Chapter Text
To say that Riza’s day was going badly would be a prolific understatement. Her deposition ran late, her mother’s called her office no less than four times for some ungodly reason, and she’s been sitting in this scheduling hearing for three hours. Sure, it’s the judge going through several cases, and yes, this is a necessary evil of the justice system. She is still pissed about it, thank you kindly.
She has places to be, things to do, a mother to call back; god Thursdays are the worst.
Defense council is stalling for more time because they didn’t have the decency to finish their filing beforehand. Riza knows this defendant is the last in the long line of bail hearings; the frustration is still very much present.
Judge Alison Grause keeps glancing towards Riza with a look in her eye that says ‘we’re in this together’ and Riza keeps nodding back stoically.
Riza’s co-counsel slides her a note indicating that he hasn’t seen any relevant filings for the defense, let alone the filing in question. Mr. Dyer is not the worst co-counsel in the world to have, but he is on the last leg of his career and biding his time for retirement; which means he often leans on Riza’s more commanding presence to get things done. He’d been a good mentor until he checked out emotionally, now he’s just a good name to have down on the docket.
“Your honor, may I approach?” She asks with a sigh.
“Come around the bench, Miss Hawkeye,” Judge Grause gestures for her to approach.
She takes her stack of files and finds herself hunched beside the judge.
“I filed the amended complaint on Monday of last week, your honor. I understand that this could become an appellate issue but this defendant cannot continue to be out of custody according to criminal code 6-7.83. He’s already attempted contact with key witnesses,” Riza reminds the judge.
“I am aware of that, Miss Hawkeye, do you have the um… the arraignment transcripts on hand?”
Riza starts shuffling through her documents as the defense team stands.
“Your honor, my client has an important meeting in family court a few floors down. I ask that we expedite the release proceedings.” Attorney Matsen says with a nod towards his client.
“I am disinclined to grant that request, Mr. Matsen, seeing as I don’t have your written argument for the accused to remain out of custody.” Judge Grause says.
“Well… your honor we’ve already gone over… we included an affidavit-”
“I’m not interested in the affidavit, sir, I’m interested in the legal code that states I should continue to allow your client to remain out of custody. Which it seems you are unable to provide at this time, is that correct?”
Riza flicks her gaze up from her shuffling to get a good look at the defense table.
“Well… we… we have uh… according to the dobber code-”
“I’m not asking for evidentiary violations, I’m not asking about the arrest, I’m specifically asking about custody, Mr. Matsen. Do you have a legal argument for why this defendant should be allowed to remain out of custody? Written or otherwise.”
The defense starts to relitigate why their client did not break his bail agreement and Riza barely holds back an eyeroll.
“Alright, Mr. Matsen, please take a seat.” Judge Grause removes her glasses and rubs her temple briefly. “The court finds that, in accordance with Amestrian penal code 6-7.83 the defendant shall return to custody until trial date-”
“Fuck that bitch!”
Riza’s gaze snaps from the judge back towards defense counsel. It all happens in comical levels of slow motion. The looks on Matsen and co’s faces as they watch their client yell at the judge. Matsen’s hand raises to his forehead, not in disbelief but something more akin to ‘I shouldn’t be surprised but I am’.
Then there’s the defendant, still unshackled and pissed that he’s about to be shackled again. The rage in his eyes could be translated to the funnies page in the times and Riza would be less surprised than she is now.
The fact that he’s getting closer nearly misses her notice, the fact that he vaults over the judge’s bench does not . She’s even impressed that he completely clears the desk given that it’s almost five feet off the ground. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t immediately jump into action when the defendant starts pummeling the judge.
Riza glances back at the gallery and doesn’t see a damn bailiff anywhere. It makes her head spin when she realizes that she’s the only one close enough to do anything about this.
“Holy shit get a bailiff, Creighton!” She finds herself screaming as she lunges at the defendant and manages to get him in a choke hold.
The pair of them stumble over documents that scattered the floor, Riza’s fairly certain she twists her ankle on a coffee mug which is corroborated by the fact that her newly shoeless foot sinks into the coffee-soaked carpet… the cleaners will not be happy about that one.
She and the defendant fumble over each other for a moment until she bends him over the judge's bench and manages to slam him down.
