Chapter Text
i.
“And here we are,” Roy says triumphantly, throwing his arms out and spinning around to grin back at his captain. “We’ve officially made it back to Amestris without encountering any trouble!”
“Or causing any,” Riza says dryly as she steps out into the snow. “Sir.”
“You wound me, Captain.” Roy makes a face at her, then picks up his suitcase again and turns to head towards the road. Riza falls in half a step behind him as always. “Though I will admit I’m not as practiced with Drachman etiquette and politics as I ought, if I’m going to be Fuhrer after Grumman.”
“You’ve been more than a little preoccupied with rebuilding Ishval, as you should be,” Riza points out, and he inclines his head in acknowledgement as she continues. “And at any rate, diplomacy wasn’t your job this time, it was Ambassador Neumark’s.”
“True.” He glances over his shoulder to flash another grin at her. “My job was just to sit there and look pretty.”
Her lips twitch, and he counts that as a win. “Your job was to sit there and look intimidating, sir.”
The doors of Briggs clang shut behind them as they trudge across the frozen no-man’s-land in front of the formidable fortress. Roy’s a little put out that Major General Armstrong hadn’t welcomed him personally when he and Riza arrived back at Briggs from their trip to the Drachman capital, therefore depriving him of any chance to rib at her, and given his current rank of Brigadier General it’s more than a little obvious as a snub. But it can’t throw too much of a shadow over his mood. Beginning to create a presence in international politics and continuing to solidify his relatively new standing in the upper brass by assuming such an assignment was more than enough to balance out missing a chance to verbally spar with dear Olivier. (Not to mention the delightful opportunity for him and Riza to catch up with Falman over cups of—admittedly horrid—coffee, which his former warrant officer had valiantly paid for.)
Despite Riza’s apprehension, their mission had been conducted without incident. The two of them had escorted the diplomatic party to Novotroichny, worked amiably with the Drachman department of foreign affairs to install the Amestrian ambassador as a gesture of good faith from Grumman’s fledgling administration, and made it back to Briggs without encountering anything more sinister than the bitter wind. Roy’s role had been to act as Grumman’s proxy, as well as reminding any dissenters of Amestris’s military might and why not to piss them off. Riza, of course, goes wherever Roy goes, but she had also personally selected and trained the security team who would be in charge of Neumark’s safety during his term.
She’d understandably been even more on edge for the trip back, having left the entirety of the security team in Novotroichny, but now that they're safely back in Amestris, Roy’s going to get her to relax as much as Riza ever allows herself to relax.
The only sign that they’ve reached the road is the single line of tire tracks that cut through the snow. A full-strength northern storm had ravaged the region just after the two of them had arrived at the fortress the night before, though one couldn’t tell now, under the clear blue sky. Roy squints up the road, searching for their scheduled military transport across the blinding white landscape, but sees nothing.
He sets his luggage down with a grunt and looks at Riza, who sets her duffel down as well. “When they get here, I call shotgun.”
She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Neither of us will be riding shotgun, sir.”
“Not with that attitude, we won’t.” He taps his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “I could probably pull rank.”
His captain gives him her Deadpan No. 24: You’re Not A Puppy Anymore, Hayate. “Sir.”
“What? Those military transports can usually fit three on the front bench, I can probably talk them into letting you sit up front, too.” He puts his hands on his hips, pleased with himself. “I get the window though, of course.”
Riza lifts her eyes skyward, as if praying for patience, but he can see the amused twist to her lips that she’s trying to hide and adds a second tally to his mental score. She sobers after just a moment, however, and shields her eyes to scan the horizon. “They’re late.”
“They’re probably just running behind because of the new snowfall.” Roy shrugs. “No one’s been by to clear the road yet.”
“Mmm.” A fresh wind springs up, and his captain crosses her arms and hunches her shoulders, burying her nose in her scarf. Roy knows it’s due to the cold, but it still makes her look like the petulant preteen who hated cleaning the chicken coop. “I still don’t like it.”
Roy doesn’t respond, simply pops the collar of his greatcoat against the biting wind and pulls his hat firmer over his ears, trying not to think about what his hair will look like when he finally takes it off. He’ll have to step up his Cajole-Riza-Into-Relaxing game.
It’s perhaps another twenty minutes before a vehicle appears in the distance, during which the two of them mostly stand in their trademark companionable silence. Riza huffs out a “Finally” under her breath when it draws close enough to be recognizable as their military transport, and Roy can’t help but agree. He’s glad he swapped out his signature flame alchemy gloves for warmer winter ones for the trip, but even with that his fingers are starting to go numb.
