Roy’s past slid through his fingers into a box: a folded “portrait” of him, product of Elysia’s first finger paints; a box with his captain’s insignia—so that’s where it had gone; two letter openers, one of them an old knife of Hughes’.

“I can’t believe they actually cashiered you,” Havoc muttered, leaning against Hawkeye’s desk. She shoved him out of the way to get at the last of her drawers, tucking a handful of letters into her own box.

“Oh, I’m not cashiered,” Roy said, lightly, feeling around the back of his flat drawer. Something had been rattling back there, he was sure of it. “I’m honorably discharged to enjoy a well-deserved retirement in light of both my service and my injuries. The letter said so in black and white.” Havoc’s long mouth twisted around his cigarette, and none of the rest of Roy’s officers looked any happier.

Roy’s erstwhile officers, that was.

His fingers hit something hard and square and Roy fished out a rectangular box. It was a folded chess board. Roy brushed the dust off it gently, and for the first time that day his smile softened. “Stop worrying so much,” he told them without looking up as he stowed the chess set carefully where it wouldn’t get scratched. “It’s the price I expected to pay.”

“So… what will you do, now, Sir?” Fury asked, wavering between looking hangdog and a rather unsuccessful attempt at optimism.

Roy wasn’t about to admit that he didn’t know; that kind of thing was bad for his image. Not to mention their morale. “Back to my alchemical studies, perhaps. There’s plenty of reading in the field that I haven’t been able to keep up with, all these years,” he murmured. He folded his box shut and caught the roll of tape Hawkeye tossed him. The noise of shearing off a long strip made a good excuse not to expand on his alleged plans.

“Hmph.” Havoc folded his arms. “Maybe I should go track down Hakuro myself, while he’s still in the mood, and see if he’ll let me resign my commission, like he did Hawkeye. I could use a less dangerous job.”

Roy looked up at that. It would take a finely tuned ear to hear the genuine offer and question buried in Havoc’s careless tone, but he’d listened to Jean Havoc for years. “No. Shoui.” He straightened. “You’re due for promotion, and the army needs good officers.”

Havoc blinked, probably at being called a good officer, and looked aside, resettling his shoulders. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Roy agreed easily. “So there you are.”

Besides, letting Hawkeye go had been an insult to her from Hakuro, and if Roy had to think about that vindictive gleam behind the bluff smile being directed at any more of his subordinates he was going to forget all the fancy daydreams about setting Hakuro’s ribbons on fire and just punch the bastard. He raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye and she nodded, hefting her box. Roy gathered up his own and stepped toward the door.

“Taisa!”

Roy looked back, with a wry smile for how quickly he responded to a rank that was no longer his, even on his retirement papers.

His staff drew themselves up and gave him salutes so sharp he could have shaved with them. After a long moment Roy set down his burden and returned them, just as sharp and clipped. “Carry on, gentlemen,” he said, quietly.

They remained at attention as he left.

“Stop staring at that box.”

Roy raised his head and managed to smile at Hawkeye with an edge of teasing. “Is there something more interesting I should be staring at?”

“Yes,” she told him briskly, and tossed a newspaper sheet over the offending item. “Look at this.”

Roy looked. And then he chuckled as he read down the list of properties for sale. Ever organized, Hawkeye had underlined a handful of them in red. And then numbered them. “Shall we go shopping, then?” he suggested, still slightly bemused by the whole idea of shopping for a house the way he usually went shopping for a good cut of beef.

He should have known it wouldn’t be quite that simple, of course.

“… and we just replaced the plumbing last year, it won’t give you any trouble.”

Hawkeye applied a firm toe to one of the shiny steel pipes. Rust sifted out of the socket where it curved, followed by a trickle of water. She gave the owner a cold look, and he smiled weakly.

“Eheh.”

“…hasn’t been a flood for years, and we cleaned out all the rotted plaster, you can hardly smell it any more except in the summer…”

“The neighbor’s dog is a bit loud,” the owner admitted, as they walked through the yard and a burly, black and tan dog in the next yard flung itself against its leash barking with rage that it couldn’t reach to take off anyone’s leg. “But she always keeps him tied up.”

Hawkeye turned a stern eye on the dog and walked toward the fence.

“Miss, you might not…!”

“Sit!” she ordered.

The dog paused, one paw in the air, considering. Then it sat down and regarded Hawkeye with ears forward.

“Good dog.”

The owner’s mouth opened and closed silently, and Roy smirked.