The defendant is still screaming obscenities and some of them are quite creative combinations, but Riza is unable to focus on him for long when she notices the absolute pandemonium of the gallery. Not because she’s got the defendant effectively apprehended, but because her own co-council is lying on the ground - seemingly unconscious. Good grief.
Unfortunately, while she’s distracted the defendant worms his way out of her grasp enough to elbow her hard in the jaw and knock her off balance. She manages to wrap one hand around his neck before he can get too far and squeezes hard enough to bring him to his knees. Though she wobbles unsteadily the entire time. Which is unsurprising given that she doesn’t know where her fucking shoe went, her stocking is still wet with coffee, and her face hurts from the assault.
She is able to grab the defendant’s arms again… not without taking an elbow to the hip and a snap underfoot which she can only hope is a pen and not her other heel breaking. The defendant starts thrashing, raging against her hold as he stands up, her feet are no longer able to reach the ground. Her back slams into the wall as he tries to shake her but she uses the wall as a sort of spring board, knocking him back onto the desk, this time with her entire weight on him.
There are then two pairs of hands grasping the defendant's biceps and before she has time to process what’s happening, she’s tumbling off of the desk and onto the ground… at least she’s no longer confined to the tight space of the bench.
She’s never taken the time to really look at the ceiling of the courtroom before… not that there’s much to see up there, but in the brief moment she has to breathe she takes in the crown molding and thinks to herself, ‘yep… law school was totally worth it for this’.
The sounds of the enduring scuffle cause Riza to cover her face with both hands and let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Um, ma’am,” a devastatingly attractive young man in uniform stands over her. “You’re uh… your skirt’s out of sorts… Ma’am?”
She’s always had a thing for men with dark hair and dark eyes, and here’s this man standing over her with a furrowed brow trying to get her attention. As if he doesn’t have it, completely undivided, and just as she’s looking over his features again to properly appreciate the cut of his jaw, his hand is on the hem of her skirt and she snaps out of it.
“What are you doing?”
He manages a thin chuckle, “Your underwear’s out, I was trying to get you to notice.”
Her face fills with flush and she starts laughing all over again. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She snickers pulling her skirt back down to a work appropriate length… even if it’s now quite torn. “Can you find my shoe, please?”
“Your shoe?”
“I lost it behind the bench,” she gestures to her coffee soaked stocking and notices the broken heel on her remaining shoe.
He passes a bemused look over his shoulder and rises to his feet. Riza pulls herself into a half seat, adjusting her blouse and running a hand along her sore jaw. The defendant is now pinned beneath the weight of two bailiffs perched above him and his hands are bound to the floor, seemingly by alchemy. Then she sees a very familiar soldier standing by and shaking his head.
“Major Hughes, I take it your day is going as well as mine,” Riza chuckles, waving at him.
“I think you’ve had a worse one than me for once, Miss Hawkeye, I’m usually the one causing problems in your courtroom, not the other way around.” Maes laughs.
Riza yanks her broken shoe off her other foot, “It was my turn.”
“And what a job you did, never change.”
“I think we might have to delay our meeting.”
“What makes you say that?” Hughes asks dryly.
“Can we get back up in here!?” One of the bailiff’s calls.
“Fuck you!” The defendant thrashes on the floor and elbows one of the bailiffs so hard he stumbles back.
Maes grimaces at the still struggling defendant and seems to have a moment trying to figure out how he can help. Once he decides he can’t intercede any further he glances back over at Riza. “I’ll bring you dinner?”
“You’re a saint,” she huffs at the sight of the other soldier returning to her side empty handed. She’s a little relieved, to be honest, the idea of putting on one heel with her coffee soaked stocking makes her shiver internally. Then and only then does she realize that her hair clip must have also broken somewhere along the way, given that her hair is now sticking to the back of her neck.
“Sorry to say it but I think your shoe may be a casualty we can’t recover.” The soldier smiles at her, some mix of pity and honest amusement lingers in his eyes. He’s so handsome her throat tightens at the sight.
“How devastating,” she responds blithely as she starts to shimmy out of her stockings.
“Woah I-”
“Listen, half of this courtroom has already seen my panties and I’m not about to sit through my statement in wet stockings. We can re-introduce ourselves later and I’ll be the picture of propriety, okay?” She yanks off the somehow still intact pantyhoes with very little effort… of all the things to get out of this without injury…
“Sounds like a plan,” he nods. “Just tell me how to help. Do you need to go to the med bay?”
