Chapter Text
Central City, December 1916
“What do you think? The gateway to glory or the entrance to hell?” Roy smiles tightly at her, tilting his head in Riza’s direction as they stand on the steps of Central HQ.
Riza looks up at the white marble facade and takes in a long, deep breath. Her heart beats a little quicker than usual, but it’s not the racing thunder of panic. Her hands don’t sweat. She doesn’t start to shake. The danger has passed.
“Neither, sir,” she says. “It’s just a building.”
He smirks sideways at her and nods. The twinkle in his eyes tells her that he’s proud of her, but Riza doesn’t let a blush creep its way onto her cheeks. It wouldn’t do them any good to betray their secret now, not after everything they’ve been through.
“Right you are, Captain,” he says cheerfully making his way up the steps. She follows him, one step to the side and two behind, as she always has, his ever-faithful shadow and adjunct. It’s not as good as being his wife, but it’s the best they’ll ever get in Amestris.
In truth, she is anxious about this meeting with Fuhrer-President Grumman. They were summoned from Rhiannh with hardly any notice, and she fears it may have to do with their marriage. Too many people know at this point. When the news finally breaks publicly, it’s bound to cause a scandal, but she’s confident that Grumman will at least protect them from serving jail-time. Best case scenario, she’ll retire dishonorably, and they’ll try together to pick up the pieces of Roy’s damaged reputation. Her wedding ring weighs down the dog tags around her neck at the thought.
It’s not an ideal solution, but it’s the only one they’ve come up with in the past six months living in relative seclusion, traveling back and forth between Rhiannh and the other two Ishbalan settlements—all of which are thriving with more tribesmen arriving nearly every day. Miles and Scar are making plans to start restoration in two other locations in the new year.
They reach Grumman’s office and are immediately shown inside. They both present themselves to the Fuhrer-President with a formal salute, and Riza takes her customary place by the door, standing at ease with her hands folded behind her back.
“A pleasure to see you both, as always!” her grandfather says brightly. “Please, have a seat. Won’t you both join me in a cup of coffee?” He rings a bell on his desk, and the door beside her opens, his secretary appearing with an elegant coffee service on a little cart, which she wheels over beside the desk.
“Ah, of course, sir,” Roy says, his confident smile slipping only momentarily. “It would be our pleasure, right Captain?”
“Sir,” she replies, making her way over to the desk as the secretary leaves, having prepared Grumman’s coffee and placed it on his desk. Riza can’t help but notice that he doesn’t use the same desk that once occupied the fuhrer’s office in its old location at Central HQ. This one is made of a dark cherry wood.
She makes Mustang’s cup of coffee and prepares one for herself then sits beside him, across from the fuhrer-president.
“I was pleasantly surprised by your summons, sir,” Mustang lies easily. The summons made them both uneasy, and Grumman’s sure to know it. In fact, he smiles into his coffee cup.
Always the chess game.
“Indeed,” Grumman says. “Well, I thought it prudent to deliver this news in person.” He takes a long sip of his drink, then sets his cup down on the desk and steeples his fingers together, leveling each of them with a long, assessing look. “I’m planning to retire.”
Riza feels a mad rush of anticipation, and she can’t help the way her eyes dart towards Roy. The corner of his mouth is turned up in a smirk, but she knows he’s not as confident as he might seem. He and Grumman have had their issues over the past year—namely her—and he’s not as certain of Grumman’s support as he once was, especially after giving up command of Eastern HQ to Hakuro.
“Congratulations, sir,” he says smoothly. “You’ve had a long career, and I’m sure—-”
“Riza,” Grumman interrupts, and she blinks, surprised to be addressed so plainly. “I asked you here, not as a soldier but as my granddaughter. I want to spend more time getting to know you. It’s past time I focused on a real relationship with my only family. If we’re going to build that relationship, I need you here in Amestris.”
It takes a supreme level of control not to look at Roy this time, but Riza keeps her eyes fixed on Grumman.
