Work Text:
Riza Hawkeye is not maternal. That is not to say she would not look after a child if the need arose. It does not even mean that she actively avoids children—a few of her friends have them, and she gets on with them well enough. Nonetheless, she has no desire to have children of her own and being around other people’s children leaves her with no yearning to go out and procreate.
None of this precludes her from caring for the children in her life, and more of them seem to appear every day. Some of them disappear, too. By ageing, like Fuery, or… otherwise, like Nina Tucker.
Now, Riza Hawkeye is escaping from a monster in the back of a car, and it is her task to make sure the child lying across the backseat does not join the number of the disappeared before she has a chance to come of age. In doing so, she has left three more children on the battlefield to fight in her stead, and the thought plagues her. Not enough to keep her from doing her job, but enough to carve out a pit in her stomach.
“Are you still awake?” she asks the child softly, as Knox begins to drive.
“You left him,” says the child in a trembling voice. “I need to go to him.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” says Knox harshly. “Keep her still.”
“He isn’t alone,” says Riza.
The child – Lan Fan – swallows. “He isn’t with me. It’s my job to protect him.”
Riza’s eyes flit to the Colonel, who is doubled over, one hand over his wound. He is pale, drawing in shallow breaths, but he is in no danger. Not anymore.
“I have to go,” says Lan Fan—and then her eyes cloud over again, and she goes limp. “I’m off-balance,” she moans. “Why am I off-balance.”
“You’re hurt,” says Riza patiently. “You need to stay still. We’re going somewhere safe.”
“Okay,” says Lan Fan, her eyes sliding closed. “Is the Young Lord with us?”
“No,” she says.
Knox tuts and glances up at the mirror. “God’s sake,” he grunts. “You’ll set the kid off again.”
“It would be crueller to lie,” says Riza.
The car swings around a tight corner. Lan Fan moans. The Colonel hisses through gritted teeth.
“You’ll be more comfortable soon,” Riza promises, smoothing a hand over the washcloth lain on Lan Fan’s forehead. It’s warm, barely even damp anymore. Not that it matters, as a chill grips the child by the shoulders and shakes her hard enough to make her teeth chatter, even under Prince Ling’s coat.
“Cold,” shivers Lan Fan.
Riza catches Knox’s eye in the mirror. “Is there another blanket anywhere?”
“No,” says Knox. “This isn’t an ambulance.”
Commenting on the general usefulness of keeping a blanket in one’s car is not helpful at present, so Riza makes no criticism of Knox’s unpreparedness. She does think it, though. “She’s cold,” says Riza.
“She’ll live,” snaps Knox.
The Colonel unfurls slightly and rummages around in his pocket until he finds a piece of chalk. Unbidden – with his judgment perhaps clouded by pain – he begins to draw a transmutation circle on the seat in front of him. He gives a quick clap, drawing Knox’s attention, and then activates the array. There’s a flash of blue light, then the back of Knox’s passenger seat is a baggy sheet. He gives it a yank and pulls it away, leaving a carpet of rubberised hair padding exposed. Riza can see the faint outline of springs pushing into it.
“Here,” says the Colonel, handing her the blanket.
The material is a bit rough, but over Prince Ling’s coat, it won’t matter. “Thank you, sir,” she says, and lays the blanket over Lan Fan. Lan Fan burrows into it, her shakes dying down into faint trembling.
“You’re paying for that,” grouses Knox. “Really.”
“Sure,” says the Colonel. “You know where to send the invoice.”
Knox raises an eyebrow. “You won’t be able to claim it as an expense with the military,” he says. “You’ll be paying out of pocket.”
“I can afford it,” he says nonchalantly, hand moving back to his side.
Knox gives an irritated sigh. “She’ll kick it off in a minute,” he says. “She’s feverish. Going hot-and-cold. You don’t have to spoil the girl.”
“I’m not,” protests Lan Fan.
“You are,” says Knox. “You’ve got septicaemia, silly girl.”