Roy stared. “Chuu… Hawkeye,” he murmured. “Is this room, in fact, lime green?”

“I’m afraid so,” she returned just as softly.

“Ah. Good. At least it isn’t some fresh complication with my vision.”

“I don’t think even trauma could produce purple carpet to go with it.”

“Thank God,” he whispered fervently, as the owner shepherded them, cheerily, into the next room.

Roy was both thoroughly distracted, and also starting to have second thoughts about whether more space was worth this kind of trouble, when they found it.

He stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, laughing under his breath. The white plaster walls were half covered with bookshelves running from the wood floor to the high ceiling. Another room on the ground floor and two upstairs had still more shelves. And there was an apple tree in the back yard that had made Hawkeye smile and reach up a hand to touch the first pale blossoms.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“There’s certainly room enough,” she observed in an approving tone. “And everything on the list Gracia gave me checks out. The windows are tight and everything stands square.”

“Well, yes, but do you like it?”

Uncertainty flickered over her face, an uneasy fit on her clear eyes and firm mouth. “I think it’s a very nice house,” she said slowly.

Roy found himself momentarily at a loss for how to go on. He’d figured out that Hawkeye didn’t like it when he flirted with her, or even complimented her in passing, so teasing wasn’t going to work. But if he just came out and asked…

No. Not until he found out why she kept brushing him away.

“I just wondered if you might like to choose a room for yourself, instead of resorting to the couch.” He looked out the large front window, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “It only seems fair, since you helped me find this place.” His mouth curled up suddenly. “An even trade.”

Hawkeye seemed to relax, when he put it in those terms, and Roy dared a little further.

“Actually, a really fair trade would be to offer you a half share of the house.” As her eyes widened he added, “Since you shared your house with me all winter.”

“I suppose… the room at the back of the second floor is shaded nicely.” Her smile was a bit crooked. “If you really want to give up the space right after finding it.”

“Company is more interesting than space.”

There was something unusual behind the long look she gave him. Something he would have called wariness, if that weren’t ridiculous. But her chin lifted again and she nodded.

“All right.”

Roy’s attempt to pack up his own library was instantly vetoed by Hawkeye on the grounds that that was heavy lifting and he wasn’t medically cleared for that, yet. After a few overhead reaches started his shoulder twinging again, he gave in and agreed, but that left him without anything to do while movers boxed up his life around him.

Nothing but try to figure out what he was going to do with his life, now. Watching all the layers be stripped away didn’t help. He kept finding things that reminded him of why he had chosen a military career.

Of why he had stayed.

A copy of his letter of application to officer’s training, pressed in the first pages of Ruland, earnestly explaining that he wanted to put his alchemical abilities at the army’s disposal in the field. His commission, carefully framed, now dusty from having been stuffed into the bottom of a bookshelf for years. A squared off chunk of pale eastern sandstone with glassy streaks through it where his own fire had melted the silicon. A folded, fading piece of notepaper, tucked loosely into his sole cookbook, listing all the living generals from eight years ago and marking how much time it had taken each to reach his rank. A yellow newspaper clipping, slipped between two of his old coded notebooks, attributing the stability of the annexed Northern territory to the State Alchemist who served under the military governor.

Some things were older. His copy of Hollandus, and Vaughn’s works, both of which he had inherited from his first teacher in alchemy. His aunt’s round, black teapot that she had given him when he moved to Central City, the one whose reflections had fascinated him as a child. Even among those, though, he kept finding echoes of his choice.

When Hawkeye walked in to find him turning his father’s Iron Cross over and over in his fingers she called up Hughes. Roy made a personal note that Hawkeye had no reservations about fighting dirty.

“Funny how it all takes up more room in boxes, isn’t it?” Hughes commented as he picked his way through the piles of cardboard. He eyed the dust smears all over the couch and took a seat on one of the boxes instead. “Here.” He plunked a bag down beside him and pulled out two bottles of beer, tossing one over.

Roy smiled to see that it was their compromise brand, the one that was light enough to make him happy and full enough to satisfy Hughes.

Hughes held up his bottle. “Here’s to you, ex-Junsho.”

Roy clinked his bottle against it. “And to you, ex-Junsho.”

They drank and Hughes sighed. “I really thought he wasn’t going to be able to get you, too.” Then he snorted and his voice trailed off into a now-familiar mutter. “… dereliction of duty. I return from the dead, and all he can say is ‘dereliction of duty’!”

Roy shrugged. “As far as he knows I murdered our commander for personal ambition. Even if he can’t quite prove it.”