“I do hope to have reason to return to Amestris in the very near future,” she says slowly. She hopes she’ll be moving back to help Roy launch his campaign, to lobby support in the new parliament, to get ready to make a bid for Grumman’s vacated seat.
“Aha,” Grumman says, shaking his head slightly. “I see your mind is fixed on one issue. You’re not going to give me a lick of your attention before we settle it, is that so, my dear?”
“Sir, I—”
He holds up a hand, and Riza frowns, lowering her gaze. Her coffee cup rattles slightly against its saucer, and she quickly sets it on the desk, irritated with herself for the nervous gesture.
“I do plan on throwing my support for my successor behind a worthy candidate,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling. “Do you have any suggestions for me, Riza?”
Exasperated, Riza snaps, “Grandfather, I wish you’d speak plainly. You know I want you to support Brigadier General Mu—”
“Does she ever actually use your name, or does she stand on such stiff formality all the time?” Grumman asks, his gaze sliding over to Roy, who stifles a laugh.
“The Captain always shows the strictest professionalism, sir.” He blushes slightly, grinning, and Riza wants to shoot him. She’s not finding the situation at all amusing.
“Well, I suppose we should deal first with that particular roadblock, shouldn’t we?” Grumman muses. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small leather case and a yellowed piece of paper. “Hawkeye,” he says, opening the leather case, “I’d like to congratulate you on your promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.”
Riza’s eyes widen, and her mouth gapes as she looks at the epaulettes inside—four gold bars with two stars. A promotion of two ranks with no warning—especially when she’s been tucked away in obscurity in Ishbal for the past eighteen months—makes no sense at all, and at first she can’t think why he’d be doing it.
Then she realizes.
If she’s a Lieutenant Colonel and Roy is a Brigadier General, then they are separated by only two ranks. Legally, if she were to transfer to a different chain of command, they could carry on a romantic relationship under the new fraternization laws.
“Since you’ve been working for me directly over the past year and a half—under my direct command in Ishbal,” Grumman adds pointedly, “I’ve greatly admired your work. In fact, you’ll find you earned this promotion last October.”
Her mind reels. Last October was when Roy performed alchemy to save Arun and Meer, when the tribal council decided to show mercy on him as a war criminal, when she publicly revealed their marriage to all of Rhiannh, when they started living together openly.
“I confess, I should have given you this the last time you visited,” Grumman continues. “I regret our conversation that day, Mustang, I’ll admit. I let my concerns for Riza cloud my better judgement and my personal knowledge of your character. Please accept my apologies, the both of you.”
Roy gives a deep nod of his head.
“Of course, sir,” he says smoothly. “I believe we both said things we didn’t mean that day. I offer my apologies as well.”
“Now that’s cleared up,” Grumman mutters gruffly, nudging the case with the epaulettes across the desk towards Riza, who takes it with slightly trembling fingers. Grumman takes the yellowed sheaf of paper and unfolds it. “I’m not sure you even realized you left this in my possession,” he says quietly. “But it’s certainly time it was returned to you.” He passes this paper to Roy.
Roy looks at it and takes in a quick breath through clenched teeth.
“What is it?” Riza can’t help asking, narrowing her eyes and leaning towards him.
“Oh, you’re going to be so pissed off at me,” he groans quietly, handing it to her. Riza glances from him to Grumman, whose face reveals absolutely nothing, before snatching the paper from Roy’s hands.
It’s a marriage license. It’s her marriage license—hers and Roy’s, the paperwork he had destroyed after Ishbal, when they decided to keep the marriage a secret.
“You kept this?” she asks incredulously, staring at him. “All this time?” Roy nods slowly. “Are you a complete idiot?” Riza hisses. “You were supposed to make sure this record was destroyed, and you not only kept it, you gave it to the Fuhrer-President of Amestris?!”
“In my defense,” Roy mutters quietly, “I was having a really bad day.”