“I’m not,” says Lan Fan more intently.
Riza wants to press it—to ask what she means, but she doesn’t get a chance. Knox turns a corner so harshly that Lan Fan gives a cry which aborts quickly enough for her to catch the tail end of the Colonel’s unsuppressed groan.
“Be careful,” she chides.
Knox makes a little noise behind clenched teeth, and Riza takes that to be about as close to an apology as she’s going to get. “The girl alright?” he asks.
Riza leans over Lan Fan, careful to avoid jostling her shoulder too much, and presses two fingers to her neck. “I think so,” she says. “Just unconscious.”
“Let’s hope she stays that way,” grunts Knox.
Riza shares the sentiment. “I don’t want another child’s death on my conscience today,” she says. It’s a more intimate thought than she would usually share, but she’s exhausted, and the guilt woven through her clamours for the safe return of the children she’s left behind.
“Point taken,” says Knox. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “That why you tore apart my upholstery, Mustang? Had to soothe your conscience for leaving those kids behind?”
“FullMetal is a State Alchemist,” the Colonel says flatly. “He’ll have to risk his life again, soon enough.”
“Fine,” says Knox. “Trying to make up for drafting a kid into the military, then.”
The Colonel swallows and stares out of the window. Nobody talks much, after that.
*
They pull up to Knox’s house an hour later. Knox shuts off the engine and sits for a minute, then sighs. “Mustang,” he says. “Can you walk?”
“Yes,” says the Colonel, and reaches for the door handle as if to prove his point.
“Good. Stay there a second.” Knox cracks his neck and rolls his shoulder with a grimace. “How’s the girl?”
“Still asleep,” answers Riza.
Knox clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wake her up.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says. “I can carry her.”
“Too conspicuous,” argues Knox. “I don’t want my neighbours poking their noses through my curtains at all hours, and nor does she.”
Riza squeezes Lan Fan’s good shoulder. “Hey,” she says. “Kid.”
Lan Fan mutters something in Xingese and turns her face away.
Riza gives her a firm shake. “Up you get,” she orders.
Lan Fan opens her eyes. They’re a little clearer than they were before. Riza thinks that’s a good thing, though she’s still decidedly feverish. “Where—”
“The doctor’s house,” says Riza quietly. “You need to sit up so we can take you inside.”
Lan Fan whimpers gently but moves to push herself upright. She slides her elbow up, then stops suddenly and looks down at her bandaged torso. Her eyes travel across it, falling on the empty space after her shoulder. “Oh,” she murmurs. “I thought it was—I felt…” She swallows. “Doesn’t matter.”
Riza nods and moves to help her up.
Eventually, they all make it up and out of the car. Riza half-carries Lan Fan a pace ahead of Knox and Mustang, at Knox’s insistence. It shields them from prying eyes, he says, then leans around Riza to unlock his front door. Given that the man has two locks to contend with, it’s an awkward manoeuvre. Still, he opens the thing and holds his arm up above Riza’s head, effectively keeping the door open and Lan Fan concealed from view.
Once everyone’s inside, he pulls the door closed firmly behind him and locks it from the inside, then pulls the deadbolt across, flicks on the latch, and draws the chain over the crack.
“Isn’t that more suspicious?” asks the Colonel, his tone flirting with condescension.
“No,” says Knox shortly. “I always do this.”
The Colonel shuts up quickly.
Knox stumps around for a moment until his hands fall on a thin, long tin. He’s shaking a little as he produces a cigar, and they shake more as he tries to flick on his lighter. After several attempts, he casts the thing across the counter with a derisive noise.
“Light?” offers the Colonel, one hand ready.
Knox pauses and stares at him for a second, then sighs and puts the cigar between his lips. “Do it,” he says.
It’s a quick spark – the Colonel’s control has always been impeccable – and then the end of the cigar lights orange as Knox inhales deeply.
“Right, let’s get her upstairs,” says Knox. He turns to the Colonel. “You—sit in one of my kitchen chairs and wait for me. Don’t touch anything, and don’t pop your stitches.”
