Chapter Text
Kain Fuery is dead.
There’s no other outcome besides that; and it’s not that he’s gonna die, he is dead, already halfway to heaven and all that he really regrets is not finishing that damn thesis and not having a proper first job and not letting know his best friend that he’s always been in love with her and not getting married and not getting a puppy of his own and—
Okay, there’s a lot of things he regrets.
“I’m finished,” he says tensely to Sheska, who is still happy and still chipper and is somehow delighted with this turn of events, even if it’s going to cost him his life. She shakes her head and crouches down to pet the dog, who’s also, damn him, happily wagging his tail.
“Kain, you’re overreacting.”
“The man is a vet—I mean war veteran, Sheska. And I think he’s a cop or an intelligence agent now or something and I don’t particularly care but he has guns and he will definitely use them on me,” Fuery groans, remembering that one time he met his charge’s parent and startled because the man has a gun strapped on his hip. And across his chest. And—he doesn’t want to think about it.
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Sheska says cheerily, “you’re not a criminal, so he won’t have any reason to shoot you.”
“Sheska,” he wails again, “I let his girl get knocked up right under my nose.”
Sheska laughs, the sound lovely and tinkling; she’s always had a soft, timid voice, and it extends to her laugh. He likes it. Kain hopes he’ll be able to hear it again and again and again— “Kain, they’re adults who like each other,” she gestured towards their charges, “and look. That’s as much consent as we could infer from their relationship.”
The mock-seriousness of her tone makes Fuery snort; he fondly looks at the two dogs they’re taking back from the vet, trotting side-by-side on their leashes, occasionally giving each other little licking kisses.
“When did they do it is beyond me,” he grouses, and Sheska gives him a playful look.
“Give them some privacy, Kain,” she smiles, “cheer up. Who knows, maybe the agent is up for some puppies.”
+
He doesn’t know whether it’s a good or a bad thing, but Agent Mustang already caught wind of his imminent grand-fatherhood before Kain manages to think how he’s going to break it to him. So it comes to now: Kain is standing at attention (is he really, he’s not sure, but he’s trying to stand as ramrod straight and board-stiff as possible while at the same time fighting a strange innate urge to salute) before the agent as he sits on the sofa and examining his dog with a frown. His Lady—his dog, which he always refers as such—is contentedly prancing on her owner’s lap and licking the man’s face as he rubs the white dog’s only slightly fattened belly.
“My baby,” he whispers to the dog as he snuggles her close. The words are so, so different from the way this man is making Kain’s knees shake right now, “who did this to you?”
Lady only licks Agent Mustang’s face and happily yips in response. At least he had good timing; the guy—the dog—in question, Black Hayate, is safe from the agent’s wrath within the bubbles of his shampoo; Kain had sent him to be groomed with his co-worker right before the agent materialised on the door, looking irate.
“Fuery,” Roy Mustang sighs, “how even does this happen?”
Is he really seriously asking why dogs mate? “Sorry, sir. I—don’t—they must be in heat, I guess? And? I didn’t have my eyes on them?” Kain flinches as the agent narrows his eyes at him. It’s not like he could’ve done anything! What was he expected to do?
Agent Mustang runs a hand through his hair. “Look, kid. I even had to leave her at a pet hotel—for three weeks because I had to be away. What makes you think I could manage a pregnant dog and puppies?”
You should’ve spayed her, then, Kain thinks sourly. “I—sorry sir, but our policy did state that we can’t really take responsibility for such happenings for pets who aren’t neutered and spayed,” he gulps as Mustang throws him a dirty look that said I know, but still. He shifts on his feet. “I… maybe the dad’s owner would be fine with it…?” Right. If he’s gonna be alive tonight after the agent left, he’ll have to face a different, but similar song in three days: Hayate’s mom will come back, and if he doesn’t die from bullet wounds today he will die with five goddamn arrows on his forehead, either side of his chest, his stomach. Kain shivers. Miss Hawkeye seems like a pretty gory killer.