The military vehicle rumbles over the snow slowly but steadily; it doesn’t seem to be having any overt trouble. It slows to a stop beside them, and a well-bundled-up officer hops out of the front passenger side.
“General Mustang, I presume!” The man salutes with a smile so wide it’s frankly a little unsettling, and when Roy releases him the man pulls his hand into an enthusiastic handshake. “And the lovely lady must be Captain Hawkeye. Pleasure to meet you, sir, Colonel Hausner at your service.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Roy delicately extracts his hand from Hausner’s grip and steps back, discreetly waving Riza down; his captain’s stance tensed as soon as Hausner had stepped into Roy’s personal space, hand going to her sidearm, and though he doesn’t know it the man’s extremely lucky she hadn’t tackled him them and there. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to make our train.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The colonel waves them towards the vehicle as a pair of soldiers deposit their luggage in the back. “So sorry about the delay, we had to take the long way around. Last night’s storm was a nasty one, they’re still clearing the debris from the main road.” He opens the front passenger door and beams at Roy. “If you’d like to sit up front with me, sir, I’d be honored.”
Roy flashes a triumphant smirk towards Riza, but his captain frowns. “I don’t think that’s wise, sir.”
“Nonsense!” Hausner waves impatiently, but his smile never falters. “The temperature might be frigid but the views are spectacular, not something you’ll want to miss, General. I insist.”
Roy catches her eye and shrugs. Riza acquiesces with a sharp nod, but she doesn’t look happy about it, and Roy knows he’ll be in for a reprimand about security later. Nevertheless, he climbs onto the front bench, settling in next to the driver as Hausner climbs in beside him. Behind them, one of the soldiers waves Riza into the back as the other climbs in on the far side, but she hesitates. “I’ll take the window seat, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, actually,” the soldier says. “Standard protocol, sir.”
Riza’s face darkens; both seating Roy up front and seating Colonel Hausner by a window isn’t standard protocol, either, but she takes one of the middle seats.
Once they’re settled, the driver starts the vehicle, bringing the transport around in a wide arc to head back towards North City. Hausner prattles on amiably, in contrast to his silent soldiers. He points out when they leave the main road for a side one, and launches into a lengthy explanation of the destruction that left the main road temporarily impassable. He throws his limbs all over the cabin in exaggerated gestures; the driver doesn’t seem to mind, but Roy starts to wish he hadn’t taken the man up on his offer or had at least insisted he take the window seat. Hausner doesn’t seem to pick up on Roy’s pointed requests to keep his appendages to himself, and Riza’s growing frustration is tangible.
So much for getting her to relax. Though, to be honest, it’s starting to put Roy on edge, too.
Hausner doesn’t seem to notice his charges’ growing tension, continuing to point out landmarks and unique ice formations in a ceaseless stream of chatter. Roy wonders how the man ever got enough accomplished to make Colonel if he always talks this much.
The landscape slowly changes from open tundra to snowy forest as the time drags by, and it seems to Roy that they’re taking a very long detour. His knowledge of the area isn’t great, but he has a vague idea of the direction North City is in, and he’s fairly certain they haven’t been heading that way for quite some time. A quick glance at his captain confirms she’s noticed, too.
“Colonel,” Roy interjects during one of Hausner’s rare pauses for breath, “at what point will we rejoin the main road? I’d rather not have to take a later train.”
“Oh, don’t worry, sir, a later train won’t be necessary.” Hausner looks directly over at Roy for once; his smile is still the same, but something’s changed in his eyes. “I was just about to bring up the change in plans, as a matter of fact.”
The transport turns a final bend and rolls to a stop. The door locks click.
A brief scuffle breaks out in the backseat, but before Roy can turn to look, he hears a pair of guns being cocked. A third appears in Roy’s periphery as the driver draws his own.
Suddenly, Hausner’s overbright expression seems a lot more sinister. “You’ll be coming with us, General Mustang.”
Roy hazards a look at the backseat. There’s two pistols aimed at his captain and a hand over her mouth, but the fury on her face is unmistakable.
“Now, now,” Hausner says, with absolutely no change in tone from when he’d been discussing the landscape. “You're the only one we need, but we could probably find a use for the good captain alive. That being said, I’m not nearly as invested in keeping her that way as I imagine you are. Your compassion for your subordinates is something of a legend.” He spreads his hands. “The way this goes down is entirely up to you.”