Riza shakes her head and tosses the offending document onto the desk, rubbing her temple with one hand as a headache threatens. Why would Grumman give her the rank she needs in order to bring their affair into the open, back-date her promotion, only to threaten them with this information? It makes no sense, and she can’t see his angle.
Suddenly Roy laughs, and she looks at him sharply. He’s holding the aged paper in his hands again, and the look on his face is positively gleeful.
“Sir!” he exclaims brightly. “You’re… you’re kidding me, right? This is… I can’t thank you enough.”
Riza takes it from his hands again, frowning down at it. Then, she notices the date.
Apparently, she and Roy were married… In Rhiannh, in June of 1916. Eight months after her promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.
The same day that she underwent the Trial of Tears.
She stares from Roy to her grandfather and back again.
“What… How did you know the date?” she asks breathlessly. It’s only one of a million questions, but for some reason it’s the one that escapes.
“I have my sources,” Grumman says vaguely, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ll find that when you attend the military gala tonight, quite a few reporters will have heard the story of your romance out in the desert. It’s a great PR opportunity, if you spin it right, not only to earn yourself some of the public’s goodwill, but to get the word out about your successes in the Ishbalan region. You’re going to need to have that story told if you’re to make a good run for my seat.” He gives Riza an affectionate smile. “In fact, I’ve arranged for Lieutenant Catalina to have the afternoon off. She’s eager to take you dress shopping.” He chuckles.
Riza can’t find words. It’s all so… neat. It’s brilliant, actually. It’s a solution so clean and so obvious that she can’t quite believe they didn’t think of it themselves. Although after his last meeting with Grumman, Roy and Riza were all but certain he was no longer willing to support Roy politically.
Apparently they were wrong.
Or perhaps the letter she wrote, to which Grumman never responded, did more than she'd hoped to sway his opinion.
“We can’t thank you enough,” Roy says, beaming. “This is… It’s everything we’ve ever wanted. I can’t believe…” He throws his head back and laughs, and his absolute joy is infectious, making Riza smile.
Still, she watches Grumman’s face, and she can see that there’s one more catch. He’s not done playing chess quite yet.
“What’s your next move, then, sir?” she asks quietly. “What do you want in exchange for all this… miraculous goodwill?”
She has an uncomfortably tight feeling in her chest, a gnawing fear that his price will be something awful, something they aren’t willing to give, and all of this potential joy will evaporate just as quickly as it poured out over them.
Grumman chuckles.
“You’re as shrewd as your mother was, Elizabeth,” he says quietly with a slight smile. He reaches down into one of his desk drawers and withdraws a thick file. Riza recognizes it instantly.
It’s the file she herself left on his desk over a year ago—the hard copy of Roy’s plans to rebuild in Ishbal. The one with her personal notes handwritten in the margins.
The one with her plans to conduct war crimes tribunals, to seek out capital punishments, to atone, and to pay the ultimate price for her crimes.
The plans she abandoned long ago.
“Grandfather,” she says quietly. “You have to know—”
“What I know,” Grumman says evenly, “is that this cannot happen.”
The file falls open to that very page, and Riza feels almost ashamed. She’d been so narrow-minded, so selfish and misguided. The page with those plans is wrinkled, as though it’s been picked up and read, then replaced many, many times. Grumman must have been losing sleep dwelling on it, ever since.
“It won’t,” Roy says firmly.
“Those were never his ideas,” Riza insists. “They were mine, not Roy’s. You can’t hold him accountable for that. He never wanted—”
“I was never going to let it happen,” Roy says stiffly. “It almost did anyway, in Rhiannh, with that tribal council. It would have, if it hadn’t been for Riza, but, sir, she’s the one who decided that wasn’t what she wanted.”
“It isn’t,” Riza agrees. “Not anymore.”
Grumman looks gravely back and forth between them.