She looks at him and chuckles, “This is a courthouse not a military compound. Beyond that I’m fine, just a bruise or two.”
“If you’re sure,” he nods once, still kneeling by her side.
“Paul!” Riza calls over to the intern who is still sat shell shocked by everything going on around him. He comes to attention at the sound of his name. “Take all our case files back to the office!”
The intern starts scrambling to grab their files and Riza cringes knowing she’ll have to reorganize those when she gets back.
“Already giving out orders,” Maes notes with a laugh.
“Someone has to,” she insists, balling up the stockings and trying to ignore the sticky feeling at the bottom of her foot… that and if she looks she’ll have to notice the slight swelling of her ankle.
“Miss Hawkeye, we’ll need you to come with us for a statement.” One of the bailiffs approaches her with a grimace.
“Hey, John, you’re late to the party.” Riza looks at him with a glare. “Where were you?”
He withers from her intense gaze, “We were transferring another inmate and… sorry.”
“Damn right,” she agrees with a curt nod. “Sorry to bother you, sir, could you-”
“Not sure you should be walking around the courthouse barefoot, not to mention that ankle looks like it hurts.” The soldier tells her earnestly.
“Then if you could kindly help me get out of here, I’d appreciate it.”
He smiles and scoops her into his arms in one swift motion, Riza nearly chokes on her own spit as her arms instinctively wrap around his neck.
“Oh my,” Maes fans himself playfully and if Riza weren’t blushing before she certainly is now… no one can know about this, ever .
“Maes, would you be a doll and ask my secretary to bring my spare clothes down to me?” Riza asks, forcing her voice to command the respect she deserves… her lack of dignity at the present notwithstanding.
“Absolutely, see you tonight,” Maes waves at her as the stupidly attractive man finally whisks her away to the nearest private room.
Luckily, he deposits her in a chair and kindly asks once more if she needs anything else before he disappears from the room. If she’s lucky she’ll never see him again and they’ll become a strange footnote in one another’s stories… she’s not a lucky person but she can dream.
As the MP enters the room Riza has a sinking suspicion that her day is about to get much longer. At least she’s allowed to ice her jaw for the duration… little victories and all that.
The initial statement takes all of an hour to complete and Riza is getting a little impatient. She’s annoyed, her body is aching, and she’s certain she looks atrocious. The MP tells her that the investigations office will be in touch and she makes certain he knows that if no one else is pressing charges, rest assured that she most certainly is.
He’s gone from the room for all of two minutes when her secretary finally bursts into the room.
“Riza! Oh my god are you okay!?” Rebecca asks skirting around the table to grasp onto her shoulders.
“I’m fine, Becca, did you bring me my spare clothes?” Riza asks.
“Fuck the clothes I want to hear everything!” Rebecca says tossing a shopping bag - that presumably has the change of clothes within - onto the table.
“I can talk and change, I feel disgusting,” Riza says. “Did you bring a brush?”
“I brought everything, I heard you got princess carried out of the courtroom by a hunk of man so
I am doing you a service.”
Riza peaks into the bag and notices that the clothes are not her own. “Rebecca-”
“Before you say anything, yes it’s still work appropriate, just a little… sexed up because you deserve it.” Rebecca teases, “And for once, you have to listen to me since your other option is… well, a busted blouse and a torn skirt.”
Riza fixes her with a glare but Rebecca smiles serenely at her. Riza has Rebecca help her to the bathroom before hastily changing into the outfit being inflicted upon her.
Rebecca’s style could be a lot worse, the dress hugs her curves and dips lower than she would normally deem appropriate for the office… still, she admits it’s not inappropriate , just not what she would have chosen for herself. She pulls on the heels because she would simply rather die than go without but her ankle is screaming in them as she attempts to fix her lipstick.
“And you’re sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? You might be concussed,” Rebecca points out offering a perfume roller to her boss.
“I’m not concussed, and besides, if I show up to the hospital battered by a defendant I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother.” Rebecca grimaces and Riza sighs, “How many times did she call?”
“Three for sure while you were in court… probably a dozen since I went shopping.”
“You bought this? Becca you can’t do that,” Riza groans.
“Hey it’s my money I can do what I want, besides, you’re always paying for lunch and coffee for me. This is me paying it forward.”
Riza smirks at her friend, “Help me back to my office?”
“Or I could go find that soldier to come carry you.”