Roy’s mind races. The instant he goes for his gun or his ignition gloves they’ll shoot, and anyway he’d lose precious time ripping off his winter gloves in addition to donning the alchemy ones. He doubts they know about his clap alchemy—he’s managed to keep that well under wraps in the two years since the Promised Day—and he could try to transmute, say, the frame of the vehicle to ram into their traitorous heads, but he can’t take out both men in the back seat without also catching Riza, and he certainly isn’t skilled enough to take out the men in the back and those beside him simultaneously.
He’s better with gases, anyway.
Roy catches Riza’s eye and takes an exaggeratedly deep breath. She blinks at him twice, deliberately.
He looks back at the Hausner, who’s still smiling, waiting confidently for his answer. Roy raises his hands carefully, as if he’s putting them up in surrender—and then claps.
Blue alchemical energy crackles, and all the oxygen in the car turns to helium.
The other soldiers all gag at their next inhale, eyes flying wide, dropping their weapons in panicked instinct. Riza elbows the one on her right in the throat and grabs his gun as he doubles over in his seat, shooting first the locks on Hausner’s door and the door to her right before turning the weapon on its owner and his comrade. At that point Roy has reached past Hausner, opens the door and tackles the man out of the vehicle. He comes into a crouch, securing the colonel in a headlock, and exhales the breath he’d been holding before taking in the clean northern air. Relief floods him as his captain slides out the rear passenger door, new pistol at the ready, but it vanishes just as quickly when he reaches one-handed for his ignition gloves and they’re not there.
So that’s why Hausner had been so touchy-feely. Roy snarls.
“Sir,” Riza warns, and Roy’s head snaps up as he hears several guns cock at once.
At the side of the road, emerging from the trees, half a dozen men in Amestrian uniforms have rifles trained on them, pinning them against the vehicle at their backs.
“Release him,” one calls. “Your hands so much as twitch and we’ll shoot.”
They won’t shoot Hausner, Roy imagines, and they don’t have a good line on himself, but Riza’s another story. Roy grits his teeth, hissing in frustration. His captain catches his eye, then flicks her own down to her trouser pocket. Right. She always carries a backup pair of gloves.
Unfortunately, his hands are a little occupied at the moment.
“Well, that was a nasty trick,” Hausner gasps past Roy’s hold. His voice is high and squeaky, and Roy can’t help smirking despite the situation. “I’m actually rather impressed, but you didn’t think we’d come without backup, would you? Or making sure to disarm you before we tried to pull a stunt like that?” He chuckles. “You might have more tricks up your sleeve than we anticipated, but without your signature flames, you can’t take us all before we mow you down. Are you ready to cooperate this time?”
Roy's eyes flick to Riza. Her aim is steady, but her gaze jumps between the half-dozen hostiles. Roy knows without a shadow of a doubt she'd nail at least three before they can retaliate, but in the end, it wouldn’t be enough. Her scarf hangs off her shoulder, having been displaced in her scramble out of the vehicle, and Roy's eyes are drawn to the pale scar across her throat.
He glances back to the rogue colonel. That damned soulless smile is back on the man’s face. Roy wants to wipe it off.
"Stand down, Hawkeye," Roy all but growls, his eyes never leaving Hausner's.
"But sir—"
"That's an order , Captain."
Anger and frustration radiate off her like heat from an exothermic reaction, but she complies.
Several soldiers swarm over them as soon as Riza lowers her gun, disarming her and pulling Hausner from Roy’s slackened grip. A pair of soldiers each grab one of Roy’s arms as a third approaches with an odd pair of metal canisters. Roy narrows his eyes, unease coiling in his gut. “What the hell are those?”
“Like them?” Hausner asks in his still-squeaky voice. “I had a contractor design them just for you, General. Go ahead, try them on.”
Riza struggles in her captors’ hold as the soldier approaches Roy, lips curling, eyes flashing dangerously, but Roy catches her eye and shakes his head. She stills, fuming, every muscle tense.
The soldiers strip Roy’s coat and winter gloves off in order to fit his arms into the canisters. They reach up to his elbows, his knuckles bumping the far end, forcing his hands into loose fists. At the flip of a switch on the side, the canisters lock together, and the rims close around his forearms with a hydraulic hiss.