“I want your word,” he says quietly. “I hear what you’re saying now, and I want to believe you, but I want your solemn vow that you will not push for this once you take power. This kind of vengeance, this kind of widespread retribution would be disastrous for our military, for our people.” He clears his throat gruffly. “And my old heart couldn’t take it, Elizabeth. If you knew how I’ve hated thinking that this was what you wanted for yourself, that you saw no greater value in your own life than—”
“Grandfather,” Riza says, reaching across the desk. She lays her hand out, palm up and smiles at him. Slowly, Grumman reaches out and covers her hand with his. “This is the old me,” she says, nodding towards the report. “This woman…she lived a half-life. She had one foot in the grave, and it took fighting in another war for her to finally wake up and realize that there’s more to the world than retribution. There’s more than war and its consequences. There’s beauty. There’s love. I have those things in my life now. I know what I want to live for. I want to stand beside my husband and help him build a future for Amestris. That’s where my eyes are set now—the future. This,” with her other hand, she takes the offending page of the report and crumples it into a ball, “is the past. Let’s leave it there.”
Grumman smiles and squeezes her hand.
“Alright, Elizabeth,” he agrees. “We’ll leave it there.” They hold one another’s gaze for a long moment, and Riza swallows a lump in her throat when she gently pulls her hand from his, sitting back in her chair. “Well then,” Grumman says, clapping his hands together. “I suppose all that remains is to talk about our timeline—how quickly I announce my retirement, how soon you move back to Amestris and start to get your affairs in order here, and when to make my speech in parliament to ask them to vote for you as my successor.”
Roy bows his head and takes in a shuddering breath.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, looking up at Grumman. “You know what this means to me, sir.”
“You’ve earned it,” Grumman says sincerely. “This isn’t a show of nepotism, boy. I’d never back you if I didn’t believe you were the right man for the job; have no doubt of it.”
“I don’t,” Roy says confidently. “I’ll make you proud, sir—as your protege and as your grandson-in-law.”
Grumman laughs.
“I’m sure you will,” he agrees. “Now, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, I believe that you have a shopping date to get to. Lieutenant Catalina is probably getting ready to knock down my door any moment waiting for you.”
Riza starts at being addressed by her new rank and her actual surname all at once, and Roy laughs, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.
“Oh, there is one more thing,” Grumman adds. “I hope you hadn’t become overly attached to the idea of living in the fuhrer’s mansion. You see, I’ve grown rather fond of the place myself, and I’d like to offer to purchase it from the Amestrian government.”
Riza has tried often not to consider what it would be like to live in Bradley’s former home, and knowing that her grandfather thought of it, too, brings tears to her eyes.
“You deserve to make your own home together,” Grumman says quietly. “Just pick somewhere with a nice parlor where I can come by for the occasional round of chess, will you?”
Roy squeezes her hand.
“We certainly will,” he says. “Thank you, sir.”
“And on that note, how about a game of chess while the ladies shop, eh Mustang?”
“It would be my honor, sir, as always.”
—--------
“Okay, hold on,” Rebecca says, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to tell me that you got married again out in the desert, and you didn’t invite me?!”
Riza chuckles softly and picks at the pasta dish she ordered. Rebecca insisted that they have lunch—on Grumman’s tab, actually—before they go shopping, and they found a nice little sidewalk cafe. Riza and Roy both took their wedding rings off their dog tags before leaving Grumman’s office. She still feels dazed at the turn of events.
“Not exactly,” she says, smiling at Rebecca. “We didn’t get married again, but our wedding license shows last June as our wedding date now. Grumman had it all… fixed. He just… I still can’t believe it,” she mutters. “I’m a Lieutenant Colonel, I’m married to Roy Mustang, and he’s going to be the next Fuhrer-President of Amestris,” she says this last part in a whisper, mindful as always of any listening ears.
