Chapter Text
When Bradley’s regime fell nearly two years ago, Riza felt like she was holding her breath. She was a little more than displeased when Grumman took the title of Fuhrer in the aftermath of the Promised Day; after all, the title alone made her skin crawl with discomfort. She had this aching, funny feeling that things would go back to normal. That the switch in leadership would just be more of the same. That there would still be a militaristic push, that there would still be imperialistic ambitions in their government, that the people would remain underfoot.
Although, there was something small and quiet within her that a more idealistic version of herself (or perhaps a more childish iteration) might call hope. Hope that perhaps her only living relative would be better for Amestris. That he would take the reins and actually improve things for everyone.
She is right in parts, as is so often the case. Fuhrer Grumman’s main concern is bringing troops home, and in the months that follow, that’s exactly what he does. He draws soldiers out of the trenches, away from the front lines, and manages to get a few ceasefires under his belt.
While they are all trepidatiously relieved with this development, the military still grows, still gets a sizable portion of the government’s budget, and still seems to loom large in their leader’s mind. Riza can’t entirely blame him. He has always been a man of the military; by his own admission the military was more a home to him than his estate ever was. That doesn’t mean she likes it.
Six months after his appointment he puts the newly promoted Brigadier General Mustang in charge of the Ishvalan campaign. Instead of painting the desert red with blood, Team Mustang builds it back up. Riza throws herself into this work, grateful for any and every chance that she is given to help.
The first two years presented more challenges than successes, but Riza settles into a rhythm with it. Scar and Miles are never quiet about the needs of their people and Riza is eager to meet each request head on.
Her first real brush with success is punctuated with another gold star on her lapel, pinned by the Fuhrer himself as he beams at her.
After the Promised Day she’d been promoted to Major, but now she’s Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye. The title makes her feel like she’s doing something right, something to be proud of.
“Now that you’ve proven yourself, Lieutenant Colonel, I can finally pass this project off to you,” Grumman says with a smile.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Riza asks with a tilt of the head.
“The Ishvalan Development Campaign is officially under your direct command.” He smiles as he holds out an appointment document, already signed and dated.
Riza’s stomach turns to lead. “But… Brigadier General Mustang-”
“Please, Lieutenant Colonel, that’s Major General Mustang to you.” Grumman gives her a cheeky wink. “And given that title I’m certain you know what that means.”
Riza pauses, clutching her wrist a little tighter behind her back. “He’s taking over as head of Eastern Command then.”
“Precisely,” Grumman nods. “Which means he’ll be in East City primarily from now on.”
Riza presses her lips into a firm line, “With all due respect-”
“The rest of your team is going with him, as is his request. I think you’ll find he’ll be looked after quite well, dear.”
“Sir,” Riza gives him a pointed look.
Grumman grins at her in response, “I don’t want you giving up a post that makes you happy just to watch his back. And besides, you will still be reporting to him once a week, just as you’ve been doing with Rothmyer this whole time.”
Riza still doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like being away from Mustang, she never has, and she swore to always be by his side… But this mission, rebuilding Ishval, it’s what they’ve been working towards for so long.
“I’m just saying, maybe talk to your man before deciding.” Grumman places the assignment document on the desk and she balks.
“Sir! That’s… that’s-”
“Go on, Hawkeye,” Grumman waves her off.
Riza takes the paper and storms back towards Mustang’s office in a huff. Grumman has always had a nasty habit of sticking his nose into her business. It was fine when she felt like he was doing so to bolster Mustang’s career… now it just feels patronizing. Like he’s scheming about something she has yet to figure out.
Mustang looks at her and smiles at the new star on her lapel. “Look at us matching.”
He shows off his shoulder with his own new star denoting his rise to Major General.
“Sir,” Riza salutes. “I take it Grumman has already gotten to you.”
Mustang chuckles, “He’s your grandfather, not the plague, Hawkeye.”
Riza tilts her gaze down. “So he told you about my new appointment?”
“I asked him if you could stay on here,” Roy informs her.
Her gut seizes with surprise as she looks up at him. “You?”
Mustang nods. “In all our years of knowing each other, I have never seen you so eager and happy to come to work. I don’t want to take that from you.”
Riza feels like she might blush if she lingers on that. “But our goals-”
“Our goals are still very much in motion. You’re still making a great contribution to the cause by being right where you are.” Mustang approaches her with a soft smile. “You’re making a difference here, and the people trust you more than they trust me. Your absence would be felt regardless of where you end up… and I know that while we can survive without you in East City, Ishval still needs you. I’m a selfish man, but even I have my limits.”