“Do they even know?” Mustang asks with an eyebrow raised, seeing right through him. “Fuery, you have to tell them. Or you know what, you take care of the puppies when they come.”
Shit, he thinks; there’s honestly nothing else he wants than that, but he’s a broke masters student whose thesis defence is in two months, who had to take a part-time job at a pet hotel and salon because his research assistant pay is shit. His apartment is dog-friendly, but his wallet is absolutely not, save for some two-or-three packets of treats monthly. Little newborn puppies are cute and delicate and all but they need a lot, he might be able to (happily) provide the love and care but not the stuffs, food, milk—the things money has to buy, basically. And, well, Agent Mustang can technically give the pups up for adoption, but not at their hotel; they’re only a pet hotel and salon adjoining the vet’s office, not a pet shop, and the prospect of them going to a shelter honestly breaks Kain’s heart.
“Has this even happened before?” Mustang asks, gingerly setting Lady down as he stands.
“Honestly, I don’t think so,” Kain says, walking right into the trap, and flinching when he realises so. He sighs. “We apologise, Sir, but there’s really nothing we can do when the pups themselves weren’t neutered or spayed. Hayate’s owner’s picking him up in three days, though,” he offers, and the agent looks at him contemplatively before sighing.
“Fine,” the older man finally says, “I’ll be here.”
Kain, again, has to refrain himself from saluting.
+
Well, this is new.
Riza casts Kain a sidelong glance before looking at the man in front of her impassively. He’s not much taller than she is but his standing stance is straight and confident, and his dark hair falls messily on his forehead while his eyes, sharp and disarming, stares back at her with calculation. He has a nice nose, and his jawline, though not all-too-sharp, is nicely angled and masculine. He’s, well, he’s frankly easy on the eyes, but this is an amusing—no, ridiculous situation.
“Your mutt—“
“He’s a purebred Shiba Inu,” Riza snaps. The man—Roy Mustang, he said—looks at Hayate, her Hayate with doubtful disinterest, and she feels her ire building.
“Good to know, then,” he says drily, “Lady is too, if you care so much about that sort of thing. But fine, your purebred Shiba Inu got my girl in a predicament, here.”
His white Shiba yips; if anything, she looks rather happy with the development, unlike him. “Well,” she starts, “what do you propose we do about it, then? Do you want—what, child support?”
She flinches. It sounds stupid, but also, the whole predicament is a bit stupid. Hayate—man of the hour—trots off to Lady and peppers her muzzle with small licks and kisses and Riza is amused to find Mustang seemingly straining to not kick her dog. “I—guess?”
“Consider it done,” Riza says coolly. She doesn’t see why it should be complicated and dramatic and why Mustang looks so indignant about the whole thing; Hayate is her baby, her sweet little good boy (one would argue otherwise at this point, but she’s biased and she’s allowed to be), but they’re, well. Dogs. And now they’re expecting puppies. It’s not really rocket science. Riza herself isn’t even averse to having more dogs, actually. “And the puppies? Are you going to keep all of them?”
Mustang blinks, a little taken aback with her efficient nonchalance—again, their kids are dogs, it’s not like they’re parents of actual human children—and then he visibly relaxes, shaking his head and walking to the sofa in the waiting room, Lady trotting on his heels, Hayate on hers. Riza resists an urge to smile. “Well, there’s that. I’m not sure I can keep any. I’ve got a pretty demanding job,” he tells her, motioning Lady to come and she leaps easily enough to his lap.
She scoops the forlorn-looking Hayate from the floor and absently pets his head. “I wonder how many she’ll have. I won’t mind to take care of, I don’t know, up to two,” she says, joining him on the far end of the couch. She’s been meaning to get more dogs, actually; her recent trip would be the last for a little while, at least for six months, and she’s always wanted Hayate to have canine company. She ignores a voice in her head saying damn it, you crazy dog lady that sounds suspiciously like Rebecca. “I’ll split the vet bills if you want to, I’m fine with it,” she offers.