She tells Rebecca all about the Trial of Tears, and her friend listens patiently, shedding tears of her own when Riza describes how it felt to descend into the pool and find out for herself exactly how much she wanted to move forward, how it felt to reach out with each and every stroke towards the future that… now is suddenly right in front of her. Roy as Fuhrer-President. Riza by his side, acknowledged as his wife. A chance to work together and enact all their plans.
“I’m a little bit in shock,” she admits. “It’s feeling way too good to possibly be true. It just… It can’t be this easy, can it, Bex?”
Rebecca’s taking a sip of her soda, and at Riza’s question, she chokes, spilling brown bubbly liquid all down her front.
“Bex!”
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca gurgles, wiping her face and her lap. Riza hands over her own napkin to help. “If you think what you’ve been through is easy, you are seriously more deranged than I ever imagined!” she fumes, shaking her head. “You’ve got some crazy distorted view of the world, my friend,” Rebecca says. “Your life is anything but easy. Just… take the win, okay? Calm down and stop second-guessing everything. You’ve both worked hard to get here, and you’re going to keep working hard. For crying out loud, Riza, just let yourself be happy, okay?”
Slowly, a smile spreads over Riza’s face.
Happy. There’s something I never thought I’d be.
But she is.
—--------
The North Hotel is conveniently close to Central HQ. Roy and Riza rented separate rooms when they checked in, and Riza goes back to her own to dress for the military gala, then knocks on the door of Roy’s just down the hall.
He opens the door and grins at her.
“I have the most beautiful wife in the entire world,” he says, taking her into his arms there on the threshold. Riza rolls her eyes.
“And I have the most ridiculous flatterer for a husband,” she teases, tilting her face up for a soft kiss.
In truth, she knows that the emerald green ball gown Rebecca helped her choose looks good on her. The color brings out her eyes, and the cut is unique and flattering—a tightly fitted bodice, turtle-necked but sleeveless with a keyhole cutout that highlights the curve of her breasts. The bodice flares at the hip into a skirt with layers of tulle.
Roy wears his formal uniform, which he picked up from Chris’. His hair is slicked back, but a few runaway strands still brush his forehead, and Riza smooths them back, smiling at him.
“It never stays,” he complains. “Yours, on the other hand, is absolutely lovely.”
Rebecca curled it for her and put it in some sort of half-up style, fastened with a golden clip that matches her strappy kitten heels.
“My only problem,” Riza complains, “is that there’s nowhere to fit a holster that I could reasonably access. I had to resort to this.” She indicates the little beaded handbag over her shoulder.
“Fortunately my weapons match my formal attire,” Roy says, holding up a gloved hand and flexing his fingers. Now that he no longer needs to use a circle to transmute, his ignition gloves could pass for plain white dress gloves. “Are you ready to face the wolves?”
Riza takes in a shaky breath. The press is going to have a field day with the news of their wedding. Roy’s still quite well known, despite being out of the headlines while they’ve been living in Ishbal, and he’s always been regarded as one of Amestris’ most eligible bachelors. The playboy persona he cultivated to further his network of informants made him seem aloof and untouchable, which only made him more desirable to many.
The news that he’s suddenly married his former adjutant is certainly going to get him back in the headlines of the society column.
While Riza’s traumatic symptoms are markedly better than they were, they aren’t gone entirely, and she finds herself twisting her fingers into the hem of her dress as they ride down the elevator together.
People are going to be staring at you all night. They’ll look right through you. They’ll know you aren’t worthy. They’ll know you damaged, dirty, unfit—
“Hey.”
She looks up at Roy who gives her a soft smile as the elevator doors open, holding out his arm to her.
“Just breathe,” he says quietly. “Hold onto me, and take it one step at a time. We’re going to get through it together.”
Riza puts her hand on his arm and squeezes it, smiling back even as she takes in a shuddery breath.
“Together,” she repeats. “Okay.”