“Don’t you dare!” Riza taps her friend’s shoulder.
“Fine, I won’t… but I will be snooping to find out who that guy is. You really didn’t get his name?”
“No… and I’m just fine with that.”
“If I can’t use my legal research skills for finding you a man, what has this all been for?” Rebecca teases.
Rebecca loops an arm around Riza’s waist and helps her hobble out of the bathroom back to her office. Rebecca’s phone is ringing and Riza rolls her eyes.
“For the love of god,” Riza groans as Rebecca opens the door to Riza’s office. “You’d think the woman was unemployed or at the very least retired.”
“I could make up an excuse, maybe it’s not even her.” Rebecca offers as she tentatively allows Riza to limp back to her desk.
Riza laughs, plopping down in her desk chair. “If it’s not her I’ll go to the hospital no questions asked.”
Rebecca lingers by the door as the phone stops ringing, “Hey wonder of all wonders, she hung up.”
They share a laugh, knowing full well that this is not the last they’ll hear from Mrs. Hawkeye.
“How have you been, Becca?” Riza asks with a smile.
“Ugh I’m having a crisis because the new bailiff is painfully attractive.” Rebecca laments theatrically.
“Is it John? I’ve got problems with John,” Riza chuckles as she tries to get her bearings… what had she been doing before the pandemonium?
“Absolutely not, I think his name is Weston.”
“You think?”
“Well I haven’t spoken to him yet, obviously.”
“Obviously,”
“And he’s always in court and I’m always in the office so I only ever see him in the cafeteria!”
“Will horrors never cease,” Riza responds blandly as she resumes the paperwork she’d abandoned before racing off the court.
Rebecca’s phone starts ringing behind her, “It’s-”
“Can you make a quick coffee run for me, Becca?” Riza groans.
“Macchiato or latte this time?” Rebecca snickers.
“Whatever you’re getting, just make mine a double with extra vanilla,” Riza tosses Rebecca a few cenz for the order.
She hears Rebecca pick up and mutter quickly before the call is transferred. Riza braces herself for the call before answering. “Ninth district attorney’s office, this is Riza Hawkeye.”
“Riza, honey, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
Riza rolls her eyes harder than she has all day - which is really saying something. “ Ma , I’m working.”
“And I am your mother, you need to make time for me. And you know I hate it when you call me that.”
With a suppressed groan Riza raises a hand to her forehead, “What is it?”
“Just making sure you’re free tonight, I’m having friends over and they want to see you.”
“I can’t tonight, I have to catch up on a case that ran long,” Riza insists weakly.
“You can spare five minutes to say hello to Evelyn and Laura, they practically raised you.” Her mother tells her dismissively.
“Unless they’re planning to stay all night, I’m busy and I don’t know when I’m getting out of here.”
“They’re working you too hard, honey, you need to start saying no to more cases.” Her mother’s admonishment is so familiar Riza can almost pretend she’s still twelve coming home from school with banged up knees… She nearly laughs, the more things change the more they stay the same, she thinks as she rubs her bruised jaw.
“I know, I’m doing what I can, I’ll call before I stop by to see if they’re still around.” Riza compromises without a second thought, finally finding the offending document that had been eluding her.
“If it’s after ten, don't bother, I'll be asleep.”
“So you do have a cut off time.” Riza holds in a humorless snort.
“I’m needed at the hospital before seven tomorrow morning.”
“Well, if I don’t see you tonight I’ll see you Sunday for lunch,” Riza starts to sign all of the briefs she’s been submitting.
“You know, Laura says that there’s a young man she met at her son’s work party last week-”
“If I don’t have time for more cases I definitely don’t have time to date, mom,” Riza points out.
“If you find yourself a husband to take care of you there’ll be no need for you to keep working in that horrible office.” Her mother points out abruptly.
“We’ve been over this, I like my job.”
“Couldn’t you have just become a secretary like most of the other girls your age? You work too hard and I hate thinking about you surrounded by criminals.”
“I know, I’m safe, I promise,” Riza deliberately ignores the thrum of pain in her ankle.
“Alright well… his name is Anthony and-”
“I have to go, if I don’t call you I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Saturday,” her mother insists.
“Sunday,” Riza counters as Rebecca reenters the office. “Bye.”
“I love you my stubborn girl.”
“Love you too.”
