Captain Riza Hawkeye's fingers glide over the smooth envelope situated in the center of General Roy Mustang's colossal oak desk. She's been shuffling from his office to wherever his next meeting would be all morning, so she isn't sure who'd delivered the thing. She asks Jean Havoc when she bumps into him in the late afternoon, but he only gives her more to consider. He's been in the General's office almost all day, he says, mulling over mundane documents about construction site errors and burst sewage pipes, but no one has approached him with anything for the General. She questions Kain Fuery about it next but he just shakes his head at her. "I wasn't even in this building until an hour ago, sir." Heymans Breda and Vato Falman were Riza's last resorts, but they had been running drills at the firing range from the time they got to work to the time she finds them loitering in the halls just before the evening bell rings.

Riza's leg is bounding in place as her body attempts to pump the uneasiness out of her. She's been pondering the mystery of the letter for hours, since she first laid eyes on it, and now, seated outside the room where the General's final meeting is adjourning, she can't contain the hurried beat of her heart. Her fingers crimp under the edge of the bench and she leans forward like somehow her anticipation for the General will expedite the session. She tries to tell herself it's only a letter, but the "General Roy Mustang" sloppily splayed over the paper tells her it didn't come from someone of profession, and the General is a controversial man who's not unaccustomed to threatening messages. Riza wipes a hand over her brow and silently prays it's anything but.

When at last the solid doors open and a mess of the country's most important people drag their feet over the threshold into the hall, Riza springs forward and catches the cuff of the General's sleeve between her fingers. He looks old, she thinks, and his disheveled hair is framing tired eyes, but he stops moving for her anyway. "I'm concerned about something I found on your desk, sir." She keeps the sentence vague so she won't attract attention from anyone nearby, and the General raises an eyebrow at her. Riza waits as he waves off the Führer and another General with his hand and a few words before she lifts herself up on her toes, cups her hands, and whispers into his ear, "There's a letter in your office and not one person knows how it got there." He pulls back to look at her, questioning her urgency, but her eyes bear into him with enough potency to convince him of the seriousness of what she's told him.

The General keeps a casual pace to his office, his heels hitting the floor in a slow rhythm. Riza feels his apprehension, though, as it grows to match hers. Her trepidation had festered in her gut for so long that there were a handful of moments in the day where she contemplated ripping the letter open herself. She's only a breath behind the General as he rounds the doorway to his office and steps inside, his pace suddenly hastening. His hand finds the smooth paper as Riza's had, and he traces the careless curves of his name before lifting the letter up and folding his thumb under the lip. One swift rip and he has a small, square-shaped piece of paper between his fingers. He eyes it critically, turning it over in the light before reading it to himself, and then aloud.

There's a shiver in his voice that grows into an affronted growl as he works his way through the words. "'General Roy Mustang,'" he begins, glancing up to look at Riza. She takes his cue and shuts the heavy doors to his office. He waits for the echo to disperse in the hall before he continues. "'We are becoming increasingly impatient with your sad attempt to revive a dead Ishval. We will be forced to take action, to punish you, if you continue to press this reconstruction project any further.'" He pauses to inhale. Riza waits as patiently as she can manage for him to keep going. "'Your Captain, Riza Hawkeye,'" he exhales, braces a hand on his desk. Riza tenses involuntarily at the hiss of her name between his teeth. "'It would be a shame if something were to happen to her.'"

Riza's quick to do damage control. She folds her arms behind her back and veils her face with composure. "This is a relief, sir. It's nothing we haven't dealt with before," she starts, her mind flickering to the last time she turned a hostage situation on its head. "I'm not in enemy hands, not even close, sir."

The General isn't convinced. He crumples the paper in his hand, his knuckles turning white from his grip. "A 'relief'?" He scoffs and lowers himself into his lofty General's chair. He unfurls his fingers enough to pick his phone up off its receiver and breathe, "Führer Grumman, please," into the line. Riza listens in a politely quiet way as the contents of the letter are repeated to the Führer.

