Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief (and far too many poorly-acted pornos), being a firefighter wasn’t actually that sexy. Sure, the nature of the job meant that on average everyone was a little fitter than the population, but that didn’t mean everyone had an eight-pack and looked like they belonged on the cover of Swimsuit Illustrated.
Riza knew she certainly didn’t feel sexy after finally pulling off her BA mask, leaning her head back to expose as much of her head and neck as she could to the cool night air, hands automatically continuing with the shutdown procedure. Cylinder off, comms off, loosen spider straps. A car fire – the fourth this week, and it was only Wednesday. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be an issue, but –
“Glendale 221, this is FireCom, go ahead.”
“FireCom, this is SSO Hughes, we have a K41-1, requesting K11-1 as soon as possible.”
“Glendale 221, message received.”
She watched Hughes climb back out of the appliance, unused to the sombre expression on her colleague’s face.
The discovery of the body locked in the trunk of the car had not been how she wanted to spend the last hours of her shift.
“How’s Fullmetal?” Hughes asks.
She points to the man in question, going through the same motions are her, albeit slower. In some ways the discovery had been a blessing – Edward was fully focused on getting the rims of the car properly extinguished and hadn’t had the time to look at the scene inside. Now, she could recognise the slightly tense way he stood, the ashen colour in his complexion despite the exertion of the job. Tonight, she’d let him be, keep his thoughts to himself. Tomorrow they’d all be subject to a stand-down period and she would check in with him then. The first fatality was always the hardest, and this particular scenario went beyond what any of them could have expected: fatalities from car crashes and heart attacks were par for the course.
Not something as brutal as this.
“Is this his first?”
“As far as I’m aware, yes,” Riza answers. “I’ll sit him down tomorrow.”
Her superior sighs. “What a shitfest.”
Her gaze slips back to Edward, illuminated by the torches flickering around as Jean and Vato look around, trying to scour for any identifiable evidence to hand over to the police. If it’s a gang hit, they’ll be lucky to even get a positive ID on the body. Not that it even matters for them. Riza has lost count of the bodies that she has attended, in various states of life. Fatalities fit into a box she tucks away for later consideration.
Edward will be jumping to the worst conclusion possible: that there was a chance for them to save this person, that they – as in he – didn’t act fast enough. He’ll be focusing on how shaky his hands were as he tightened the straps on his mask, how he fumbled with his gloves for a second longer than training dictated he should. Every second will be agonised over, a litany of what-if what-if what-if. Her first fatality was a man in his 80’s who was well known to the hospital and practically textbook.
It is unbelievably cruel that this is Elric’s baptism.
“A shitfest,” Riza agrees.
The announcement of Rebecca’s pregnancy shatters the moody haze that had settled on the red shift a few weeks later. Her friend is grinning from ear to ear, talking animatedly to Edward who had all but jumped up to congratulate her.
“This suddenly explains ‘Becca’s new diet announcement.” Riza comments to her lunch neighbour. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming.”
Jean laughs, dipping his head in acknowledgment. “It’s a relief that it’s out now. But she didn’t wanna switch to desk unless it was actually posing a problem. And you know how everyone gets around here – she’d be barely allowed to lift a finger, let alone a hose.”
She swallows the small sting of hurt that Rebecca decided to play her cards close to her chest, but the apology buried in Jean’s response is enough to mollify her. She didn’t want to worry you. “Ah – of course. How many months?”
“Almost four now.”
Riza whistles lowly. “What a trooper.”
“She’s done amazing,” Jean agrees, and it’s not hard to hear the affection bleeding through in his tone. Their courtship had been an amusing one to watch unfold through the years – Riza could still fondly recall the nights spent listening to her best friend complain about Jean this and Jean that, over cheap wine and pizza.
“I’m guessing Maes was in on it as well?”
Jean winks in a very conspiratorial fashion, tapping the side of his nose. “Absolutely not, because if he was told, ‘Becca would’ve been on desk duty three months ago. But it’s very convenient that he’s organised a transfer for the station just as she’s transitioning to desk.”
“Funny how these things just fall into place, isn’t it?” Riza muses lightly, watching her friend gesticulate an exaggerated vomiting impression to Edward, who is beginning to look somewhat concerned for his colleague. “Do we have any idea who’s coming in to cover for her yet?”
“Some buddy of Maes’, last I heard,” Jean answers. “I imagine they’ll pop up now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
While Jean’s intel was technically correct – Roy Mustang was indeed an old friend of Maes Hughes – it didn’t really go as far to explain just who had joined their station.
Over the years, Riza had worked with a variety of different people. Stuck-up superiors, obsessed with ‘the good old days’ – better translated as ‘the days when you womenfolk weren’t around’; the career chasers who didn’t care so much about getting the job done insomuch as being the star of the job; those who seemed like they’d just picked the wrong career path entirely.