—-------
They make it through a veritable gauntlet of flashbulbs and shouting reporters. Roy stands on the steps of the municipal building where the gala is held and delivers a brief statement—simple and to the point. He and Riza have worked together and been friends for a long time. When she was no longer under his command, they started a relationship, and they’re very happy together. They’re proud of the work they’ve done in Ishbal, but they’re ready to move back to Central and begin a new chapter in their lives. Lieutenant Colonel Mustang will be working closely with Fuhrer-President Grumman.
So far, no rumors of Grumman’s imminent retirement have reached the press, but it’s only a matter of time before that news comes out, too.
They make it inside the building and are immediately accosted by another mob.
“I freaking knew it,” Breda says, shaking his head at them.
“Congratulations, sirs!” Fuery says brightly, beaming.
“It was only a matter of time,” Havoc chuckles. “I knew after the night I got stabbed there was more between you than—”
“There was never anything more between Hawkeye and I than a professional relationship when she was under my command,” Roy interrupts firmly. “And that’s what you’ll all be telling the press when you’re inevitably questioned about it. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they chorus, all smiling knowingly. Roy isn’t worried. Their friends are nothing if not loyal.
“General Mustang.”
A voice from behind him has both Roy and Riza turning, and Roy’s heart freezes inside his chest when he sees her, dressed in a modest black gown and smiling hesitantly.
“Mrs. Bradley.”
He feels the way Riza stiffens beside him, and he puts a hand to the small of her back, hoping to ground her. With his other hand, he takes Mrs. Bradley’s and bows over it, brushing the back with his lips.
“A pleasure as always, ma’am,” he says smoothly, daring a glance at Riza.
She’s gone pale and stares wide-eyed at the widow of her torturer, her mouth slightly agape.
“It was my very great pleasure to hear your happy news,” Mrs. Bradley says. “Congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” Roy says, taking the opportunity to move his hand to Riza’s waist and draw her close to his side. She stiffens momentarily, then relaxes against him.
He can only imagine what must be going through her mind. They’ve wondered together about Mrs. Bradley. Was she the loving wife she always seemed to be, happy with the attentions of a devoted husband and adored child? Or was she as much a captive as Riza, silently enduring years of brutality at the hands of the homunculi?
Riza suspects the former, and for the most-part Roy agrees. There must have been moments, though, where she saw glimpses of their true nature. She’s either the most foolish woman on the Earth not to realize something was wrong about the thing she was married to, not to realize that the child she was raising was no child at all. Or she was a victim who got in too deep and couldn’t find her way out again once she was ensnared. Even if she wasn’t outright abused, she must have known on some level.
Roy remembers the shock on her face the night before the Promised Day when she realized that her husband’s soldiers had been ordered to kill them all.
“Was it my husband who abandoned me?”
She’d had tears in her eyes when she asked, and Roy is no more able to give her an answer now than he was then.
And to know that she’s raising the former homunculus Selim… It makes his skin crawl to think about it, but Grumman promised to keep a close eye on the situation, and so far he seems to be a normal child, as disturbing a prospect as that is. He’ll have to be kept under surveillance for the entirety of his life. If he ever were to remember the centuries he spent living as Pride, he might be corrupted again by the hunger for power and seek a new philosopher’s stone.
If that happens, he could become a true homunculus again.
If he ever regains his memories, he’d remember what he did to Riza. Riza doesn’t like to talk about it, but Roy knows she sometimes has nightmares about Pride returning to full strength and coming after her. They can only hope that Mrs. Bradley’s influence on the boy will keep him as human as it is possible for a creature like him to be.
“Mrs. Bradley,” Riza says quietly. Her voice is thin and reedy, but she manages to look the older woman in the eye. “How nice to see you again.”
If the former First Lady can tell how insincere the sentiment is, she doesn’t show it.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Roy says, trying to extricate them from the awkward encounter as quickly as possible, “I believe I promised my wife at least one dance this evening.” He starts to lead Riza away, but he’s held up short.