Riza shifts her hold on Lan Fan and looks her in the eyes. They are bright with fever but seem to just about track her surroundings. “I’m going to pick you up now,” she says.
“You don’t need to,” says Lan Fan. “I can walk.”
“Do you want to walk?” asks Riza, looking at the flight of stairs. “It looks like a good 13 or 14 steps.”
Lan Fan is quiet for a second, and then she slumps slightly. “Okay,” she agrees.
It isn’t difficult to pick her up. Lan Fan is reasonably muscular—no doubt from her training and work as the Prince’s… babysitter—but she’s still just a child, and one with a lean build, and Riza has the benefit of being both muscular and relatively stocky. Not to mention, she’s 26 and reasonably unlikely to do any further growing.
“Sorry,” whispers Lan Fan.
“You shouldn’t be,” says Riza. “I’ve carried much heavier people than you for less, and I didn’t want them to be sorry, either.”
Lan Fan closes her eyes, and Riza can tell she doesn’t really believe her. It doesn’t matter. She climbs the stairs after Knox, careful not to jostle her too much.
He’s standing at the end of the hallway, one hand on the doorknob. “In here,” he says, then opens the door and ducks inside without another word.
The room is messy. Though the blanket on one side of the bed is tucked into the mattress, stretched starch and smooth, the other side is rumpled and unmade, and there are boxes and papers strewn across the floor like he’s been trying to work out which of his things to give away without much success. There’s a picture on one of the bedside tables, cast in soft yellow light by the bedside lamp so that Riza can see Knox – younger, then – and a young woman with a little boy on her hip. It is the only picture in the room which has not been placed face-down on whichever surface is closest. The other bedside table is completely empty.
It isn’t Riza’s place to pry, but the picture the room paints is stark enough that she really doesn’t have to pry at all to put all the pieces together. She files it away and looks at the bed, then back up at Knox. Her scepticism must by writ clearly on her face because he rolls his eyes.
“Sheets are clean,” he says.
Riza purses her lips. “Would the guest room be more convenient for you?”
Knox clicks his tongue, holding his cigar away from his mouth. “Neighbours.”
Fair enough, Riza thinks, and sets Lan Fan on the made-up half of the bed. “There,” she says. “Are you cold?”
“Hot,” says Lan Fan, though she’s still shaking.
“Yeah,” says Knox. “Feverish.” He places a hand on his back with a grimace. “Bathroom is across the hall. Go and get me a bowl of warm water. Phenol and Iodine are under the sink—fresh bandages, too. I want to check on the wound.”
Lan Fan is sweating profusely when Riza re-enters the room, but Knox doesn’t seem overly concerned about it.
“Good,” he says, preparing an injection of something. “You’d make a decent nurse. Practical. Good at listening.”
Riza nods and sets the things on the side. “What now?”
“You hand me the iodine.”
She does as he asks and watches him give her the injection. “What is it?”
“Laudanum. Not a heavy dose—she’s too sick for me to put on the scales at the moment.” He leans over her. “Taking off the bandages now.”
Riza’s half-expecting him to pull them off from the end, but he cuts through them with scissors, then frowns at the stump.
“Not looking too bad, actually,” he says. “Nothing else to debride just now.”
“She’s okay, then?” asks Riza.
Knox snorts. “She’s lost an arm and she’s fighting septicaemia,” he says. He looks back down at Lan Fan, and then his eyes flit to the photo of the little boy on the bedside table. Guiltily, he presses his knuckles to Lan Fan’s forehead. “Fever’s not as bad as it could be, and we don’t have any further necrosis around the wound. She could still go downhill pretty suddenly, but granted she gets through the next few days, I suspect she’ll be a candidate for automail within around six weeks.”
“Sooner,” croaks Lan Fan.
Knox blinks down at her. “What?”
“Needs to be sooner.” She stares up at Knox, eyes wide and imploring.
He scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, girl.”
“Stop it,” she says, then presses her mouth closed and turns her head away from him.
He’s quiet for a second, and then he reaches for the bandages. “Phenol,” he says.
Riza holds Lan Fan in place while he rebandages her—though it isn’t exactly necessary. When he’s finished, he looks up at her and nods. “Done.”
“Right.”
He straightens up, giving a pained grunt as he goes. “I’m going to look at Mustang. Stay here with the girl and get me if anything happens.” He stubs out his cigar and drops it into the trash. “Would be good if you could ask when her next monthly is due.” He stumps out of the room.
Riza gets the necessary information on Lan Fan’s health out of her and leaves a note about it on the side table for Knox. After that, she leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. She lets herself drift a little.
“You look tired,” croaks Lan Fan.
Riza flinches, startling awake. She realises with a pang of irritation that she’d managed to actually fall asleep for a few moments. “It’s been a long day,” she says. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”
Lan Fan looks at her for a long while. “Should you be with him?”
“Sorry?” asks Riza.
“Your commander. Should you be with him?”
Riza blinks in surprise. Perhaps she should—but he is not helpless, and she would only serve to leave Lan Fan unguarded if she went to him. “I’m needed more here.”
“I don’t need help,” says Lan Fan. “He might.”
“The Colonel is—”
“I mean the Young Lord,” says Lan Fan, bringing the back of her hand up to cover her eyes.
Riza looks at her sadly, hoping that Prince Ling doesn’t need help. If he did, she’s to blame far more than Lan Fan for leaving him alone. “He seemed like he could handle himself.”
“In combat,” says Lan Fan thickly. “He needs regular meals. His body—it doesn’t process…” She swallows, then exhales heavily. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I’m useless.”
“You’re not well,” says Riza. “You’ll heal and go back to him.”
“It’s more than that,” says Lan Fan. “I have a role, and I—” Her voice breaks. She takes a few shuddering breaths, then drops her arm onto the bed next to her. “I’ve already fallen from it.”
“Not at all,” says Riza. “It seems to me like all he wants is for you to be safe.”
“No.” Lan Fan’s voice is shaky and weak, slurred slightly from the laudanum. “It’s not—all of you, already…” She stares at Riza. “He keeps calling me girl. Silly girl.”
“You’re not silly,” reassures Riza.
Lan Fan stares up at the ceiling. “Not that bit.”
“Oh,” says Riza.
“I don’t have to think about it when I’m protecting the Young Lord,” says Lan Fan. Her chest heaves with the effort of keeping tears out of her next breath. “This is improper. I apologise.”
Riza Hawkeye is not maternal. But she’s not unfeeling, and she knows when someone needs to say something. “Watching the Colonel’s back is a part of who I am,” she says bluntly. “If that were to fall away—” She tries not to think about how recently she thought it really had fallen away. “If that were to fall away, I would feel exposed.” The burns on her back. Her past. The extent of her devotion to Roy Mustang. All of it. “People’s expectations for me would change.”
Lan Fan turns her head to look at Riza. Her eyes are bright—deep black and clouded with pain. “I don’t mind people thinking I’m a girl as long as I don’t have to think about it.”
Riza swallows, feeling suddenly privy to something she isn’t supposed to see—something Lan Fan might regret when the laudanum wears off. “Is there anything I can do?” she asks.
A weak smile presses against Lan Fan’s cheekbones. “No,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want anything to change.” The smile falls slightly. “Everything is right, as long as I’m protecting him.”
Riza nods. “Understood,” she says. “You’ll be protecting him again soon.”
“I hope so,” rasps Lan Fan. She stares up at the light. “Edward mentioned a mechanic.”
“Yes,” says Riza. “She’s very good.”
Lan Fan pauses a moment, wetting her lips. “Will she understand? Me?”
“She won’t even ask,” says Riza. “Your job is protecting the Prince. Hers is making and fitting automail. She won’t make you feel exposed.”