Hayate barks, as if agreeing, and she can’t help but laugh, petting and smushing his face. “You act like it’s your money,” she admonishes him fondly, “the child support money will come from my pockets, you rascal.”
Mustang blinks, and then suddenly smiles—it’s a charming, slow grin that cracks his overprotective-dog-dad-façade, and Riza absently thinks if he knows how he looks like smiling like that, he must have weaponised it at one point or several. She gets the feeling he probably does. “Surprisingly, it’s settled, then,” he says, standing up again but still carrying Lady in his arms. Riza wants to roll her eyes but settles for a small, amused smile. “Want to take that first visit to the vet?”
The vet’s office is next door; she follows Mustang, with Hayate heeling her. She forgets to say bye to Kain.
+
Lady’s having three puppies.
Roy fondly pets the entire length of his pup’s body and lets her lick his face; he misses her badly, but his last mission can’t allow him to bring her—too dangerous, too flighty. It’s probably the first mission since he’s got her that he has to leave her behind.
And look what happened, he scowls.
The idea of puppies isn’t bad, per se, in fact it’s great, and he loves dogs and puppies, dotes on Lady like there’s no tomorrow (Maes pities him for it, but he doesn’t care). But that’s the thing, she’s his baby, and she’s having little baby puppies and he’s not aware of it and damn it, he’d chew Fuery out but it’s true that the pet hotel policy exists. He was prepared to be disdainful and somewhat pissed at that mutt’s (purebred Shiba) owner for not neutering her dog (pot calling kettle) but she was all too efficient and decidedly calm about the whole thing, and even willing to adopt the puppies when they come, so he couldn’t. It doesn’t help that she’s a really, really attractive woman called Riza Hawkeye.
“What are you getting me into, girl?” He sighs to Lady, and she tilts her head as if questioning. God his dog is the cutest.
“Three babies, huh,” he says, and Lady barks happily. Miss Hawkeye’s been a bit reluctant to take all three, capping her abilities to just two puppies at a time—I live alone, she tells him, and I don’t know, four dogs at a time’s a bit much. “I guess I can ask Maes. Elicia’s turning six this year. What do you think, girl? She’ll be happy to be gifted a dog, I think.”
His cell rings, then, and Roy grins. Talk about timing. “I was just about to call you.”
“That’s new,” Maes drawls, laughing. “What’s up?”
“You called me!”
“Right, right. I just wanted to tell you Elicia’s going to star in a cute little school play. She’s going to be Red Riding Hood, how adorable is that?” He chuckles when Roy groans. “I just heard you’re back in town. Up for drinks?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s still mostly reports at this point, before we move to the next step. By the way,” he says, “think Elicia’s going to like a puppy for her sixth birthday?”
Maes pauses, and then laughs boisterously. “You’re gonna be a grandfather,” he says between laughter, making Roy scowl, “can’t believe you skipped the father part. It’s the most fun. Your Lady’s expecting?”
Roy sighs. “Yeah. A fuck-up, honestly. I mean, that student of yours should’ve watched their charges better. I come back home and find my girl knocked up.”
“You’re so damn dramatic. She’s a dog, what could Fuery do?” Maes snorts. “Congrats, man.”
“She’s different,” Roy protests, scratching the back of Lady’s ears while he’s at it. “She was there during the worst times of my life, helped me function and heal in more ways than one. She’s not just a dog, Hughes. She’s my companion.”
“I sometimes can’t believe it’s me who’s always demonised for gushing over my human family,” Hughes laments, “but anyways, I’d have to ask Grace first.”
“That’s great,” Roy sighs in relief, “the vet said she’s having three, and we’ve come to agreement for two. I don’t want to give her puppy to the shelter, but I don’t think I can take care of it, with the way of things.”
“Oh, who’s taking the other two?”
“The, uh, the dad’s owner,” Maes goes silent on the line, a sure sign he’s going to get a barrage of questioning. Roy sighs. Maes is eerily psychic like that. “Before you ask, yes, it’s a woman.”