Roy adjusts his stance to account for the cuffs’ weight; they’re lighter than they appear, likely made from the same alloys as most automail if he had to hazard a guess, but they still throw off his center of gravity. He tests their give, but there’s none.
“Custom-made alchemist cuffs,” Hausner says, his voice starting to deepen again. “Can’t have you getting ahold of your gloves, or drawing any transmutation arrays. Or whatever that stunt you pulled in the car was.” He nods at his men. “Search them.”
The soldiers holding Riza strip her of her winter gear before patting her down. Roy’s blood boils seeing their hands on his captain, but their search stays strictly professional, even as they remove her thigh holster. Her face remains controlled as they relieve her of her weapons and find the backup gloves, but Roy can read the frustration in the line of her shoulders and the tightening of her lips. All that Roy has on him is his single required sidearm, and the men toss that into the pile as well.
“Excellent!” Hausner glances up at the sky. “I’m afraid we’ll have to spend the night here; I would have preferred getting a start this afternoon, but the soldiers who were actually dispatched to pick you up put up more of a fight than we were expecting—that’s the real reason we were late. We still have to prep the transport for extended travel, and after that I’d rather not traverse the northern country off-road in the dark. Fortunately we have some leeway to disappear, yes? You’re not expected back at your post until Monday morning, we checked.”
A full two days away. Roy exchanges a glance with Riza. His men will be expecting a check-in once their train arrives—Riza’s a stickler about that sort of thing—but it’s not required and he doesn’t know if his team will consider anything amiss if they don’t.
The breeze picks up and Roy shivers, acutely aware that he’s now got nothing but his button-down and dress pants as an outer layer. The awkward position his arms are held in is already pulling at his shoulders, and he hunches them as much to relieve some of the pressure as to conserve warmth.
“Ah, where are my manners? Muster, Kandel, please escort our guests to their accommodations.” Hausner smiles genially at Roy. “I’ll be in to speak with you shortly, General, but there’s some business I must attend to first.”
Roy’s captors pull him towards the buildings in the distance, but alarm spikes through him when Riza is led off on a different vector. “Where are you taking my captain?”
One of the soldiers holding him snorts. “We’re certainly not going to keep the two of you together so you can scheme.”
“You should be more worried about yourself, anyway,” the other chuckles.
And with that happy thought, the trees swallow them.
Riza is pissed .
Though she knows it’s useless, she twists her wrists again as she paces, ignoring the way the ropes chafe her skin. Just like the first dozen times, she can’t reach the knot; and all her struggling is likely only tightening it, anyway.
She and Roy had made it through their entire international assignment without a wrinkle, but as soon as they were back on Amestrian soil and she let her guard down the slightest bit, it all went to shit. She’d known something was off, but she’d done nothing. She should’ve insisted Roy sit in the back with her. She should have insisted she take a window seat. She should have demanded they take the standard route, snow be damned. This was the North; they were supposed to be prepared for that kind of weather.
And, above all, she shouldn’t have been a liability—just like during her tenure as Bradley’s assistant, just like in the tunnels on the Promised Day.
Is this how it’s always going to be? Being used as a bargaining chip to force her general’s hand?
Riza lets out a frustrated huff, breath misting in front of her in the frigid air. The barn, from what she can tell, isn’t any warmer than outside, but at least there’s no wind. She shivers in her inadequate jacket and steps up her pacing; keeping herself moving is her best defense against the cold right now.
The stall they’d tossed her in is only a few steps longer than it is wide, and Riza vaguely feels a little sorry for whatever horse or cow had been kept in it. No animals have been housed in this barn for quite some time, though; there’s none of the musky scents of a lived-in barn, no movement or noise from the other stalls even when they’d brought her in several hours ago, and only scraps of brittle straw litter the floor.
She steps up to the small barred window, peering out into the hall. She can’t see much, both due to the angle and the dim lighting from only the outside lanterns. They haven’t brought Roy in, either, and she doesn’t like the connotations of that. Hausner hadn’t revealed what they wanted him for, or even who “they” were, and they could be doing anything to him right now.
Some bodyguard she is at the moment.
Riza closes her eyes, leaning her head against the bars and taking a deep breath. Berating herself has no use right now. She needs to focus on how she’s going to get to her general and get them out of this mess.