Roy was of the same ilk as Maes – perhaps an unsurprising revelation in hindsight – but nonetheless a welcome addition to their team at Grendale Station. He was an effective officer, had good tactics for the more complex situations they attended, and an almost comical rapport with the public to wherever they turned out. It wasn’t a foreign concept – people were nosy by nature and sometimes they had useful information to add to the report… but sometimes it felt like the public’s attention went a bit beyond just the excitement of the situation unfolding before them and more centred on him.
It was over pepperoni pizza from Giovanni’s and chocolate milk in wine glasses with Rebecca that Riza tells her best friend of these observations.
“I guess it’s not that different to when we have to deal with the public you know,” Rebecca reminds her gently. “His accent… it’s a novelty around these country parts. Plus, he’s younger than most. I bet he’s in those charity calendars with the puppies.”
For some reason it’s not the answer Riza wants to hear. “I mean, I guess so,” she answers, swiping another slice of pizza. “I don’t know, it’s just – I don’t know why it’s frustrating me and logically it shouldn’t but-”
“Riza.”
She looks at her best friend, eight months pregnant and somehow making it look effortless rather than cumbersome. Rebecca has a strange smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Riza is suddenly aware of just how intently her best friend is examining her.
“You know what I think, Riza?” Rebecca asks, nursing her wine-turned-chocolate milk glass.
“I don’t, but you’re going to tell me before I have a chance to guess.”
“And you would be exactly right, love.” She chews her lip, clearly mulling over her words. “Honestly… I think you’re confused.”
“I’m not following.”
Rebecca cocks her head to the side, the strange smile still trying to break through. “It just – this reminds me of before, you know, with me and Jean? God knows how long you let me wallow around about that.”
“What does you and Jean have to do with how Roy talks with the public?”
Her best friend snorts inelegantly. “No, I mean, you’re jealous that that attention isn’t on you.”
“I think we all get our fair share of dealing with the public to be honest-”
She slaps a hand to her face. “Oh my god, Riza – no, I mean you’re jealous of him not paying attention to you!”
There’s a beat between her ears hearing her friend, and her brain understanding what was said.
“I mean – look at us! It’s been four months of you saying ‘Roy did this today and then he said that and then we did this’ at every meetup we’ve had and – oh, I bet you he’s just as terrible as you are, I bet you he’s doing the exact same thing to Maes that you are to me.” There’s a smug, self-satisfied smirk on Rebecca’s face now. “Riza’s got a cruuush.”
Riza’s laugh is more shaky than convincing. “Hilarious conspiracy theory ‘Becca.”
“I’m one hundred percent serious, Ri. Why else talk about him this much? When Heymans came onto the team – or Kain, or Vato – there was nowhere near this level of attention. So why is he different? What’s so fucking interesting about Roy fucking Mustang, hm?”
Well, shit.
Having a crush, in Riza Hawkeye’s opinion, sucks arse. Ignorance truly is bliss – now, she finds herself weirdly hyperaware around him, scrutinising what she says in their downtime. Some days are better than others, mainly for the amount of calls they get. It’s a lot easier to ignore the strange feeling in her chest when she’s too busy focusing on her job, than when she’s merely filling in paperwork in the communal office. Ordinarily even paperwork would be easy to lose herself in; half the time it’s just ticking boxes and writing a quick summary to complement the call log that’s already generated. But for whatever reason, Senior Station Officer Roy Mustang and paperwork just do not work, and so Riza finds herself tricked into a conversation before she can realise that that was his intention all along.
It does not help that he’s funny, possessing the same kind of dry wit that she is partial to. It does not help that he’s ridiculously good to look at. And it really does not help that he just seems to be ticking every single box on this invisible list of what she thinks would make an ideal partner.
The cherry on top of this bad situation is that she’s now also hyperaware of him. It’s not weird, she reasons, if she is paying attention to his interests because that’s what co-workers should do – bond, build rapport with one another. In their line of work, trust is paramount. It would not be a gross exaggeration to say that Riza would lay down her life for any of her crewmates. So, it’s only natural that she should build up that relationship with him too – right?
Riza learns that Roy once trained for a marathon, and then swore to never do it again. He’s allergic to shellfish. He has an absurd number of sisters and his go-to drink is a specific whiskey vintage from a distillery up north. He promises to bring in a bottle for them when their schedules align up for what he calls ‘a proper piss-up on the rocks’.
Riza also learns that Roy Mustang is currently single. Maybe that wasn’t something that was strictly necessary to know for their working relationship, but she tucks it away with the rest of the information she has collected in the months since his transfer here.