Hughes gave him a sharp look. “He wouldn’t have pushed it the way he did unless it was personal.”

“Of course not.” Roy examined his bottle thoughtfully. “But it’s why he actually got me discharged. If it was just personal he’d have demoted me and kept me around to gloat at.” If nothing else, the forced introspection of sorting through his things had reminded him that Hakuro actually was a good solider, albeit an idiot in a lot of other ways.

“Mmm.” Hughes took a long swallow. “Think you’d have preferred that?”

“It’s something that happens when you play the promotion game,” Roy said, at length.

“Something that happens to a soldier?” Hughes translated, quietly. He leaned an elbow back on the boxes behind him and stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. “And now we’re not.”

Roy’s mouth tightened and he made himself nod. Now he wasn’t.

So what was he?

Hughes narrowed his eyes. “As an alchemist you still have influence,” he pointed out. “You can still protect this country.” Then he frowned. “Are you still a State Alchemist?”

Roy blinked. “Technically, I suppose I am,” he said, slowly. “At least… Hakuro never asked for the watch back, and I didn’t think of it.” He frowned in turn. “That won’t do. There’s no real leverage without a commission, too.”

Hughes threw his head back and laughed. “Drink up, Roy, you’ll be fine.” A gleam lit his eye. “Though, if you’re giving it back… “

Roy recognized that look, and couldn’t help the smirk that spread over his face. “Slingshot?” he suggested.

“Not nearly fancy enough,” Hughes protested. “We have reputations to uphold, here, Mustang.” He pulled out more bottles. “Now, let’s think about this.”

“You melted the watch.” It was a statement, not a question. “On Hakuro’s desk.”

“Er. We were drunk?” Hughes offered, with a winning smile.

Hawkeye gave them a cool, unimpressed look. “And you got in without an appointment how?”

“We told them the truth.” Roy settled back on his box-chair smugly and crossed his legs. “That I was going to return the watch. They let us right through.”

“And now Hakuro has a silver paperweight shaped like a hand? Your hand? Snapping?”

“A very fine piece of work, if I say so myself.” Roy and Hughes grinned at each other.

Hawkeye was silent for a long moment before she nodded sharply. “Excuse me. I have to go pack the rest of my things.”

Roy blinked after her as she strode out and then frowned at Hughes. “She won’t move in because I ask her to, but she will because she’s annoyed at me?”

“Women,” Hughes said wisely. “Have another beer.”

TBC

The Iron Cross is a German military medal.

Roy looked up, as Lisa scuffed through the kitchen door, and backed into the corner by the sink with an amused smile.

He’d been rather startled, at first, to find that Hawkeye was not, of her own accord, a morning person. She had the talent of waking up quickly when she needed to, but left to her own devices she was never up before sunrise and joined the world of the living gradually. Her eyes were open by the time she got downstairs, but both her four-legged housemate and her new two-legged one knew to stay out of her way while she more or less sleepwalked through her morning routine. Roy felt a certain scientific curiosity, watching her, about what would happen if he moved, say, her tea-strainer from its usual home one morning.

Today it looked like he might find out. She stopped in front of the empty fruit basket and stood for several breaths blinking at it sleepily.

“We’re out,” Roy pointed out, helpfully.

“Oh.” It took another moment, but apparently her response to missing items was to skip that step. She collected her tea and toast and settled at the table. Roy gave her a fond look behind her back and slid the second half of the eggs onto one of her plates before he went back to putting away his own dishes.

Segregated dishes weren’t exactly the kind of thing he’d had in mind, when he first mentioned sharing the house with her. Nor had he quite known what to make of the fact the she’d stenciled her name in neat, white paint on the underside of all her furniture—the kitchen table, for example. But he had to admit, it saved argument over whose turn it was to wash up. And, recalling a few of Hughes’ and Gracia’s early spats over the definition of a clean dish, perhaps it was just as well.

Not, he thought, a bit disgruntled, that his relationship with Lisa merited any kind of comparison to Hughes and Gracia.

She stretched and leaned back in her chair. “So, fruit. We also need more eggs and milk. The honey is close to out. We’ll need more rolls by tomorrow. More meat, too; maybe chicken this time. I was going out today, anyway, I’ll pick things up.”

Roy checked the level of her teapot. All that before her second cup and without checking the pantry; he was impressed. She’d make any quartermaster green with envy. The thought still twinged a little, and he turned away from it. “It’s a beautiful day out,” he observed, instead. “We might as well both go; we could take Black Hayate along.”