A loud creak echoes through the barn, and booted footsteps approach from farther down. The light brightens as two smartly dressed soldiers step into view, the taller one carrying a lantern, a rifle muzzle sticking up over his shoulder from where the weapon is strapped to his back. Riza recognizes him as the soldier who’d brought her in and has been rounding at irregular intervals since. “Back away from the door,” he tells her gruffly.
As Riza retreats back into her stall they step up to the door. The second soldier holds a tray with a cup of water, a small hunk of bread, and a bowl of watery broth. A worn gray blanket is thrown over his shoulder. “Dinnertime,” he says as his partner unlatches and opens the stall door. He enters, eyeing her warily, as the one with the lantern stands in the doorway, posture tense.
There’s no way she can take them both, but they're expecting her to try something anyway.
She can use that.
Riza watches them silently as the soldier carefully sets the tray down on the floor. As he steps back Riza crouches to inspect the food, bringing her bound hands forward to poke at the bread, as if losing interest in the men.
Just before the short soldier reaches the stall door, she moves.
Riza grabs the tray and lunges forward, rising to her feet inside the short man’s personal space and shoving him aside with her shoulder, clumsily knocking him into the wall. She brings the tray up awkwardly with her bound hands and swings it at the taller man blocking the doorway, knocking the lantern from his loosened grip as he brings his hands up to defend himself with an exclamation of surprise. The lantern falls to the floor and shatters amid the straw, bulb going dark, leaving them in only the dim lights from outside.
The taller soldier recovers his wits by the time Riza brings the tray up again and grabs her wrists, using the hold to shove her back into the stall. Riza stumbles, tripping as her calves connect with the shorter man’s outstretched leg, tumbling towards the floor as her wrists are released. She twists on reflex, landing on her shoulder, aware of the taller man stepping up to her with something in his hands. Rolling onto her stomach, she brings her arms underneath her to push herself away, farther back into the stall—
Pain reverberates through her skull as something slams into the side of her head with all the force of a Briggs tank, and the world goes black.
Prying open eyes she hadn't realized had closed, Riza finds a pair of scuffed winter boots staring her in the face, her cheek pressing into something cold and hard. Panic strikes through her—how much time has passed?—but the two guards still stand above her, laughing to each other, their voices echoing harshly in her throbbing head.
"Count yourself lucky I didn't use the business end, Captain," the taller one chortles, hefting his rifle.
Riza squeezes her eyes shut and rolls on to her back, hissing through clenched teeth as the movement sends fresh waves of pain radiating from the site of the blow. That is definitely going to leave a fantastic bruise. At least her hair clip is still in place.
“And all you get for your trouble is a headache and a missed meal,” the shorter one snorts as he heads out of the stall. Riza hears a clatter as he presumably kicks at her spilled tray. “And no blanket, either. Maybe you’ll behave better if you’re cold and hungry.”
That’s fine. She’s not planning on staying long.
Riza doesn’t move as she hears the door close and the latch fall into place, nor even once the soldiers’ footsteps have faded. She needs to find her general, but she can't help him if she can't see straight.
She lays there, eyes screwed tight, until the pounding in her head subsides to a throbbing ache. With a groan she rolls over, pushing herself up onto her elbows, squinting; even the dim light of the outer lanterns hurts her eyes. It's another minute until she can raise herself to her knees. When she finally pulls herself to stand her stomach rolls and she doubles over, nearly losing what's left of the breakfast she ate almost twelve hours ago.
Right. She took a blow to the head. She's probably concussed. That complicates things, but Riza's dealt with worse. She allows herself another few moments for her stomach to settle into an uneasy churning, then straightens with the wall for support and staggers towards the door.
A headache and a missed meal wasn’t, in fact, all she’d gotten for her trouble.
Riza falls to her knees by the door and starts feeling around the floor, drawing in a sharp breath as her fingers nick a shard of glass. Chiding herself for her carelessness, she grabs the shard with more caution, but it’s too small. She searches with more care until she finds a piece large enough for her needs and starts sawing at the ropes around her wrists.
The rope starts to fray, but ever so slowly, and Riza pushes down a surge of impatience. This could take a while.
Once standing in the hall—after cutting her bonds it was simple enough to stick an arm through the bars and unlatch the door, considering the stall was really meant to hold livestock and not an adult human with full mobility—Riza realizes she has no idea where to start looking for Roy.
She takes a deep breath, ignoring her still unsettled stomach and forcing her aching head to think. From what she’d seen on their way in, the property consisted of the barn, a farmhouse, and an old silo. If they’d stuck her in the barn, it would make sense for them to hold Roy in the silo.
