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“Hayate! Come!”
Hayate did not come. In fact, he moved even faster and quickly disappeared down a path that led into a stand of trees. Riza Hawkeye gripped the folded leash tighter and went after him. She’d trained him to stay by her side in the middle of a firefight so walking him off leash in a nearly empty park shouldn’t have been a problem. What could have possibly caused him to run off?
A cold snap over the last week had started to turn the leaves yellow and orange. Riza could appreciate the beauty of this time of year but she also wished she had worn a jacket. As soon as she stepped into the shade of the maple trees, she shivered. She had forgotten how cold it was when she had gotten dressed earlier in her button up blouse and skirt and, by the time she had Black Hayate on his leash and out the door, it wasn’t worth going back inside to change.
The path turned into gravel as she walked deeper into the woods. The trees were one of the reasons Riza liked this park. Even though it was a long walk from her apartment than some other parks, it was worth it. And Hayate liked it.
She called for Hayate again but he still didn’t come. Then she heard something up ahead. Voices. Instinct had her reaching for the gun she kept in the purse slung over her shoulder but then she hesitated. The Homunculi were dead and so was the one who they called Father. The wounds of Amestris were healing. Did she really need to draw her gun?
She compromised and reached her hand inside her bag. The voice got louder as she left the trees and then she could see a figure crouching in the grass up ahead, petting a very happy Hayato.
“Oh, aren’t you a good puppy? Such a good boy, look at you running off to find me! I’m your favorite, aren’t I? I knew you liked me more than Riza.”
Riza took her hand out of her purse and stopped a few feet away from the man and her dog.
“Oh, what a fluffy boy! Do you want to come home with me?”
“Are you trying to steal my dog, Sir?”
Roy Mustang dropped his hands from where he had been smooshing Hayate’s cheeks together and stood up. At the sudden lack of attention, Hayate trotted to sit in front of Riza, mouth open and tail wagging. The traitor.
“Lieutenant Hawkeye!” Mustang wiped his hands on his long, black coat and Riza noted white hairs covering it.
“It’s Colonel Hawkeye, Sir.”
The Brigadier General slid his hands into his coat pockets. He was overdressed for a walk in the park, but then he was always overdressed for everything. At least his coat and scarf were appropriate for the weather.
“Sorry, Colonel. I’m not used to answering to General, yet, either.”
“That’s surprising, Sir, considering you’ve been planning this for the last seven years.”
“Yes, well…” Mustang grinned and scratched the back of his neck. Being at a loss for words was unlike him. “What are you doing here? This is a long walk from your neighborhood.”
“Hayate likes the trails here. And I like the trees.” Riza’s eyes flicked down to Mustang’s shiny black dress shoes. “Are you on your way somewhere, General?”
“Just home. I was visiting Madame Christmas.”
“Of course. How is your aunt?”
“She’s well. The new bar is opening next week. She’s happy about it, not that she’d ever tell me that!”
Hayate wined and pawed at Riza’s knee. When she and Mustang looked down at him, he tilted his head and whined again.
“Are you ready to go home?” Riza asked. At the word “home,” he jumped up. “Alright, boy. I need to be getting him home, sir.”
Riza knelt and clipped the leash to Hayate’s collar.
“Would you like me to walk you home, Colonel?”
Riza slowly stood and found Mustang, hands still in his pockets, looking somewhere over her shoulder. His apartment was nowhere near the neighborhood where she lived.
“Yes, Sir, I would like that.”
“Oh! Well. You should come to my aunt’s opening. She’d like to see you.”
Hayate led the way back onto the path and towards the edge of the park.
“I’ll visit her another time. I’m sure she’ll be busy.”
Mustang didn’t answer and Riza found him looking at her.
“You’re shivering, Colonel.” He started to pull his coat off and ignored Riza’s protest. “You can’t be my conscience if you’re dead. Here.”