Riza almost corrects him. Roy Mustang is not a selfish man, not in the slightest; but she’s rather biased on that matter. So, she sighs and gives a nod.
“This posting won’t last forever. In another year or two we anticipate completely drawing out of the region. Then you’re never getting rid of me, so you should enjoy your freedom while you have it,” Mustang chuckles. She can hear a thickness in his throat, and it makes her eyes sting a little.
“Promise?” she asks in a small, gentle voice.
His eyes land on her hand and she imagines in the tender silence that befalls them that he would grab her hand and give it a squeeze. In another world, in another life even. And Riza so often finds herself wishing for that other existence.
“Promise,” he responds.
That soft quiet voice inside of her head, the gentle positive soul that still lives inside of her in spite of the world trying to silence it beams. Because he means it, because it’s true, because one or two years is nothing in all the time she’s spent waiting for the world to change.
Eighteen months later she’s in a meeting about the new railway project when her world completely falls out from under her feet.
She’s leading the meeting; she’s been leading meetings since her appointment over a year ago. She’s gotten quite comfortable in her new role, and she feels like she commands respect without overstepping as an outsider. There have still been hiccups, there are still pockets of people who will never trust Amestrian soldiers and Riza doesn’t blame them for that.
The best she can do is be better and she knows that. The best she can do is advocate for collaboration and peace between them. She is assured by those around her that is more than enough. Even if she doesn’t always feel so sure about that.
Their meeting is winding down now; Miles has taken his team back out to work on submitting permits to Grumman and Riza’s adjutant stumbles out with a to-do list six pages long. Riza looks to Scar as he lingers by the window overlooking the vibrant city they’ve managed to rebuild. She allows herself a moment to feel a swell of pride surge through her chest.
Once, she would have laid on her stomach in a building like this, with that large beautiful window blown out. She’d lie in wait and shoot whichever unlucky soul stumbled into her line of sight. She is so grateful that time can heal wounds like this, with enough work thrown in for good measure.
“Did you need something, Hawkeye?” Scar asks, not bothering to look over at her.
“Nothing in particular, no,” she says, joining him by the window. “I hope the Elders will appreciate our progress today.”
“I’m certain they will.” Scar turns back towards the large table at the center of the meeting room. “They’ve been busy with the council convening but now that sentencing is finally concluding they’ll be happy to look at anything else. I’ll be glad to bring them our status report.”
Riza furrows her brow. “Sentencing?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate so Riza pushes, “Sentencing for what? I haven’t heard about any crimes requiring the council’s consideration. Did something happen?”
Scar looks at her with a smooth, impassive expression. “The genocide of our people happened.”
Riza’s blood runs cold as she blinks dumbly at him. She manages to get a single syllable question to burst out of her tightened throat, “What?”
“Fuhrer President Grumman sent a proposal to the Elder’s Council a few months ago. He gave them full access to the records of the genocide against our people and gave them free reign to indict whoever they saw fit to. He has also allowed them to sentence those transgressors, and they are in the final stage of that now.”
Riza’s fingertips buzz with nerves and she has to force herself to breathe, “I see.”
“Those who will be receiving judgement have already been taken into custody,” he tells her, casually passing by her shellshocked frame to collect his things. “The Elders will pass down judgement in the coming days.”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?” she manages to ask through the fog of anxiety and confusion.
“Grumman said he would leave it up to the Elders to decide how public they wanted it all to be. The Elders decided to keep a tight lid on it. They were afraid of stirring up a new wave of anti-Ishvalan sentiments and so they kept it under wraps.” His answers are cold and clinical, as brusque as he always is, which somehow makes his words wrap around her insides even tighter. “Most of those who were indicted have already fallen out of favor given their position under Bradley, and it’s not like we’re hiding their arrests. It’s simply not very important to the people of Amestris it seems.”
If Riza were shocked before, she’s completely thrown with that additional information. She narrows her gaze at him and opens her mouth a few times before speaking, “But-”
“You know what it means, Hawkeye, don’t play dumb,” he snaps, and she can’t help but jolt back a bit. Something about the way he scowls at her makes her feel sick. At first, she thinks it’s because he too believes she should be one of the many behind bars, but then he grumbles at her; “You still don’t seem to understand what all of this has been for, so I suppose I’ll have to spell it out for you. Every one of those lowlife, cowardly, scum-of-the-earth monsters currently awaiting sentencing have never felt guilty one day in their god forsaken lives. They have never once had remorse for what they did to my people, and they have never attempted to right their wrongs.
“My people value forgiveness, my people value integrity, and my people don’t look the other way when they are shown the truth of a person’s nature. The Elders have spoken and they have chosen to punish those that do not seek our forgiveness. That is the way things are, Hawkeye. Whether or not forgiveness is given is a different matter altogether, but to go on a journey to seek it at all is considered the highest, noblest of acts.”