It suddenly becomes overwhelmingly apparent to her that the General is exhausted. As her mind drifts from the conversation being had, her eyes focus on the lines in his face. He spends so much of his time commuting between Central and his post in the east, where he's needed a few days weekly to oversee negotiations with Ishvalan representatives. His promotion to General had not put a dent in his travel time, or hers for that matter. She frequented the east just as he did. They both spent nights together often, he asleep on his desk and she on a couch or chair. She tries to make things easier for him by divvying his leftover paperwork to Havoc and saddling maintenance duties in the Central office on Fuery, Falman, and Breda. It works most of the time, but work in the east itself is enough to keep the General sleep-deprived.

Riza's swaying in place as she's recognizing her own exhaustion when she hears, "Thank you, Führer. "Briggs it is. I'll have her on the next train out."

"I'm not going to Briggs," she deadpans before the General's even placed the phone down. His fatigued eyes find hers and she almost wavers before solidifying. "I'm no use to you in Briggs, sir, and my job is to be of use to you."

"You're no use to me dead," he says. His voice falters on the last word. He sighs and presses his back flush against his seat as his fingers comb through his hair. "I'm not taking chances, Captain."

"You're taking chances with yourself, sir, by sending your bodyguard off to a frozen wall."

"All day," he starts, his voice composed. "I sat in meetings all day and talked about Ishval with people who don't truly want to hear about it. I said so many things, and heard so many things, but the one comment that stood out to me came from General Lemming. He told me a little disinterestedly that he's been hearing 'disturbing' talk in the bars he frequents in the east, near the Ishval border. I asked him what he meant but he only told me to be careful. 'We may be indifferent to your work but there are some people out there who truly hate you for it.'" His gaze had moved past her as he spoke but he refocuses on her eyes before saying, "There's been some strange movement in the east. I'm not taking any chances, Captain."

Riza knows he isn't wrong. It's been one curious construction delay after another. Burst pipes, the breakage of pillars, nothing was going smoothly. To receive such a cryptic letter in the midst of so many unexplainable mishaps was a coincidence that couldn't be ignored, she supposed. Still, her stomach twisted at the thought of leaving her General with a threat looming over his head. She can't win an argument against him over the safety of his subordinates, though, so she reluctantly concedes and says, "When do I leave, sir?"

The General pulls a desk drawer open and shuffles through it before plucking a train schedule from it. "1900. So just a little under two hours. That's when the next train to Briggs leaves the Central station."

Riza visibly winces. The Central train station is a hub that she always tries to avoid. It's dusted in grey wisps of smoke from burning coal, and it's always full of mind-numbing chatter. She never makes it from one end of the station to the other without bruising her shoulder on someone else's or acquiring a headache. Most people consider the place a grand site with its high arches and marbled floors but she just considers it another building in need of renovations. As if the General can read her mind, he says, "It'll be quick, Captain. You'll be in, on the train, and then out."

"And I assume I'll be assigned a few bodyguards," she says, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. Briggs was one thing, but the Central station was another. Her mood turned irrationally sour fast.

"A handful," the General admits. "Escorts, really, not bodyguards. No one thinks you of all people need a bodyguard."

"Different words, same meaning in this context, sir."

She waits for him to tease her about what other meaning there may be for the word, as he normally would, but he's not feeling so carefree. He'd adopted a stern face from reading through the letter and he kept the look even now, as his eyes graze over his Captain. Riza knows the tone of his face is not meant for her but she can't help squirming under the weight of his lips pulled down into a taught frown. His look disappears behind his hand as he rubs his face and it reappears somewhat softened. He pushes his chair back slowly and she keeps her attention on him as he closes the distance between himself and her in a few short strides. His hand finds her shoulder.