“And make sure-”
“Bye,” Riza hangs up before her mother can wrangle her into a longer conversation.
“You’re a saint,” Rebecca chuckles, passing off the coffee and the remaining change.
“Did you know that most girls my age are secretaries?” Riza chuckles into her latte.
Rebecca feigns a dramatic gasp, “Oh my god, really? Are you sure?”
“And if I found a man to take care of me I wouldn’t be surrounded by criminals.”
“Well, that part is true, technically.”
“Nevermind the fact that she’s a single mom,” Riza snickers. “But a man could save me, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Rebecca clinks their paper cups together and then scurries out of the office to get back to work.
Riza spends the next few hours compiling briefs and editing her intern’s paperwork. She needs to get through it because her meeting with Maes creeps ever closer and now she’s even more on edge about the whole thing… hopefully his hunch is correct.
The general consensus in the ninth district attorney’s office is that Roy Mustang is a good for nothing womanizing prick - in perhaps a little gentler words. The clerks, typists, and court reporters talk about him over lunch anytime he appears in the papers:
He’s so handsome but those are the ones you have to look out for!
I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few years we receive some kind of allegations in this very office.
Oh I saw that club singer hanging off of him in the Gazette the other day! He was even in uniform!
But wouldn’t you just?
I am curious.
He is too handsome for his own good.
Riza has, for the most part, ignored the gossip - which is a general rule of hers for walking through life, gossip has its uses but it often leads to speculation. Speculation is, of course, objectionable in court and as such Riza likes to avoid doing it in her personal day-to-day.
She likes to form an opinion about someone based on the facts - that’s why she’s an attorney. Indisputable, verifiable proof that someone is what they say they are (or, rather, what other people say they are) and she prefers to come to her own conclusions.
That having been said, the facts she has about Roy Mustang are as follows:
- Roy Mustang is 26 years of age, making him the youngest State Alchemist and Lieutenant Colonel in the Amestrian Military.
- His mastery of flame alchemy was instrumental in ending the Ishvalan Civil War, and granted him the Medal of Valor - the highest honor a living military officer can be awarded.
- He’s a friend of Maes Hughes, who believes that the flame alchemist may be able to help Riza in a case gone wrong.
There’s a knock at the door and it jolts Riza into realizing she’s been sitting in an almost completely dark room. Rebecca went home over an hour ago so it can only be one person. She flicks on the overhead lights as she answers the door. Before her stands Maes Hughes and the other officer who helped her get that defendant off of the judge, just her luck.
Riza swallows her pride as she smiles at the pair.
“Ah, Major, good to see you again, sorry for the delay.”
“No problem, Miss Hawkeye, you had your hands full today,” Maes chuckles.
“Give me a moment to grab my coat and we can head out,” Riza turns back to her desk and tries her best not to hobble.
“Actually I was going to get take away for us, I just wanted to grab your order before I head out,” Maes says. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind, I brought a plus one.”
Riza leans against the desk more than she wants to acknowledge. “Not a problem at all.”
Maes practically beams at her as he slaps a hand on Mr. Handsome’s shoulder, and any hope that she still had that her impromptu savior was not Roy Mustang flies out the goddamn window. “Miss Hawkeye, I'd like to introduce you to my reluctant friend Roy Mustang. Roy, this is Riza Hawkeye, best prosecutor in the county.”
“Certainly the one who finds the most trouble,” Riza chuckles.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy nods.
“You as well. I hope you weren’t off put by the um… commotion from earlier.” And you know… seeing my underwear.
“Not at all, in fact I’ve brought a peace offering.” She looks over and can’t help but laugh as he presents the shoe she’d lost earlier. “Here you go, Cinderella”
“My, what a gentleman. If only I hadn’t thrown the other one away,” Riza chuckles, taking the pump out of his hand.
“Keep it like a trophy,” Maes suggests with a snicker. “Anyway, I’m running down to Romni’s - can I grab you something in particular?”
Riza graciously puts in her order and Maes gives the pair a simpering smile before excusing himself.
“You’re free to ignore his posturing, Miss Hawkeye, he’s got a bad habit of thinking he knows best.”
“Frankly, Colonel, I’m hoping he does know best this time,” she says, gesturing to the seat opposite her desk.
“Lieutenant Colonel, ma’am, though I appreciate the sentiment,” he responds, sitting only once she has.