He can hear Maes grin. “I wasn’t actually going to ask,” his best friend says cheerily, “but since you’ve so kindly provided the info, you will have to tell me all about it tomorrow. I gotta go, though. 7PM tomorrow at Hound’s?”
“Fine by me.”
+
“Hey Becks,” she greets, squeezing her phone between her head and her shoulder, “I’m getting two puppies.”
“Fucks sake,” Rebecca groans, “what you need is a man, not more dogs, crazy dog lady.”
Riza snorts. “I only have one dog, I think that hardly warrants such nickname,” she strokes Hayate on his side, and pats his fluffy rump fondly, “besides, you said so yourself, no man is as good as Hayate is.”
“I distinctly remember saying he’s a very good boy, not a good man,” her best friend chortles. “But true, men are pigs, and dogs are still better than pigs in my dictionary. Way better. Why two?”
“There’s actually three,” she says, “but I don’t think I can handle all of that, you know? Besides, I wonder if the mom would be alright to part with all of her babies. The mom’s owner doesn’t seem like he wants more dogs, though.”
“The puppers aren’t, like, ready?” Rebecca asks; Riza can faintly hear a chewing sound, and wonders if Rebecca is eating at Tenner Diner, perhaps fries with milkshake and ice cream—she salivates just thinking about it. It’s been almost a month since she was away, and besides Hayate, she’d missed everything badly. “I mean, they’re not born yet?”
“No,” she says, slowly grinning knowing that Rebecca will have a field day with the story, “actually. It’s going to be Hayate’s puppies. Apparently the boy met someone—some-dog—when I was away.”
Hayate barks, and Riza switches her phone to speaker mode so she can coo at and snuggle him. “No fucking way,” Rebecca finally says after a series of coughing fit and laughs which should’ve been concerning otherwise, but Riza’s witnessed her survive many near-chokings due to her dramatism and it’s just how it is, “don’t tell me your dog got laid while you were on the Olympics. Riz, I feel so bad for you. God.”
“Oh, shut up,” she tells her half-heartedly, mind trailing over to the dark-haired man who owns Lady, slightly smiling. He was acting all like a pissed dog-dad, agreeing to her actual, genuine offer of puppy support, but when they went to the vet together he ended up paying for it, claiming I guess the first time’s on me would be fine. Riza tucks a strand of her stray golden hair behind her ear and absently plays with it. “I don’t know, I won’t feel bad for me just yet, Becks.”
“So I take it the owner’s hot?” Rebecca asks, interested, “I pay attention, darling, you said he.”
Was he? Roy Mustang? Riza leans her head to rest on the couch and thinks of his messy dark hair, his subtly angled jaw, and his sharp, but warm eyes. He thinks of the way he absently runs his hand through his hair as he watches Lady being sonographed, adorably worried, the movement pulling on his dark shirt with the rolled sleeves…
He’s, well, yeah, he’s pretty hot. “He’s not bad,” she admits, ignoring Rebecca’s scandalised gasp.
“Shit, he’s really hot, then.”
“It’s not like—he’s actually really pissed Hayate got his dog pregnant, to be honest, so I don’t think—“
“Hot and an absolute fool for his dog. Hawkeye, you’ve hit bullseye,” Rebecca says gleefully, and Riza rolls her eyes, but chuckles nonetheless.
“I always hit bullseye.”
Rebecca laughs, airy and teasing. “I’m coming in with ice cream, you have booze, right? You’ve been away long, and Drachma’s upcoming, so we gotta catch up as much as we can, before you get whisked away by the dog dad,” Riza laughs loudly at that, “and on that note, see, even your Hayate knocked a girl up! Men really ain’t shit.”
+
Maes is already waiting for him with two glasses of beer in front of him when he gets to Hound’s. The man must’ve come right away from his classes, he has his briefcase rested next to him on the booth and his suit jacket off over it. Roy himself had changed out of his workclothes, having had time to return Lady back home before heading to the pub.
“How’s things,” he grunts noncommittally as way of greeting the bespectacled man, and Maes simply raises his beer glass in response.