Riza’s shoulders drop, and she truly feels like she’s falling. Like everything she’s been building towards is crumbling around her. She’s confused and maybe even a little bit scared as Scar places a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“We are hardly ever the person we think we are. We are better and worse than we can imagine ourselves. I hope that this decision will bring you peace,” he says.
Her chest fills with an uncertain breath. She doesn’t know what to say, and she isn’t even certain she can speak. He leaves the office and she must stand there for another five or ten minutes before she can finally bring herself back to reality. She races back to her office, picks up the phone, and frantically dials the direct line to Roy’s office.
“Major General Mustang,” he answers. His voice hits her like a bucket of ice water; she feels like she can’t breathe and at first she can’t speak. “Hello?”
“Sir,” Riza spits out the word as she does her best to gather herself. “I… I have to admit, I… I’ve forgotten why I called.”
Mustang laughs and it’s his laugh, deep and rumbling and it makes her longing for him intensify. “Well, that’s a first. You’re not heat sick out there again, are you?”
“No sir, just a bit… frazzled. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Never a bother, Hawkeye,” he says warmly.
Riza’s heart flips in her chest as she slams the phone down. She decides to switch course; she has to feel something and the easiest emotion to tap into right now is rage. How dare Grumman do this to her? How dare he do this behind her back? What the fuck is wrong with him?
She tells her adjutant she will be out for a few days and loads herself onto the first train leaving for Central. She has a couple of days to really let it sink in. The betrayal that she has concocted in her head and the ensuing fight that she has worked through no less than a dozen times.
It’s early evening when she arrives in Central and she blazes a trail to the Presidential Palace. When she demands to speak to her grandfather the head butler almost looks affronted by her appearance. She certainly looks out of sorts after days of traveling in her uniform, and she is certain the air about her gives away how desperately she’s itching for a fight.
Still, the head of the house (and the nation) appears at the top of the stairs with a spring in his step.
“There you are, my dear. Please, come up to my office!” he calls with a bright, lilted chuckle.
Riza storms up to said office and the second the door closes, she lays into him. She’s not even sure if she makes it through all of her talking points as she rips him a new asshole. She yells and demands to know who gave him the right to keep this from her.
All the while he stands with his hands folded behind his back, with a neutral expression leaning on warm. A hint of a smile hangs on his lips as he takes every syllable of the verbal lashing. Then, as she pants for breath and her mind grapples for the next grievance, he adjusts his glasses.
His voice comes out stoic, pragmatic, and kind. “What exactly are you mad about, dear? Are you angry that I did it, or are you angry that you were given a mercy you don’t think you deserve? If it’s the former, I suppose I’m sorry, but I felt that expediting the whole process was necessary. This way the guiltiest parties are alive and well enough to receive their sentence. If it’s the latter… is there maybe a world where you deserve what you’ve been given?”
She looks at him as another crack fractures through her carefully constructed world view. “What are you talking about? What I deserve is to be punished.”
Grumman shakes his head. “That’s not what your victims think.”
She winces, reeling back a bit as if she’s been hit with a rock instead of words. “They… They-”
“Do you think the wrong people decided who deserves the blame of that genocide?” Grumman asks as he begins to walk around the room.
“No, I-”
“But you think they’re wrong in what they decided,” he says. He stops at his desk and opens one of the drawers.
“Well… that’s not what I…” she glowers at him. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I am, thank you for noticing,” he smiles at her. Then he dumps an absolutely massive stack of folders onto the desk. “Do you know why I appointed you to the position you’re in now?”
Riza’s gaze follows his hands as he continues to dig out stacks of documents. “Because… Because you didn’t want to completely change over leadership of the project when Mustang returned to East City. And Mustang asked for me to keep my post.”
“Wrong,” Grumman says with a chuckle. “Well, wrong in part. Mustang did ask me to let you stay but I had already resolved to do that. I left you in your post because your Ishvalan counterparts asked me to.”
Riza shakes her head. “But he-”
“He certainly thinks I listened to him, which is exactly what I was banking on.” Grumman beckons her over to the desk and she seems to obey against her will. “Because in all my years, and even with biases aside, I have never had a single soldier receive the kind of praise those people have for you.”
Grumman opens a file and hands it to her. Inside is a long, detailed report from one of the Ishvalan Elders she’s been working with since the beginning of the project. It’s mostly clerical, but throughout the document she is mentioned by name as a stand-out member of the military.