“From what I hear, you’re Amestrian military royalty,” she says. She’s pleased to see the way that he barely reacts to the idea, although she does catch the hint of distaste for the term and that endears her even further.
“Well, that’s not how I’d put it, and I think that since we’re having this meeting to begin with you’d agree with me.” Mustang perches his chin in his hand as he leans forward.
Riza tilts her head to one side, a laugh rolling off her tongue. “So I take it you’ve received a case brief?”
“Something like that; Maes didn’t give too many details. I have to say, from what I’ve heard it sounds like you should be going to the MPs, not an officer in the military.”
“The MPs have all but told me I’m crazy,” Riza says with a shake of the head. “I’m certain you’re familiar with that particular affliction?”
“Being branded as crazy? You could say that I have,” he smirks.
“And no one forced you to come meet me, Colonel, so you must be at least a little bit interested.”
He leans back in his chair, clearly calculating his next move. “Maybe you could explain in your own words what you think is going on exactly.”
Riza pulls out a case file - it’s public record so not exactly illegal to do but definitely would be frowned upon if she were found out.
“Defendant Major General Jeremy Bristol, aged 61, retired from military life two years ago after his elderly father passed away and he inherited the family oil company. The business was already under investigation for fraudulent activity in the supply chain as well as collusion with the Amestrian military. When the case was finally brought, Bristol and six other board members were convicted on most of their charges.
“While most of the other defendants paid their fines and began their prison sentences, Bristol has never surrendered himself. It’s been four months since then and he has never been placed on a wanted list or received further charges for evading the law.”
The Colonel flips through the notices from the court, the sentencing documents, and the numerous attempts at contact that Riza herself has attempted with authorities.
“How frank can I be, Colonel? Or should I shut up and go back to pencil pushing like Officer Dyer suggested,” Riza rests her chin on her laced fingers.
“Well, I’d say we’re past mere formalities given our introduction.” He’s teasing but there’s a spark of interest in his eyes.
“This whole situation screams cover up to me,” she says.
“I agree,” he says, tossing the files back onto the desk.
“Corruption of some kind, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s got someone in the upper brass in his corner.”
“So you want me to do… what exactly?” Mustang leans back in his chair.
“At the very least I need him to turn himself in for his prison sentence. I’ve reported him too many times and the MPs have stopped listening to me. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find something even more interesting going on. I’m willing to look the other way, especially since the whole military structure is out of my wheelhouse. Whatever you find may help you in your own pursuits.”
“And what do you know of my pursuits, Miss Hawkeye?” Mustang chuckles.
“I’m sure that you’re a strapping young soldier who wants what’s best for his country; cleaning up corrupted officials falls perfectly in line with that.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Is that all you know about me?”
She flicks her gaze over him again, admiring the crisp, clean appearance of his uniform, the air of importance he carries; she finally sees the defiance in his gaze she was hoping to find.
“That’s all I know about you, precisely,” she says. “I could stand to learn a bit more.”
“Then Maes hasn’t brought you in?” Mustang looks intrigued by that.
“I told him I’m someone who likes to go to the source; I don’t form opinions based on second hand information or conjecture. I’m sorry if that puts you off or if this feels like an interrogation, it’s just how I see and do things.”
He chuckles. “Apologizing for integrity? What a world we live in.”
Riza can’t fight the smile that forms even if she tried; she hates that she doesn’t want to fight it at all.
“You haven’t accepted or denied my request, Colonel.”
“I haven’t. What’s in it for me?”
“Besides helping an up and coming prosecuting attorney when she’s up against the stone wall of injustice?” He laughs as she exaggerates her statement. “My next step is to go to a friend of mine in journalism with this story. If we deal with this quietly we can spin the narrative in whatever way you want it to go.”
“You’re giving me the power of propaganda?”
“And why not? Fight fire with fire, I say,” Riza teases. “So, what’ll it be, Colonel? As you can see I have little to offer in resources, but I make up for it in connections.”
“You think you’re not a resource, Miss Hawkeye? Not many can boast of a resume as complete as yours,” Mustang points out.
“I thought it was obvious I was included in that,” Riza teases.
“In what capacity? Informant? Advisor?” He smirks at her.
“I think that depends entirely on the situation. After all, I doubt either of us are playing the short game, Colonel.”
“So pledging long standing loyalty? I’m flattered.” He leans his elbows on the desk.