Black Hayate emerged from under the table to perk his ears at them, hopefully, and Lisa smiled. “All right.”

Ha. Maybe he really was figuring her out. Casual was the ticket. Roy was whistling as he went to fetch his shoes and cane.

Watching her emerge onto the front step and turn her face up to the sun and draw a deep breath, Roy took a moment for purely aesthetic appreciation. The light jacket and skirt suited her well. He grinned, wondering what would happen if he suggested that a shorter skirt would suit her even better, and whether it would involve him having to duck. But as they walked, and he listened to her cheerful greetings to neighbors and shopkeepers, his thoughts turned more serious.

Lisa had been a sweet, cheerful girl, when he’d met her. But she’d been seventeen at the time. He hadn’t been surprised that she’d become more solemn, when she showed up as his new Second Lieutenant two and a half years later. People changed as they grew up. And Hawkeye had still been kind, as well as formidably capable. It was the capability that showed first, by then, and the new seriousness suited it. He’d thought it was natural to her, and thought nothing more of it.

Now…

“Peaches!” She leaned over a bin to inhale lovingly. “They’ll be perfect in a few days. Let’s get some!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at him with a laughing smile. Roy could feel his expression softening in return, but his chest twisted.

She was beautiful. Bright and beautiful and… free. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t quite evade that word when he saw her like this.

They were on their way back to the house before he made up his mind to speak.

“Hawkeye,” he started, quietly, drawing her attention back from Black Hayate’s frisking around, “why did you enter the military?”

Abruptly all that brightness looked more like sun shining on steel. “Because what you wanted to do was right,” she pronounced, looking straight ahead. “And you needed someone to pay attention and watch your back.”

“You weren’t happy there at all, though, were you?” he asked, still more quietly. Not that he had noticed until the present contrast hit him over the head with it, and maybe she had a point when she brushed off his small attempts at courtship.

For a few moments he didn’t think she would answer, but eventually she stopped rearranging the bunches of lilacs in the top of her bag and looked over at him. “No. I wasn’t. But all of us did things we weren’t happy doing, to get where we wanted to go.”

Roy had to swallow before he could reply. “We did.” He hesitated a moment. “Lisa. Thank you.”

Her eyes warmed, and this smile almost made him trip over his own feet.

Maybe he owed Hughes an apology for all the ragging he’d given the man over mooning around, when he first started seeing Gracia.

It didn’t take long, after Hawkeye left for her appointment, for Roy to return to brooding. Edward Elric might be the most obvious of the lives lost to Roy’s plans and ambitions, but clearly it wasn’t the only one. And after all that, all he had done was to remove a single betrayer. The keystone, perhaps, but in the doing he’d lost the chance to do more. It wasn’t enough to balance the losses. His dark thoughts were only interrupted by Hughes’ arrival on his doorstep.

“Well, looks like the two of you have settled in all cozily,” Hughes commented, sprawling down on the couch.

Roy glared at him. On second thought, apologies were out of the question. Maas had earned every bit of grief Roy had ever given him, at one time or another. “If you don’t have anything useful to say…”

Hughes waved a hand. “Patience, patience. Actually I have a job prospect for you.”

Roy’s brows rose. So far, he had been completely unable to come up with any job he was well qualified for, outside of the military, besides maybe factory work. He’d sooner hire on with a road crew, except that he still needed the damn cane to compensate for his lost depth perception.

Hughes smiled, and propped his elbows over the back of the couch. “How’d you like to work for the government, Roy?”

Well, that was a possibility he hadn’t really considered. Roy sat back and made go-on motions.

“You know there’s still no Minister of Defense?” Hughes’ voice was casual; his eyes were anything but.

Roy’s mouth tightened. There had, in fact, been an article in the paper just this morning about Parliament’s increasing pressure on the Chancellor to select a Minister to oversee the military. He nodded silently.

“Did you know the Chancellor is going to be present for Professor Gauss’ lecture at the Central University tomorrow night?”

“And the point of this information?” Roy asked, a bit cautiously. “Hughes, you know what Gauss thinks of the State Alchemists. He’d throw me out on my ear if I attended, and what good would that do anyone?”

“He’d certainly speak to you, it’s true,” Hughes allowed beaming. “Quite vehemently, I imagine. Very difficult to ignore, that.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at his friend, mind ticking over. “Are you suggesting that I come out in support of separating the state funded alchemists from the military?” he asked, softly. It was the only thing he could think of that would make the right kind of stir at a gathering like Gauss’ lecture.