If it is not too much trouble, might I suggest making Major Hawkeye our primary contact moving forward? She makes the team feel more stable and at ease, especially when she comes by without the General. I hope this ask does not step outside of the bounds of Amestrian propriety.
Riza finds another folder in her hands, and another, and another, and another. Grumman apparently keeps every document that comes across his desk with her name on it close by. He tells her that he used to do the same with her mother’s drawings until their separation made the gesture too painful.
Riza reads through countless reports, eventually lowering herself onto the sofa when her back begins to ache. But she has to read through all of them, or she won’t believe any of them are true. Page after page of praise starts to cloud her mind, each time the penmanship changes her mind reels further. Because it truly seems like her reach has surpassed her own understanding.
Each line feels too unreal, feels too heavy, and yet lightens a load she’s been carrying for so long.
Major Hawkeye is a shining example of compassion, integrity, and humanity in everything she does for our people. We are honored and blessed to have soldiers like her aiding in our cause.
No task is too small, no request goes unheard, she’s a remarkable leader and a testament to the kind of people Amestrians can be.
We hope you will relocate her to our base permanently.
Maj. Hawkeye has proven to be reliable, thoughtful, and considerate of our customs. We hope more of your soldiers are trained to act as respectfully as her.
I have just received word of Hawkeye’s promotion, I’m certain no one has ever deserved it more. We are thrilled she has been allowed to remain in the region.
Ishval would not be where it is today without her, I hope you will extend our thanks to her, as I’m not certain words can convey the level of our gratitude.
The Lieutenant Colonel deserves whatever accolades you can bestow upon her. She is what we need in this world.
Her eyes blur and she convinces herself it’s from exhaustion and not tears. Because she doesn’t deserve to cry… right? She doesn’t deserve all of the kind things being said about her… right?
“You know, Lieutenant Colonel, I’m not sure what your goals are exactly. I know from Mustang that you wanted to help this country, fix it even. If that’s the truth… if you wanted to fix even a tiny corner of it, I think you have succeeded.” Grumman beams at her and a gentle hand rests on the back of her neck.
Something shifts then, something within her finally slots into place. She feels… warm… and maybe it’s relief or maybe it’s something else. Something she didn’t think she deserves to feel, because the war inside of her is so vicious and constant.
But despite all odds, something changes. Something relaxes, something blooms inside of her. Something has changed… because now, everything has changed.
“Sir-”
“I am willing to process your transfer back to East City whenever you’re ready, my dear. But I have a proposition for you.”
She raises a brow at him, “Sir, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I’m…” For the first time in a very long time, she swallows her pride and her worries. She gives the answer she wants to give instead of the one she feels like she should give. “What is it?”
Grumman details a new position he’s developed for his office. One he is ready to deploy as soon as she agrees. It’s an auditing position that would put her and Mustang on equal footing, in the same office, but in separate departments. Most importantly, it would allow her the one thing she has always wanted and always been too afraid to dream of.
The opportunity to be with the man she loves as openly as she wants.
She takes the last train back to East City mulling over the idea. The position she holds now in Ishval was always meant to be temporary. In fact, it probably should have ended when Roy left. But now she knows how valued she is out there; can she really leave when she knows how much of a difference she’s making?
She leans her head against the window and offers herself up to the universe. After the week she’s had, she feels like she doesn’t understand the world around her at all. Nothing is the same anymore, this isn’t the Amestris she grew up in nor is it the Amestris she fought to save on the Promised Day. She doesn’t know where that leaves her; she doesn’t understand her role in this world anymore.
So she tells the universe to nudge her, she tells the great unknown that she will go where it tells her to.
She closes her eyes and falls asleep, right into a dream she hasn’t had in many years. She’s sitting in a rocking chair with a baby cradled against her chest as she gently bounces them. The sun shines through a large bay window and a cool breeze sways the curtains until they seem to float. A beautiful little girl races up to her, twin braids spilling over her shoulders as she beams at Riza. She climbs into Riza’s lap and kisses the baby’s forehead. She lays her head beside the baby’s and looks at Riza with big brown eyes. The little girl laughs and calls her ‘mama’.
Suddenly, that warm feeling that bloomed in her chest makes sense. Suddenly, everything makes sense. As she wakes from her dream she could swear she hears something whisper in her ear: It’s time.
The train lurches to a stop and she practically sprints out of the station, and all the way to Roy’s townhouse. The sun has still not quite risen, but she knows the path that she’s on now and she doesn’t want to wait a second longer.
She wastes no time in unlocking the front door and chuckles to herself when he shoots up straight from his own slumber.
Even in this big house of his, he still sleeps on the sofa. He still deprives himself of creature comforts because he doesn’t think he deserves them. And Riza has never blamed him for that before, but now she knows better; now she knows more.