After scanning the yard to make sure it’s clear, Riza steps out into the night, glad she still has her snow boots even if they’d relieved her of the rest of her winter gear. An icy wind cuts through Riza’s jacket like it’s not even there. She shivers, pulling the ineffective garment closer as she sidles along the wall, as much for its use as a windbreak as for caution. Rounding the corner, keeping the barn between herself and the farmhouse, she slowly approaches the old stone silo. Bright lights emanate from inside the open door, harsh voices growing louder as she draws closer. Riza can’t help a grimace; neither are helping her headache.
Crouching just beside the doorway, it takes her a second to recognize Hausner’s voice, but the out-of-place cheerfulness couldn’t really be anyone else.
"It's just a bit suspicious, isn't it? Most of Bradley's staunchest supporters are either killed in the coup or themselves arrested, while your own mentor is installed as our new Fuhrer, and General Armstrong gets off with hardly a slap on the wrist.” Hausner’s tone is that of an excited academic discussing Xerxian history. “You claim you prevented a coup, and yet when the dust settles, the old regime has been replaced with your own allies. And the deeper I dig, the more suspicious it gets.”
“Please, tell me more.” At the sound of her general’s voice, Riza lets out a breath as tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding eases from her shoulders. He sounds unharmed, at least, but she knows how well he can mask pain. “I’ve become a real sucker for conspiracy theories in the past few years; you never know what truth they might have to them.”
“That's not the point here. Frankly, I don't care what your motives were. All I care is that you, or your cronies, murdered the best leader Amestris has had in centuries, and then have proceeded to make a mockery of our country." For the first time a note of anger enters the rogue colonel’s voice. Alarm jerks through Riza, pushing even the pain and nausea to the back of her mind. "But let me tell you—Bradley has more supporters than just those who were in senior command. And none of us are going to stand any longer for what you're doing to his legacy."
Roy laughs. "Bradley's legacy? Bradley didn't care anything for Amestris or its people. His legacy would've been its destruction, not its prosperity." Riza can almost hear him rolling his eyes. "You say you did some digging—it sounds to me like you haven't dug deeply enough."
"Oh, I think I have. And I'll tell you what we're going to do about it." A pause. “Just over two months from now is the anniversary of Bradley’s death, and we have quite the spectacle planned for the occasion. We have the means to hold you until then, regardless of who they send looking for you, and that gives us plenty of time to prepare.” There’s a shuffle of movement and a subdued grunt from Roy that makes Riza’s stomach knot before Hausner continues. "We're going to break you," Hausner says, voice low. "We're going to turn you into such a gibbering wreck you're almost unrecognizable— almost being the key word—and then we're going to drag you onto the square in front of Central Command, where everyone can see, and put you down like the dog of the military you are."
Riza's breath hitches.
"And then we're going to show Grumman and his sorry excuse for an administration how to properly conduct a coup." Another rustle, followed by a quiet thump. "But that part's of no interest to you, since you won't be around to see it."
“Heh,” Roy says, slightly breathless, “I don’t think I’d want to see that. You could barely take two of us trapped and weaponless—you goons trying to raid Central would just be embarrassing.”
Riza bites her lip until she tastes blood at the sound of a vicious thwack followed by another grunt from Roy. It’s all she can do to hold herself still when every instinct is screaming at her to protect him. “We have more resources than you realize. Contacts and sympathizers all over Amestris, not to mention support from several international parties. I think our chances are pretty good. But it’s getting late, and we have a lot of distance to cover tomorrow.” Riza pulls back from the door as footsteps approach. “But still, given your attitude we may as well give you a taste of the hospitality you’ll have to look forward to at our destination. Kandel—how about you make sure the esteemed General won’t be quite as chipper in the morning.”
Riza presses herself into the wall farther down the slight curve of the silo as Hausner exits, chuckling to himself, a pair of fellow soldiers at his heels. Riza’s fingers dig into the mortar as she hears Roy cry out, her own head throbbing in time as if in sympathy. It takes all her willpower to wait until Hausner and his posse round the side of the barn before she rises up, stomach heaving in protest, and hurls herself through the doorway.
As soon as she does it she realizes how stupid such a move is—she should have surveyed the room first and assessed threats, not just barge in—but blessedly there’s only one soldier left, and his back is turned to her. Roy presses into the wall at the man’s feet, ineffectively curled in on himself as the man aims his boot at his midsection, and his eyes widen when he sees her.