“The Chancellor seems to approve of the idea,” Hughes observed. His own gaze sharpened. “Do you still want to make sure that what you wanted to do gets done?”

Roy took a fast breath. Could he? Could he really make all the sacrifices mean something more? Carry the trust of the lives lost, one way and another, a little further? “Yes,” he said, fiercely.

Hughes’ answering smile was just as fierce. “There’s our Roy Mustang.” He pulled a folder from under his jacket and tossed it into Roy’s lap. “Here’s your hook, then. Everything I could find on Chancellor Ebert. It isn’t as much as it would have been a year ago,” he added with a sour face, “but there are still people who tell me things if I ask nicely. Up to you to reel him in.”

Roy laughed out loud. “I will.”

TBC

Roy was glad it took Parliament a handful of days to clear their schedules enough to call him in. It took that long to hammer out a story about the past year that would match all checkable facts and not land any of them in prison for murder or in front of a firing squad for treason.

“Okay, so you hustled my body out of town because you suspected I had been attacked by Gran’s remaining faction to stop me telling about some of his Alchemists’ work.” Hughes scribbled a few more dates on the sheets of scratch paper scattered over the living room floor. “That should work. And Gran’s dead so he can’t object. Even better.”

“I was right,” Hawkeye put in from the couch, flipping through a binder that had somehow wandered out of Personnel without being checked out. “None of the guards who heard me tell Bradley you were staging an insurrection survived. And Havoc says that the memories of the surviving soldiers from that northern deployment are very fuzzy about just why there was a need to plan an attack on Central. The idea that it was to rescue Bradley, not depose him, seems to make all of them very relieved.”

“That’s direct testimony taken care of, then.” Roy stretched and yawned. “Thank you for handling that.” He paused as a thought struck him. “I don’t suppose you’d like a job with the ministry, too?” He slid a casual mask over a certain amount of hopefulness.

Hawkeye sniffed. “It was bad enough, dealing with bureaucratic idiots as an officer,” she noted. “I’m not going to deal with them as a secretary.”

Roy sighed, but couldn’t help a small smirk as he admitted, “I do have a bit of difficulty picturing you as a typical secretary.”

“Ministerial aide?” Hughes suggested with a grin.

“That’s just a secretary with a better salary,” Lisa objected. “Money doesn’t help with the idiots.”

Roy listened to them, amused. Lisa had always had an edge of exasperation to her when she’d had to deal with Hughes, but it actually seemed to be softening into something like teasing now that she’d left military formality behind.

“So aim higher,” Hughes declaimed. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t expect a good job out of this. I do.”

Roy smirked at him. “It’ll be nice to see someone else get accused of promotion through favoritism for a change.”

Lisa shook her head at both of them and reached for the next binder.

It was not an entirely new experience to hear his merits and flaws debated over his head in his presence. It seemed to be a favorite tactic of generals when they called field officers up on the carpet. But it had a different flavor when politicians were doing it.

“… valiantly risked his life and career to safeguard his country’s leader, I’d say that’s a good sign!”

It was harder to keep a straight face, for one thing.

“One, haven’t we just finished saying that it’s a damn good thing Bradley’s gone?” inquired one of the more skeptical Members, Rosa Luxemburg if Roy recalled correctly. “And two, if it was all about valor and so on, why did he lose his career?” The compression of her lips as she sniffed reminded Roy irresistibly of his Aunt Helena, as did the sharp gaze she bent on the other end of the gallery. “Since we have Hakuro-taisho here, perhaps we should ask him, hm?”

Roy approved. Hakuro had been practically vibrating in his seat for the past ten minutes; it wouldn’t do for him to actually explode. Roy might need him later.

Hakuro surged to his feet at the President’s invitation. “You do well to ask, Madam! Mustang was discharged because he was suspected of causing King Bradley’s death!”

Startled silence rippled over the Chamber. Perfect. Roy sighed into that silence and lifted a brow at Hakuro as the Parliament turned to look at him.

“Taisho, I realize that we have often been opponents due to our efforts to further our individual careers. But surely you can see that it’s no longer necessary. Our careers will run in different paths, now.” He let his mouth tighten a bit, and watched the room full of politicians take in the implication that Hakuro was attempting to slander his late competition.

Hakuro, on the other hand, seemed to completely miss it, just as expected. “That’s beside the point,” he snapped.