“The usual,” Maes says with a shrug. “And by that, I mean great. Grace said hello, you should drop by. Did the Southern intel turned up with anything?”
Roy takes a sip of the light beer and licks his lips. “Yeah. Coordination with South Feds is all done, now, but we’re not gonna make any premature arrest until we have something definitely damning. We’re looking at a date in about two, three months.”
“At South, or Central?”
“We think Central,” Roy says, “thanks for that tip-off. Really owe you one.”
Maes was medically discharged first, courtesy of a bullet that barely missed his aorta—a piece of shrapnel still rests there in his chest, on a point too compromising for the surgeons to extract. It’s thankfully nothing like a ticking time-bomb, though, and it was relatively going to be safe. The man continued on to be a professor, teaching intelligence gathering in a state university—though inactive, his maintained contacts and intels all around have always proven useful time and time again.
“I’ll take the dog as payment,” Maes grins. “Tell me about the lady—not your dog, please.”
“I have no idea what to tell you,” it’s honest—a lament, in fact, “her name’s Riza Hawkeye, she lives in Blake Street a block from the pet salon. Her dog’s name is Hayate. The dog’s four years old. She lives in a first floor of a condo, so she has a yard and all that jazz. For her dog.”
Maes shoots him a look. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Roy shrugs. “I mean. She’s just going to adopt two dogs from me, what else am I supposed to know?”
Maes pulls his phone out and Roy makes a face. “What are you, a teenager?”
“No, I’m thirty-two, and so are you, so stop blubbering when it comes to women. They say these days teenage girls are better at digging up info than you feds anyways,” Maes says with a roll of his eyes, and Roy wisely opts out of retorting. Him, blubbering when it comes to women? “Found her—damn.”
He’d feign disinterest, except he doesn’t really want to. Roy folds his arms on the table and leans forward, beckoning Maes to show him. “Your Riza Hawkeye is a goddess.”
Roy blinks. Riza Hawkeye was pretty, gorgeous, even, with her shrewd, bright brown eyes and her shiny blonde hair, her curved lips, the faint freckles on her face. But coming from Maes, the most one-woman-man he’s ever known, who has not shut up about Gracia—whom, for all Roy knows, is Maes’ first and only love ever, his highschool sweetheart and soulmate, because some people are annoyingly lucky like that—even since he first met him at the academy? Maes looks up, and notices him rendered speechless, and snorts.
“It’s what it said here,” he says, sliding the phone across. Roy catches it and raises an eyebrow.
THE GODDESS ARTEMIS OF AMESTRIS WINS GOLD AT XING OLYMPICS
Underneath the bolded text is a close-up of Riza Hawkeye’s (incredibly beautiful) side profile as she fixes on a bow and arrow, pulling taut at the string, eyes sharp and focused. Roy pauses and tries to hide his breath hitching from Maes before scrolling down, and finding more sets of pictures: more close-ups and full-body shots of her in the range, and also a single, front-facing picture. In it, Riza is smiling, close-mouthed and prim, but her eyes are shining bright and her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink as she lifts a golden plate.
RIZA HAWKEYE, 29, bested local prodigy Lan Fan, 19, for the Gold Plate in Summer 2019 World Olympics for women’s individual events in archery, bringing glory to Amestris for the rising-in-popularity sports for the fifth year in a row. Hawkeye, who has taken social media by the storm since her picture in action during the 2017th Olympics went viral, comes out on top from 64 qualifiers in the event. Her scores even surpassed that of the reigning men’s individual archery gold medalist, Ishvalan-Amestrian Herne Miles.
Miss Hawkeye, who has been dubbed both “the Hawk’s Eye” and “Artemis of Amestris”, won over by defeating Lan Fan, ten years her junior but a Xingese favourite herself, by hitting perfect center on the shootout after a 5-5 draw.
“Shot by the cupid herself, are you?” Hughes says with a snicker, because he’s an ass.
But then again, he can’t even muster a retort. Roy lingers on the smiling picture of Riza Hawkeye, ignoring Maes’ kick to his shin, and smiles.