Lan Fan nods. “Okay,” she says.
“Would you like me to ask the Doctor to stop calling you girl?”
Lan Fan stares. “Yes,” she decides. “Please.”
There’s silence for a long, long while—though Riza doesn’t fall asleep again. She watches Lan Fan carefully, thinking. This isn’t her area of expertise. She doesn’t have a direct analogue to what Lan Fan is feeling. It’s something she’s heard about, but it’s not something she’s ever spoken about. There are people in the military who are similar, Riza knows, but it isn’t the same. Men who join to get away from the expectations people place on them to marry and have children; men who join to shuck off the behaviours conditioned into them and start acting more like themselves. Some manage it. Some don’t.
“Would you like me to address you as a boy?” asks Riza, just to make sure.
“No,” says Lan Fan firmly. “I’m not a boy either. I’m just Lan Fan.” She meets Riza’s eye. “Please don’t stop calling me ‘her’. I’m not—I can’t do that. Not yet.”
“Understood.” Riza presses a hand to Lan Fan’s shoulder. “Rest, now.”
Lan Fan’s eyes stay fixed on Riza for a moment longer. “I’ll rest,” she promises.
Riza watches her until she falls asleep—and continues until someone knocks on the door.
“Come in,” she calls in a low voice.
Knox opens the door. His actions carry the same manner of harsh bustling they always do, but he makes less noise. Riza allows herself a private smile, at that. “Any change?”
“She’s asleep,” says Riza quietly. “She’s been feverish, but lucid. I left the information about her monthlies on the side table.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Anything else?”
Riza pauses, then nods shortly. “She’d like for you to stop calling her girl.”
Knox freezes, and for a second, his jaw is so taut Riza thinks he might chew through the end of his cigar. Instead, he sighs and deflates like a ragdoll and scrubs a hand over his face. “Wish she’d said something,” he says. “Got it.” He appraises Lan Fan’s sleeping face. “No more girl, kid. I promise.”
“How is the Colonel?” asks Riza.
Knox snorts. “Stupid. Wants to leave already.”
Riza glances at the door. “I should go to him, then.”
“He’s not ready,” warns Knox. “He set his recovery back at least another two days sprinting through those woods. Should still be in the hospital.”
“You won’t stop him now,” says Riza.
Knox rolls his eyes. “Fine. Go to him.” He flicks his eyes up to look at her. “Make sure he doesn’t sue me for negligence if he keels over.”
A faint smile crosses Riza’s lips. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t,” she says. “Thank you.”
Knox waves a hand. “Not in this for thanks. Go on, now.”
Riza nods and heads downstairs. The Colonel is sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, his shirt and jacket open, but bandaged and awake—if only just. He lifts his head when he sees her.
“Sir,” she greets, standing up straight and snapping her boots together.
“Hey,” he says, waving her down.
She lets her posture relax, just a little.
“You look tired,” he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. “How is she?”
“She’ll live, I think,” says Riza. “Knox says you’re getting ready to leave.”
The Colonel nods. “I’m not going to sit by and let a kid fight my battles.”
Riza appraises him carefully. “You drafted him,” she points out. “You must have known—”
“I… just thought he’d be my poster boy,” admits the Colonel. “He’d do some research, focus on his own stuff, and take in a few criminals here and there.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is so far from what I was expecting—”
“No point wallowing,” says Riza sharply. “You made your decision, and it led you here. Now you have to make sure you can see it through.”
The Colonel smiles up at her, his face pale and wan. “You’re right.” He lifts a shaking hand to his shirt buttons. “I’m going to Headquarters. I need to gather intel.”
Riza glances at the window. The sun is beginning to rise, if only enough to cast the street outside in a dusty, otherworldly grey husk. “Understood.” She watches him fumble. “Permission to assist you, sir?”
He stares down at his buttons, then nods. “Granted.”
She kneels in front of him and begins, top button first. “Chin up,” she orders.