“Only if you’re really planning to make us a better world.” She taps her pen against the case files.
He glances up at her, his gaze is vaguely scrutinizing. “Aren’t we all?”
“I spend my days surrounded by people who would beg to differ,” she shrugs.
“And you have no problems playing dirty when you have to,” he teases.
“I mean… I didn’t throw a single punch.”
“No but you did keep him off the judge and restrain him with more success than I would have expected from a simple attorney. Hell, I know soldiers who would have been less capable.”
“Now who’s flattering who?”
“Perish the thought, I’m very obviously flirting,” he winks and she laughs in response.
“My apologies,”
“I… I have to ask, Miss Hawkeye, have we met before? You look familiar.”
Riza shakes her head. “I never forget a face, handsome or otherwise.”
“Oh you think I’m handsome then?”
“You don’t have to be the only one flirting, especially if it gets me what I want.”
He feigns a grimace, one hand clutching his heart. “Ouch, I’m being used.”
“Sounds like you might be used to it, Colonel.”
“Maybe… but still,” he purses his lips. “One more addendum to our unofficial contract then.”
“Sure.” She finds herself leaning in closer.
“If I do this for you, apprehend Bristol and bring to light any potential illicit activities, I get to take you to dinner.”
She bites her inner lip. “And why should I agree to that?”
“You like to go to the source right? Who better to explain my motivations than me? I do this for you, we go to dinner, I explain my own stance and then we decide if we take up a more… permanent partnership.”
“Partnership, huh?” She muses over that idea for a moment.
“I could use a rising star in the prosecutor’s office on my team. You’re going places, Hawkeye, and I want to be a part of that.”
She chuckles, “You might be bad for my reputation.”
“Then maybe your reputation is too clean for you to be getting mixed up with someone like me.” He shrugs, and something about that implication irks her.
“Someone like you? The golden boy of the military?” She raises a brow.
“Is that what gets out to the general public? I’ll have to thank my PR team,” he laughs.
She looks down; in her periphery she catches a glimpse of the shoe he retrieved for her and her heart feels like it’s falling for a moment. She’s not sure she likes that feeling, but she knows what her gut is telling her to do.
“I agree to your terms, if they’re still on the table.”
He grins at her. “Miss Hawkeye, you have a deal. Pleasure doing business.”
They shake hands; his are warm and rough against her own, and she suddenly finds she is unable to make eye contact.
“Can I take this file off your hands?” He asks, sliding the folder off her desk once more.
“So long as I get it back before the conclusion of your investigation,” she agrees. “Can’t have anyone thinking I lost a file.”
“Of course not.”
There’s a knock at the door, spurring Riza to her feet but the Colonel beats her to it.
“I’ll get it. Besides, it seems like your ankle is none too happy about those shoes.”
She chuckles, “They weren’t my first choice, obviously.”
He smirks at her as he opens the door and in walks Maes Hughes holding a to-go bag filled with pasta and bread.
“Hope you two got acquainted while I was gone, they’re always so fast down there.” Maes wiggles his brows at her in an unspoken I told you so sort of way. She offers him an impassive smile, not giving away a thing. She’s certain the colonel will detail their meeting later.
“Any restaurant that caters to the courthouse has to stay on their toes,” Riza offers the comment with a hint of humor.
“And you certainly would know about that,” Maes teases, flicking his gaze to her newest trophy.
“I’m never living this down am I?” Riza feels the slight dread seep in.
“Welcome to being a hero,” Roy scoffs as he tosses her a pack of plasticware.
Maes starts giving her the basic rundown of his investigation for one of her cases. Everything is going to schedule - a rarity - and he’ll be ready to turn over his findings in the next two weeks. Riza has no qualms getting into the nitty gritty details in front of Mustang, mostly because he keeps his mouth shut. By the time eight pm rolls around, she’s actually gotten some work done and she is feeling more at ease than she usually allows herself.
Finally she locks up her desk and tentatively stands up, trying not to pay attention to her still throbbing ankle… maybe she should get that checked out…
“You’ll have to tell Gracia that I’m sorry for keeping you, sir.” Riza leans on her desk as the soldiers gather their things.
“Not at all, she has the ladies over when I’m out. I’m sure she’d thank you for keeping me out of her hair.” Maes shrugs on his coat with a laugh.
Riza forces a laugh as she grabs her own coat; Mustang’s hand quickly replaces her own and she allows him to help her into it.