“Wait,” Mrs. Bradley says softly. “Lieutenant… I mean Lieutenant Colonel—”
Riza takes in a ragged breath but raises her head. Roy watches as she summons that inner strength he so greatly admires. She straightens her back and stands on her own two feet, facing down the widow and mother of her enemies.
“Ma’am?”
Mrs. Bradley frowns and takes a step closer.
“I’ve wanted to ask you,” she says quietly. “You…you worked so closely with him. I just want to understand. Did you know? That he wasn’t… human? Were you able to see what he was?” She shakes her head rapidly as though to clear it. “I can’t help but think how foolish I was not to have seen. I keep thinking of all the little things, all the signs I should have paid more attention to. And sometimes I worry that I’ll miss something with Selim, now. I should have realized—”
“Ma’am,” Roy says tersely. Quite apart from wanting to spare Riza’s feelings, this isn’t the time or place. The fact that Bradley was a homunculus still isn’t known to the public—he’s regarded as a hero who gave his life in service to his country. That thought, of course, always makes Roy feel vaguely sick to his stomach, but if the secret were to get out, the public would be outraged. It would cause mass chaos.
“I knew,” Riza says quietly, and Roy looks at her, surprised she’s even willing to discuss it. “He didn’t bother to hide his true nature from me. So, yes, I knew.”
Mrs. Bradley looks devastated, staring down at her clasped hands.
“I see,” she murmurs. “Then I really was an old fool.”
“I think you knew as well,” Riza says. Her tone isn’t hostile, as Roy might have expected. Instead, it’s warm, full of an empathy Roy can’t fathom. “Deep down, you knew, but you did what you had to do to survive. We all do what we have to do, in the moment, to make it through. Not knowing kept you safe, so you chose not to know. That’s not foolish. It’s brave.”
Mrs. Bradley’s shoulders slump, and she looks at Riza with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“I’m trusting you,” Riza continues quietly. “And trust doesn’t come easily for me, but I’m trusting you to continue to be Pr–Selim’s guardian. I’m trusting that you’ll know if he ever shows signs of being less than human. And I’m trusting that you’ll do what you have to do—not just to keep yourself safe, this time. You’re wiser now, and you’ll make the right decision to protect others, too, if it comes down to it.”
Mrs. Bradley stares at her with her mouth open, and Riza arches an eyebrow at her.
“I-I will,” she says. “Of course I will.”
Riza’s expression softens into a sad smile.
“I know,” she says gently. “You will.”
Roy leads Riza away and onto the dance floor, mostly to have an excuse to hold her close as she trembles in the aftermath of the encounter.
“You’re alright,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple as he sweeps them into the steps of a slow waltz.
“I am,” Riza agrees. “That was unexpected, but… Well, I hope I was able to give her some measure of peace.”
Roy pulls her just a bit closer with his hand on her waist.
“Have I told you lately how brave you are?” he asks. “How incredibly compassionate?”
Riza smiles slightly and shrugs her shoulders.
“She was a victim, too. Not in the same way, I hope, but she still deserves compassion.”
“Grumman’s had him watched ever since the Promised Day,” Roy says. “He’s the one who will always be watched, now. You don’t have to worry.”
“It’s hard to think about a child being forced to live his life that way,” Riza says quietly. “But I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting him roam free. I hate thinking about—” She grips his shoulder tight, and Roy rubs a soothing circle with his thumb where his arm is around her waist.
“Then don’t think about it,” he says. “I’ll make sure you never have to think about it.”
After he takes power, he’ll ask that Mrs. Bradley and Selim quietly move somewhere out in the country—far from Central and far from public view. He’ll make sure there’s always a security detail assigned to watch them, under the guise of continuing to provide protection for the former First Family, but he’ll make sure that Riza doesn’t have to be confronted with their faces at every major event. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and maybe the Bradleys can even have a peaceful life together in the countryside.
Stranger things have happened.
—--------
“You seem better.”
Riza looks down into the bright blue eyes of her dancing companion and tilts her head to one side.
“Better?”
