opens the door looking like—looking like what he never sees her looking like; frazzled and slightly aghast. “Kain,” she says, “I have no idea what to do.”
She almost runs to the inside of her quiet home and Kain awkwardly follows her. “Miss Hawkeye,” he calls, as she lowers herself to her knees to bend over a pen where Lady is lying down above an expanse of sterile-looking pads and also pillowed by soft-looking blankets and plushies, breathing softly. Hayate is outside the pen, looming over on his hind legs and leaning over the edge, in a decidedly somewhat worried fashion, he supposes? “Have you gone to the vet? I’m not a vet, you know.”
“We have,” she says, and it’s tense, “she said it’ll be fine, everything’s great and her condition’s great, but it’s scaring me and Roy’s not here.”
Now that’s a question for another time. Just what has passed between the two that warrants Lady to be prepared to give birth in her house instead of his and just what is this arrangement between the two, and “we”? But really, Kain’s not here to get himself bothered over his customers’ love life.
And yeah, well, he loves dogs, his parents has always got dogs all his life and even bred some, so he knows about whelping (if he didn’t go to engineering he’d definitely go for vet med) so Miss Hawkeye is probably right in calling him. Maybe this is the post-grad party he deserves, celebrating with the birth of some puppies. He strokes the white dog’s fur and feels the tough contraction under his hand. “It’s alright, good girl,” he soothes, and, with what he hopes to be a similar level of soothing, “it’s alright, Miss Hawkeye, uh. She’s doing great, really. It hasn’t been that long, is it?”
“She’s been fussy since afternoon, but she’s only settled in for an hour,” she breathes, “so, I don’t know—“
“Calm down, calm down,” he says, wincing a bit as he hopes he doesn’t sound too patronizing. Probably not, because Miss Hawkeye does heed his words and tries to take some deep breaths. “She’ll be okay, Miss Hawkeye. We’re just going to help a bit with the amniotic sacs, the cord, and just prevent her from eating the placenta. I mean, sometimes it’s fine, but sometimes they get diarrhea from eating the placenta, so.” He looks back at Hawkeye and she has a wide-eyed look on her face.
Huh. All these times she’s been going to the salon he’s always perceived her to be poised and graceful and put-together all the time. Lady lets out a small whine and Hawkeye leans over, almost frantic. “Is she okay, is she—? Sweetie, are you in pain?”
Of course she is, ma’am, she’s giving birth—aren’t you the woman here, he thinks, but being a smartass would probably not end well at this time. He pets Lady gently and the mommy-to-be leans her muzzle onto his hand, uncomfortable but decidedly chill about it. Unlike her—uh, mom-in-law, Kain supposes.
“She’s having contractions, it’ll be okay. Miss Hawkeye, it’s gonna be a bit of a, uh, um, slimy work? But it’s nothing too bad, don’t worry—are you terribly squeamish?”
Hawkeye shakes her head. Ah, Kain thinks, definitely pretty squeamish, then.
The three puppies come in slow successions, some hour or so between them, and Miss Hawkeye actually does pretty well in helping him clean up the sac for each puppy, the placenta, the mess of blood and fluids, though Kain suspects she’s really barely holding it together. The little puppies blindly waddles around to suckle on their mother, who seems spent enough she doesn’t even raise her head to drink from the small water bowl Hawkeye prepares for her. It’s somewhere around three when they finish and when he stands Kain’s knees crackles from kneeling for too long, but he can see Miss Hawkeye’s sweet fascination and pride, and it’s really adorable to see Hayate jumping inside the pen to lick his mate’s face and nuzzle her. There’s a bit of blood on his shirt but he refuses, horrified, when Hawkeye offers him a change from Agent Mustang’s wardrobe, hell no.
Miss Hawkeye suddenly laughs, as she hands him a mug of coffee. Kain politely does not ask, but she tells him anyways. “No—just, calling you at midnight just reminds me of this one time Roy arrives here at, I don’t know, two AM. Good to know my neighbors are people over sixty who usually sleep before nine, or I’ll be local gossip.”
Okay, that answers things.
The man—Agent Mustang—himself barges in at four in the midst of small yips from the newborn pups, looking equally rumpled and tired as he thanks him and Kain thinks it’s his cue to leave when Agent Mustang kneels on the edge of the pen with Miss Hawkeye next to him, her arm around his waist, her head on his shoulder.
Maybe, just maybe, if he doesn’t chicken out again he can tell Sheska that he loves her and wants to adopt a ton of puppies with her and let the doggies have puppies themselves and then spend quiet happy puppy times at ungodly hours in the morning like those two, maybe, but he’s already completely sober now.
+