“I’ll have to insist on taking you home, Miss Hawkeye, I’m afraid we kept you too late to entertain otherwise.”
Riza chuckles to herself as she pulls her hair free from the collar of her coat. “My car is still in the lot. I’ll be just fine, I assure you.”
She turns and there’s Mustang still close behind, a wry smile tugging at his lips, something like fondness or intrigue hanging in his gaze. It gives her pause, looking into his eyes like that; he very nearly steals the breath from her lungs with that gentle expression.
The snort from Hughes finally pulls her back into reality. The air is thick with something she would hate to call longing; Riza Hawkeye does not pine after men she’s just met, Riza Hawkeye doesn’t yearn period.
“Major, do you need a ride home?” Riza manages not to blush as she turns to look at the soldier in question.
“Thanks but Mustang’s got a car for the week and he’s promised to take me anywhere my little heart desires,” Hughes teases.
“That’s good to hear, then I’ll see you sometime next week?” Riza tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well we’re at least walking you to your car. Injuries notwithstanding, it’d be a disservice to our station not to accompany you.” Hughes scoops her briefcase and files into his arms.
“It’s a sprain, nothing more,” Riza insists.
“Humor us,” Mustang offers her his arm and she is powerless to stop her own mind from wandering.
She leans on the colonel and offers small talk for the short walk to her car, all the while she can’t ignore how firm his arm feels in her grasp. She feels like some silly teenager instead of a grown woman, it’s downright embarrassing.
“I hope the rest of your visit in Central goes smoothly, sir, and I hope that today’s excitement won’t scare you off,” Riza says as she rifles through her purse for her keys.
“It’ll take a lot more than a violent defendant to keep me away,” Mustang assures her with a smile.
“Glad to hear it.” She clears her throat as she unlocks the car door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Mustang offers her one final parting smile as he backs away towards one of the only other cars in the lot.
“You know, Miss Hawkeye, if I didn’t know any better-”
“If you have even a single working thought you’ll keep your mouth shut, Hughes, I don’t jump into anything head first.” Riza says, adjusting her bag in the passenger seat before retrieving her items from Hughes.
“Fine, I’ll drop it… for now,” he waggles his eyebrows at her as he takes a few steps away. “But I’ll remind you that every world leader needs a first lady.”
She rolls her eyes as she slams the door shut. Her commute home isn’t too long but she finds herself cruising more than usual, her mind running through all that has happened and sorting each moment into neat little categories. She hardly remembers what the morning even looked like, let alone what she talked to her colleagues about.
It’s not until she starts trying to parse the enigma of Roy Mustang that she realizes she doesn’t know what to think of him. She doesn’t have enough pieces to put together a picture and she cannot make sense of what he’s done to her. She understands - of course - that she’s attracted to him, she’d be stupid to not to admit it; but he’s warm and interesting and cares about making their country a better place.
She recalls what Maes Hughes had told her when he suggested asking Mustang for help:
He’s a prick but in the most endearing way possible. In fact, now that I think about it you two will probably get on like a house on fire. He’s going to love you.
The memory has her blushing for some reason and she doesn’t particularly care for the feeling. Roy Mustang has goals and ambitions and she has hers; they’ll be allies while they can and then surely they’ll go their separate ways. Though she can’t fight the nagging feeling deep in her gut that there’s something else going on between them.
Maybe she’s let too many opinions cultivate her own, she can’t help but remind herself what all the office ladies say about him. He’s a player, a flirt, a man who’s always got another girl on his arm, that’s not the type of man to make oneself silly over. Even if he has pretty eyes and a smile that hints at something deeper going on beneath the surface.
She parks her car and briefly wonders how she got home before hobbling into her apartment building. It’s ridiculous… and he’s just a man, a man of the military no less. There’s no future for them, she’s decided in the brief time it took to unpack her things and shimmy out of the dress Rebecca bought her.
Whatever it is Mustang is after it has nothing to do with her, even if she helps him in the small ways she’s able. Still, what Hughes said continues to play over and over again in her mind.
He’ll love you.
Every world leader needs a first lady.
No, there’s just no way that she will be anything more than allies with Roy Mustang. Even if he proves himself to be as good an ally as Hughes implied, she will not lean into the temptation of furthering their relationship.
Besides, she doesn’t want to be a first lady - she wants to be the one calling the shots.