Work Text:
Night settled in on Central City, blanketing the world in a thick, heavy fog. A lonely lamplighter wandered down the streets, his steps slow and muffled as he tried to find his way home. In a side alley not far from the poor man, a door creaked open, the soft glow of the light and sound within all but nonexistent to anyone just a few yards away. The door closed with a gentle thump, and the city was forgotten to a rowdy bar and its many patrons.
Even on a weeknight, Christmas’ bar was packed. Large men with flushed faces and bad judgment were aplenty, falling out of their chairs in misguided attempts to woo the pretty ladies behind the bar. The young woman that had just entered went unbothered, pretty enough to attract attention but cold enough that even the men who would not remember anything the next morning dared not approach her.
“It’s not like you to be late,” Madame said as Riza entered her office, a corner of her lip twitching up.
“Hayate was making a ruckus. It took a while to calm him down.”
Christmas raised an eyebrow, bringing another cigarette to her lips and searching her desk for a lighter. “You’d do well to listen to that dog. It’s smart.”
Riza nodded and put her hand in her pocket, drawing out her own lighter to hand to the older woman. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You take up smoking lately, little lady?”
She sighed. “Havoc’s put me off of that for life. I keep this one on me in case of another incident like Isaac’s. Never know when it’s going to rain, after all.”
“You take far too much out of yourself to care for Roy-boy. He’s going to burn you out eventually,” Christmas replied, her voice gravelly as smoke slipped lazily between her lips,
rolling up to join the haze that deadened the office almost as much as the fog outside.
“I’ll be fine, Madame. It’s a give and take relationship.”
“Twelve years and I still have to tell you it’s Chris to family. You might be a good soldier, but you’ve got a bad memory, Riza Hawkeye,” grunted Chris, tossing the lighter back.
“Soon, Madame,” Riza said softly, looking down at her hands.
Chris puckered her lips. “Not soon enough. Any news?”
“Nothing since the line last week.”
The widening in Chris’ eyes was barely noticeable, but Riza knew her too well. Plans had been changing almost daily up until this point, people being shuffled back and forth as strategy was laid out, scratched, and rewritten. “Then we’re getting close, aren’t we?”
“Very.”
A gloved hand reached for the amber bottle in the corner of the desk, and Chris took the time to pour herself a healthy shot of the liquor before continuing the conversation.
“I’m trusting you, Riza. Both of you better get out of this one alive.”
“I can’t say that we will, Madame.”
“Positive thinking, my dear. I’d like to live to see a few little ones with your eyes and his smile. I won’t live forever, you know,” Chris said, smashing the cigarette butt in her ashtray and pulling another from the pack.
Riza felt a lump grow in her throat. Children were hardly an option for people like the Colonel and herself, but Chris had been pushing for over a decade and it didn’t look like she would ever let up. “It’s going to be a while yet.”
The older woman grunted, displeased with the reply as always. “Won’t be long now until the big man upstairs knocks on my door.”
“He might wait a few more years if you quit smoking.”
“No chance, missy. Life’s biggest pleasures are booze, tobacco, and watching the little shit I raised undress you with his eyes while he eavesdrops on our conversation.”
Riza whipped around before Chris could blink again, making the woman chuckle. “Roy Mustang!” she snapped, anger ringing clear in her voice.
His hands flew up to his chest, open palms toward his former subordinate as he shook his head violently. “I swear I wasn’t!”
“I think I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Chris said, her large frame still quivering from laughter. With a groan, she lifted herself from her chair and walked out of the small office, bourbon in one hand and cigarette in the other. “Never know when those girls are ditching work for a quickie unless you’re out there keeping them on a leash.”
Riza stood, still fuming. “You know how risky this is, Roy.”
The lines on his forehead creased as he ran his fingers through his hair. Dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual, a sure sign he had not slept in several days. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, leaning more heavily on the doorframe and dropping his voice. “I needed to see you.”
“You see me every day.”
He stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to click shut behind him. “You know what I mean, Riza. I promise, I wasn’t followed. There was a huge disturbance in West City this morning and even the men who tailed us got called in to sort it out. It’s too foggy outside for any shadows.”
Her face softened slightly. “You startled me.”
“Sorry,” he repeated, voice still low. “I cause you enough trouble already.”
There was a brief pause as silence drowned out their thoughts and replaced them with fear. After a few seconds, Riza closed the distance between them and lifted her hand to smooth out the lines on his forehead. “Don’t you start worrying about my troubles,” she said softly, her voice even quieter than Roy’s.
He lowered his head to rest next to hers, a hand tangling in the long, blonde hair and the other pressed tightly against her back, drawing Riza into a tight embrace. “I can’t stop worrying.”
“You can’t afford to look at individual lives now, Roy. People have to be sacrificed, but it’s the lives saved that we have to focus on.”
His shoulders slumped, hand lowering as he tried to keep his breath even. “I can’t lose anybody else,” he whispered.
It took Riza a while to respond, her hands clenching tighter in his wrinkled white shirt. “Then you’ll have to order us not to die.”
Again there was silence, this time comforting and gentle. Roy’s frame shook gently as exhaustion got the better of him and he began to cry. Fifty-six hours remained until the dawn of the Promised Day.