He blinks in the dusky darkness of the morning and fumbles for his gloves before he realizes it’s her.
“Hawkeye? Shit, what time is it?” he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead.
She’s so overwhelmed with all that’s happened and so sure of herself in a way she’s never been before that she barely remembers to close the door before she bolts towards him. He looks dumbfounded and shocked, maybe even a little frightened as she settles on top of his lap, her legs straddling his. Then she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.
He looks at her and blinks wildly as he pulls away, “Am I still dreaming?”
“No,” she says softly. “No, it’s… it’s real and… and I know I must look absolutely insane and-… but Roy, I-”
“Say that again,” he says. His voice catches in his throat as he lifts his hand to cradle the back of her head, his fingers dancing with the blunt edges of hair at the base of her neck. “Say that again for me.”
“Roy,” she says breathlessly.
He pulls her in for another kiss. She can’t help but let her hands travel down his shoulders and flatten against his chest.
She kisses him, fiercely, desperately. Like she’s been wanting to for years but depriving herself (no torturing herself) because she didn’t think she deserved to. Maybe she still doesn’t deserve to, but she’s giving herself permission. Those people – the elders and soldiers and civilians, Ishvalans – gave her permission to live. Didn’t they?
His mouth tastes like sleep and she feels disgusting from nearly a week straight of her travel, but all of that discomfort is worth it for this.
Roy pulls away, “As much as I love this… I have to know, what brought this on? Is everything okay?”
She can barely feel his hand through the thick wool of her uniform, but he’s drawing patterns into her back. He always draws patterns when he’s nervous, transmutation circles to ground himself – always something with water in it, water to quench the fire he’ll never be rid of.
Riza takes a minute to figure out how to broach the subject. Her fingers loosely curl into the button up shirt he fell asleep in and she has the temptation to pluck them open one-by-one.
“Roy,” she says. “Did you know? Did you know about the Ishvalan Elder’s Council?”
He narrows his gaze at her. “I know of them… they meet quite frequently and you send me reports-”
“No,” Riza shakes her head. “I mean that… I mean that they have been given the opportunity to indict whoever they want for the genocide of their people.” Roy’s face pales and Riza takes that as her answer. “Scar told me about it and Grumman confirmed that he’s allowing them to prosecute and punish whoever they want.”
Roy looks a little sick as he closes his eyes and nods, “I see.”
“They’ve arrested everyone that they’re going to, sentencing starts… actually it might be over by now.”
Roy’s eyes shoot back open as his gaze bores into her, looking fervently for any hint of a lie. All he finds is a soft, serene smile as she cups his face. She finally allows tears to spill down her cheeks as she gently whispers.
“We’re still here, Roy. It’s done.”
“But… how?” What he’s really asking is the heart of what Riza has finally grappled with: How did they not blame us?
“I don’t know,” she admits, trying to chuckle through the overwhelming wash of relief. “I don’t know… all I know for certain is that… that we’re still here and… and I know our work’s not done and I know that we still have a world to fix and we’re still going to make you Fuhrer but… but I want… I want this and you and a baby and the life I kept trying to convince myself I didn’t deserve. I want it and I think the world wants me to have it.”
“Riza,” he says her name like he can’t understand it. Like he doesn’t even believe the syllables could make a word, like it’s foreign but beautiful.
“Roy,” she says his name with equal reverence. “I think we just got dealt a new hand.”
He kisses her again, this time slowly and sweetly, with all the tenderness he’d barred himself from expressing over the years. Roy Mustang has caged his softness over the years. He locked it away somewhere cold and dark, and most importantly unreachable; so that it couldn’t continue to receive the abuse this world is so very good at doling out. But Riza has always had the key; she has the key and she uses it now, throwing the doors open to let the light in.
He basks in her warmth, in her love and in her light.
“I love you,” he says between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Riza.”
“Roy,” she chuckles against his lips.
He lays her on the couch and has her then, with sunlight spilling over the horizon and bleeding into the living room. There are birds singing outside as the world comes to life around them. As they finally wake from the long winter of uncertainty.
He pulls her into the shower and has her again, then she tells him all about her grandfather’s plans. Roy eagerly agrees, he urges her to call him right now and secure her new position, but she insists that she wants to do this right. Even with the butterflies filling her stomach at the thought of this new venture, she can’t leave her post in a lurch.
So even as her heart threatens to break at the prospect of leaving Roy for even one more day, she pulls on her uniform and returns to the train station. She’ll be back soon enough, and patience has always been a virtue she possesses. She’s not worried about what comes next; in fact, she’s never been so certain of anything in all her life.