The soldier hesitates, but it’s not enough. Riza body-slams him away from her general, seeing stars herself as her abused head throws a fit at the impact. The soldier stumbles forward but catches himself on the far wall as Riza staggers, internally cursing herself as it takes her precious moments too long to catch her balance. Her stupid fucking head .
“ You ,” the soldier says incredulously, and with a start Riza realizes it’s the tall one from earlier. “What—how—” His face darkens as he straightens. “Didn’t you learn your lesson?” he snarls, hand fisting as he steps forward.
Riza has to end this before he thinks to call for backup. She pivots as he swings, dodging his fist and bringing her leg up and around in one fluid movement. Her boot connects with his jaw and he drops like a stone.
Nausea hits Riza full force. Dark spots crowd her vision as she falls to her hands and knees, dry heaving, but there’s nothing in her stomach to come up.
“Hawkeye!”
Riza waves in Roy’s direction, signaling she’s all right, but it’s a few moments before she can sit back and turn to face him.
He’s sitting up again now, hunched from the awkward angle of his arms trapped in those horrid cuffs, and Riza’s heart twists at how sore his back and shoulders must be. His white button-down is stained and untucked, mud and slush coating his dress pants and boots, which has to be driving him nuts. A new bruise blossoms on one cheekbone and his lip is split, but his dark, worried eyes are piercing as ever.
"You had to make him mad," Riza sighs.
Roy scowls. "He started it," he grumps, sounding for all the world like the skinny city kid who'd thought he could take a butcher's boy twice his size. His lips tighten as he scans her face. "And it sounds like you're not one to talk. What was that this thug said about you learning your lesson?"
"We got into a little... altercation earlier. It's how I got ahold of the glass to cut myself loose."
"Did he hurt you?"
"I'm all right, sir."
"Not what I asked, Captain."
She really should tell him about the blow to her head, but . . . that will just make him worry, and take his focus away from what they really need to be concerned about. Before she comes to a decision, though, Roy speaks for her. "Your face is bruised."
Oh. Yeah, she should've guessed that would leave a mark. She shakes her head, irritated at herself. "He did hit me," she admits. That's not a lie, really. "But I'm fine. We need to get out of here."
Roy mutters something dark under his breath but drops it. “My ankle’s tied to this built-in ladder.”
Riza finds a knife in the unconscious soldier’s boot, noting with disappointment he doesn’t have his rifle with him, and makes short work of the rope. She inspects the switches on the sides of the cuffs, but fiddling with them does nothing.
“It was too much to hope they’re as easy to get off as they are to put on,” Roy grumbles. “I feel like a criminal.”
Riza raises her eyebrows.
Roy makes a face at her. “This isn’t really what I was planning on us getting executed for,” he says dryly.
Riza rolls her eyes, lips quirking despite herself. He’s incorrigible. “All the more reason to leave.”
But Roy shakes his head as she helps him stand; he’s clearly still not quite got the hang of his new center of gravity, or how to balance without the use of his arms, but in all honesty she’s not much steadier. “We need more information. I’m not sure how much you heard—”
“Most of it, I think.”
“—but he says he’s got supporters all over Amestris and even some internationally. We can’t leave until we know how far this goes; it’s not just us in danger, it’s Grumman and the rest of our new government.” He grimaces, lifting his arms slightly. “And I really want to find the key to these damned cuffs.”
Riza presses her lips together as they amble towards the door. “I’d advise against it, sir. Knowing they exist is enough, at the moment; our first priority should be getting you to safety. Once we’re safely at a military base, a state alchemist can transmute the cuffs off.”
“But as soon as we’re gone and they realize they’ve been compromised, they’ll vanish,” Roy argues. After a few steps, his stride firms and he straightens from her shoulder. Riza’s hands fall back to her sides. “This is too good an opportunity to pass up; who knows how long it would be until we find them again. Even if we thwart their current plans, you know they’ll be back.”
Riza rubs her temples, grimacing. She really doesn’t think this is a good idea, but her head aches so much she can hardly think, much less come up with any better arguments.
Roy hesitates. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Nothing to worry about, sir, just a little sore.” She drops her hands and meets his eyes. “I don’t think this is wise, but if you’re determined, I have your back as always.”
Her general nods and, after assuring the coast is clear, she follows him out into the frigid night.