+
Kain finds himself in an interesting predicament yet again, and at this point, it shouldn’t surprise him, but he’s always been a rather gullible and unassuming guy, so he is surprised.
And pretty fucking terrified.
“So,” Professor Hughes says, grinning, “how did the puppy love even happened?”
He thought it was because of sheer luck that he survived the ordeal of letting-someone’s-dog-who-you’re-supposed-to-be-sitting-get-pregnant-by-another-dog-you’re-supposed-to-be-sitting, and thought he would rarely need to see Agent Mustang, because sans the three times Lady was put at the pet hotel in the past two months, he wasn’t one of Kain’s regulars, unlike Miss Hawkeye. But no, it turns out Agent Mustang is his professor’s best friend. Not just any professor. His thesis advisor.
In fact, it’s Professor Hughes who recommended his pet hotel to the agent in the first place. Which is—baffling. How did he even knew Kain works at a pet hotel? Probably it’s because I smell like a wet dog everytime I had thesis revision consult. Is he going to fail Kain’s thesis because his best friend is unsatisfied with Kain’s subpar dog-sitting? Hopefully not, oh my god.
“I, uh,” how is it twice in a week he has to answer to the question of how did the dogs mate—he doesn’t know! He probably was slaving away on his laptop to continue his manuscript and he just thought the dogs get along exceptionally well with each other! “Sir, I—have no idea.”
“What a hilarious situation,” Professor Hughes chortles. “He loves that dog to death, you know. He acts like she’s his human child.”
Kain flinches.
“I mean, you got to excuse him, Kain. He adopted Lady when he was in a really low point in his life,” the professor says, leaning back on his office chair and sipping on his coffee. “But don’t worry, I don’t think he minds now. Apparently Miss Riza Hawkeye is very accommodating.”
That she is. “Yeah, Sir,” Kain says, relieved, “she really is. Thankfully she’s not averse to taking care of more dogs. I was kind of worried they would have fought or something.” He shivers, and Hughes laughs boisterously.
“Roy was that dramatic, huh?” He chuckles. “This Riza Hawkeye is a regular, then, to your grooming salon.”
“Yes,” Kain says, feeling somewhat off with the way the conversation’s going. “Um, I found Hayate, but I couldn’t take care of him and both our salon and the vet clinic next door has a no-dropoff policy. I felt bad having to take him to the shelter, though, and put some flyers up, then she adopted him from me.”
“Adorable,” Professor Hughes hums. “What’s she like?”
I thought you’re married with a kid and a wife you never tires of gushing on and on about—oh. Kain has to suppress a groan. He literally walked into a trap. He’s here for his thesis, damn it, and the only time he doesn’t have to patiently sit there and listen to his advisor’s endless bragging about his family he has to be dragged into some kind of dramatic, cartoony love-story scenario that Hughes’ is definitely planning?
God. He wishes his scholarship covers the expenses of time.
“So apparently now the agent’s no longer pissed his dog’s expecting because he found Miss Hawkeye pretty,” he tells Sheska later that day as he walks her home from the library. “This is the first time in my thesis history Professor Hughes doesn’t talk about his daughter.”
“Miss Hawkeye is really pretty. And not to mention a celebrity too, so I’m not really surprised,” Sheska laughs, airy and soft. “But he did give you his revisions?”
“Yeah,” Kain shrugs, absently scratching an itch under his jaw. “It took like ten minutes for him to go over that. I was there for almost two hours.”
Sheska casually loops her arm through his and Kain almost trips over. “Well you’re used to that. But anyways, it’s so sweet, isn’t it?”
“What?” He asks, voice embarassingly hoarse. Damn it. They’ve held hands since they were children, why is he like this.
“Why, Miss Hawkeye and the agent—agent who?”
“Agent Mustang?” For someone who can almost perfectly recite all things legible her eyes had ever laid sight on, Sheska is horrible in remembering people’s names and people’s faces, too, sometimes.
“Yeah! It reminds me of a romance novel I once read, it was…”
+