Roy sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “The point, Taisho, is that you didn’t have any proof when you came up with a way to be rid of me, and you don’t have any now. You accomplished what you thought appropriate; I’m a civilian. Be satisfied.”

Anger and triumph mixed in Hakuro’s face in answer to this straight line. “Yes, a civilian,” he growled. “Just what suits your backstabbing cowardice.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Taisho,” he rapped out coldly, cutting across the several sharp inhalations through the Chamber and crossing his fingers in hopes that Hakuro wouldn’t notice them, “you forget who you address.”

Hakuro reared back. “What?!”

“Or do you disdain to take orders a civilian?” Roy asked, softly, laying the last piece of bait down with care.

“Who wouldn’t?” Hakuro shot back.

The rustle of disturbance in the Chamber became something close to a roar, and Roy sat back, watching it jerk Hakuro back to awareness of where they were and who was listening. He suppressed a grimace. It had almost been easy enough to make him feel guilty, watching Hakuro’s sudden confusion.

Almost.

Finally, Roy raised his voice. “Enough!” He looked only at Hakuro, as if he still addressed the General, but the Parliament quieted, too. “We will discuss this later, Taisho,” he said, firmly. “If it is Parliament’s pleasure.”

Hakuro sank back into his chair, unable to do anything else at that point. Luxemburg spoke into the silence that followed.

“All right, Friedrich.” She turned an imperious look on the Chancellor. “I see your point. I withdraw my objections.”

Roy met her hard green eyes, as murmurs of agreement spread among the other Members. There was no trust there, and his mouth quirked.

“Thank you for your understanding, Madam.” He said nothing about her support, which is was clear to him he didn’t have.

An unwilling answering amusement tugged at her lips. “Quite.”

“… the Chancellery Guards are your guards, too, now. Here’s your office.” Ebert pushed open a thick, dark wood door to show a large, handsome office and a large, handsome desk stacked with a large pile of folders. “Those are the profiles of available, qualified people in other Ministries that you can draw on to build your staff. I think that’s everything.” He clapped Roy on the shoulder. “Go to it. Good luck.”

Another mountain of personnel folders. Lovely. “Ah, Chancellor,” Roy lifted a hand, and Ebert looked over his shoulder on his way out the door. “Can I draw on other sources for staff?”

Ebert grinned. “Have some soldiers in mind? Sure, just pass them with Karr, over in Intelligence.” He waved. “We’ll see you Friday for the weekly Cabinet meeting.”

Roy leaned against his desk and surveyed his new domain for a long moment. A staff would be nice, but first things first. He dug out the phone and called the front desk. Ten minutes later Hakuro was shown in.

Roy rested his shoulders against the cool glass of a window and crossed his arms, considering the man in front of him. Hakuro stood stiffly, jaw set.

“You’re a good soldier, Taisho,” Roy said, at last, and watched Hakuro blink. “You’re a good soldier,” he repeated, “but you’re not suited to politics. The two don’t generally go well together. So what I need to know is whether you can do your job and leave the politics to me.” He turned to face the window. “If you can, I’ll leave you in charge of the army. If you can’t I’ll call Werther-chuujo back from East City to replace you.”

And if Hakuro tried to keep playing the game by lying to him about his intentions, now, Roy would have to remove him completely, and that would be a loss of experience the army couldn’t well afford at the moment.

“What job are you going to do?” Hakuro asked after a moment.

Roy smiled. A question instead of a reply was a good sign; a quick answer would almost certainly have been a lie. “I’m going to do my best to pull us all out of the hole Bradley dumped us in,” he replied, candidly, and tapped a finger against the glass. “It will involve some very difficult maneuvers from the Army, and I need someone in charge who can hold them together anyway.” He turned to look Hakuro in the eye. “Hold them together and obey my orders.”

Hakuro’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. Roy picked out pleasure that someone thought Hakuro was capable of this; fury, probably at the idea of taking orders from Roy; and shock, probably at the coldness of Roy’s tone. Come to think of it, Hakuro had never heard Roy giving direct orders, had he?

Well, he’d better get used to it, now.

Finally Hakuro drew himself up to something that wasn’t quite attention. “Very well,” he said, tightly. “Sir.”

Ambition won again. One problem down, fifteen thousand and forty three to go. “Good. I’ll be in touch, Taisho.” Roy nodded a dismissal. Hakuro was barely out the door before he’d pulled the phone out of the paper mountain again.

“Hughes? It all worked out. Get over to Karr and convince him to clear you. We’ll figure out what your job title is later…”

TBC