He tips his head back and lets her fasten his top button, then drops it again when she moves onto the others. “The Prince is out there with Ed and Al,” he muses.
“Yes,” says Riza. “It’s very difficult for Lan Fan.”
The Colonel swallows. “It must be hard for him, too.” He taps his fingers against the table, then sighs. “My car is two blocks away.”
“Can you walk to it?” she asks, fastening the last button.
“I’ll manage.”
She watches him closely for a moment, taking in the pallor of his face—and decides he’s telling the truth. “Good.” She gestures for him to stand. “Jacket?”
“In my car,” he says. “Your spares, too.”
“Thank you,” she tells him. “I’ll tell the doctor we’re going.”
She heads upstairs, then knocks gently on the door.
“Who is it?” calls Knox.
“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” she says.
There’s a pause, and then Knox stumps to the door. “You’re going, then?” he says.
“Yes. I wanted to thank you again,” she says. “We’re going to fix things.”
Knox tuts. “Focus on getting him into his car first, and then you can think about the big picture.”
“Let him get caught up,” she says. “The little things are my job.”
“Whatever. The kid wants to talk to you.”
Riza’s lips part in surprise. “She’s awake?”
Knox shrugs. “Probably not for long.” He steps to the side and gestures for Riza to go in. “I’ll wait here.”
Lan Fan is in the same position Riza had left her. She looks exhausted, hair plastered to her forehead, but her eyes are clear when they meet Riza’s. “Hi,” she murmurs.
“Hello,” says Riza quietly. She wonders if Lan Fan remembers any of their conversation. It’s been over an hour, and the laudanum must be wearing off.
“The doctor says you’re leaving,” whispers Lan Fan.
“Yes,” says Riza. “We have to start setting things right.”
“Okay,” says Lan Fan. She clears her throat. “I wanted to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” says Riza, more out of reflex than anything else.
“He stopped calling me girl.”
Riza nods. “Good.” She ventures closer to Lan Fan. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
“I do,” says Lan Fan, her voice trembling. “It was… helpful.” She sniffs. “I’m not with him, but I’m still… Lan Fan.”
“You are,” says Riza. She knows it’s a trifling reassurance—nothing compared to the security of having him there, having her identity assured. “I sincerely hope you’re able to return to him soon.”
Lan Fan stares into Riza’s eyes. “I hope your Colonel stays.”
“Me too.”
Lan Fan holds out her hand, and nods for Riza to take it. Riza does. It’s warm, slick with sweat, and trembling—but Lan Fan’s grip holds.
“I’m Lan Fan,” she says. “Personal Bodyguard of Prince Ling Yao.”
Riza squeezes her hand. “Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye,” she says. “Personal Assistant to, and Bodyguard of, Colonel Roy Mustang.”
Lan Fan smiles weakly and lets her hand drop. “It was nice to meet you,” she says. “Please do a good job.”
“I will,” promises Riza. “I look forward to seeing your return to work.”
She lingers a moment longer, then turns on her heel and leaves, nodding at Knox as she passes him in the hallway. The Colonel is downstairs, waiting for her. There’s a small pile of banknotes on the table, held together with a money clip, and a note next to it written on his professional stationery. ‘Knox—money for vehicle repair. 20,000cenz cash. Quicker than wiring between bank accounts. Col. Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist.’
She salutes him. He returns it.
“Colonel,” she greets.
“Lieutenant.” He clears his throat. “Ready to move out?”
“Yes, sir.” She waits for him to make it to the door, then takes her position behind him. “I have your work diary with me. We’ll go through your commitments in the car.”
“Great,” he says, not really listening.
They step out into the cold air. Riza closes the door behind her, and they make their way the two blocks to the Colonel’s car.
She has a gun pressed to her leg; another attached to her hip. There is a shoulder holster waiting for her in the car. She has the Colonel’s diary in her pocket, and a uniform folded neatly in the trunk of his car.
She is Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, Personal Assistant to and Bodyguard of Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. For now, that is all she needs to be.