Breda heaves a sigh.
“After the Promised Day, you weren’t yourself,” he says. She misses a step in the waltz, but the shorter man guides her through it, and she manages not to trip. “But now…. You’re still not yourself. You’re better.”
Riza permits herself a smile. Breda was always one of the most perceptive members of their team.
Maybe someday she’ll be comfortable enough to share with all of them the story of what really happened to her in the months leading up to the Promised Day. Maybe not. She doesn’t owe her story to anyone; it’s hers to tell if and when she chooses. She has a strong feeling that Falman suspects at least some of the truth after living with her in the desert for the past eighteen months, but the others know nothing other than that she had a panic attack at the office and then went away to Ishbal.
“You’ve been encouraging him to come back to Amestris almost from the start,” she says, nodding at Roy’s back where he dances—somewhat begrudgingly—with Rebecca. “But you’re right. We’re both better now, and we’re ready for what comes next.”
Breda narrows his eyes at her slightly.
“Did you think I doubted you?” he asks. “Of course you’re ready. My point is that—whatever went on out there in Ishbal—I’m just glad that you’re better.”
“Thank you, Heymans,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. “I am.”
The rest of the ball passes in a whirl of conversations and networking. Roy makes sure to revive old acquaintances among the remaining senior officers and to introduce himself to the newly promoted, those that have replaced the corrupted old guard—all of whom are now either dead or in prison for their complicity. Many of his old contacts have gone from soldier to politician, resigning their office and sitting in parliament, and Roy starts making use of those connections right away, meeting dozens of new people—all the right people to build the base of support he’ll need.
Riza is at his side through every moment, whispering names and details into his ear when he forgets and inserting herself into the political conversation, subtly pushing for reforms to the constitution, arms reduction, renewed peace talks with their neighbors on all sides—all measures they’ll take to work towards peace when Roy assumes office.
All in all, she counts the evening as a success.
She catches herself a few times bunching her hands in the skirt of her dress or staring blankly into the middle distance, but Roy is able to pull her back to the present by gently calling her name or squeezing her hand. She manages to keep it together, even after a second run-through of the press gauntlet, until they make it back to the North Hotel. The moment the door to Roy’s room closes behind them, she collapses into his arms, trembling.
“Hey,” Roy says, sounding surprised as he gathers her close. “Talk to me, honey.”
“I’m okay,” she mumbles. “I’m just… I’m exhausted. I haven’t had to be in a crowd like that in so long, and there were so many people. I felt like I couldn’t keep my eyes on all the potential threats at once—there were just too many, and I kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong, all the worst-case scenarios. I’ve been fighting off those thoughts all night, and I’m just… I’m just done.”
Roy kisses the crown of her head and sways with her, rubbing her back.
“You were amazing tonight,” he tells her. “Even I didn’t know you were struggling so much. I hate that you felt that way, but I’m so damn impressed with you. You handled it all with such grace and poise. You’re going to be an incredible First Lady, do you know that?”
She lets out a shaky chuckle and presses her face into his neck.
“Maybe in public,” she mutters, “but I might fall apart from time to time in private. I’m still not…”
“You’re not the person you were before,” Roy says softly. “But remember that’s not a bad thing. Different doesn’t mean bad.”
She nods and pulls away.
“Help me out of this thing? I feel like I can hardly breathe.” She turns around and sweeps her hair out of the way so he can pull down the zipper of her ball gown.
“You never got your suitcase from the other room,” Roy murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Should I get you something to sleep in?” As the satin and tulle pool at her feet, Riza turns, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Maybe later,” she murmurs. “I’ve got all this… anxious energy I need to work off. Do you think you could help me with that?”
Roy skims his hands up and down her back, and she shivers at his touch.
“You said you might fall apart in private from time to time,” he teases. “I’ll make sure of it, sweetheart.”
She laughs, albeit a little shakily, and kisses him as he lifts her up into his arms and takes her to bed.