"I'm losing my patience with criminals," he says. "If these people have problems with me then they should be coming after me, not my subordinates." Riza doesn't feel the same, but she thinks it better than to argue so she says instead, "They go after us because we're you're weakness, sir, and it's not like you try to hide the fact."

"Please just cooperate," he begs. "I've buried one friend. I will not bury my queen, too." He dips his head to her until his forehead is almost resting in the crick of her neck, on her scar.

Riza's heart aches for him as the words leave his lips. Suddenly he isn't her General, but her Roy, and she's tempted to fold him in her arms. But she's still understandably irked by the situation and so she says, "It's only a threat, General, and you've not given me a chance to decide for myself how it should be handled. It's on my life, sir, not yours or Grumman's."

"I know," he says. "But, Captain, how would you handle this if it were a blatant threat against my life instead?"

She sighs. He has a point, although she wishes he didn't. She heaves her shoulders up gently to get him to break contact, and he does as she wishes. His hand lifts off of her and he straightens in front of her, rubbing his eyes hard. "I would suggest a temporary leave from your usual Central and eastern duties," she admits. "But I don't think I would torture you with Briggs, sir."

"First of all, you don't 'suggest' things, Captain, you demand them," he counters, a playful inflection dancing around in his voice. The sound made Riza feel warm for the first time since discovering the letter. "Second of all, General Armstrong is at Briggs, and she's been haggling for you since the Promised Day. I'm sure she'll be delighted to have you for however long, though you should make it clear to her that you're only visiting. I know I will." His banter melts some of her frustration away and she doesn't fight the small smile that curls her lips. He smiles back at her, his shoulders slumping as he exhales some of his consternation off.

Even as calm as the Captain and her General feel standing alone together in their joint office, they're glued to each other's sides until the time comes for them to part at Riza's favorite, hulking Central train station. Her handful of escorts had somehow truly been a gaggle of secretly armed military bodyguards, and Riza fights off a glare as she shoots her General a goodbye salute from the steps of the train. His salute is less of a snap and more of a lazy wave and as his hand returns slowly to his side, she reaches out and takes it in her own. She shakes it, squeezing her fingers around his palm.

"Keep Isabelle comfortable for me," she says, and his eyes flit to hers. "Liam and Lane need constant attention. Missy is kind of a brat so I always feed her twice to keep her satisfied. Isabelle, too, for that matter, and Sam and Stingray fight so keep them separated. Don't forget that Yusuf needs medicine twice daily, and Oscar and Ulysses need daily baths until their fleas are gone."

He nods at her, understanding cracking a smile across his face. "A week at most," he says. To those around them it sounds as though he's trying to reassure her, but she knows the words are mainly for him. She takes her hand from him unwillingly. There's nothing she wants more than to stay with him, but her rationality tells her that he's right, and this is right, and threats on her life should be taken as seriously as threats on his. He looks small to her as she backs into her aisle and takes a window seat. Her bodyguards file in before and after her and her General shrugs at her apologetically as a big one ushers her away from the window so he can cross her lap and steal her view. Her head falls back on her seat and she resigns herself to her predicament, though if only a little bitterly. She hadn't even gotten to go home and grab a change of clothes before she was guided hectically to the train station of her nightmares. If she could have gone home, she would surely be wearing something more comfortable than the stiff blue uniform she was stuck in now.

"Captain Hawkeye," the big man to her right pokers her arm. She leans forward as he leans backward to give her one last view of her General. The train's horn rings loud in her ears as the trademark Central station smoke hurls out around her General's form. She's jerked ahead with the train's sudden acceleration, but she's able to make out her General's meager wave before he was too far behind for her to see. She reaches across her bodyguard and presses her palm against the glass, where the image of him had just been. "This is your doing," she says to him. "I'll be back soon," she says to herself.

"If I have anything to do with it," the big man next to her thrusts a thumb at his chest. "You'll be back next week, Captain. My name's Tyler Holden, it's a pleasure to meet you. You're kind of a legend." He gives her his hand and she takes it amiably. He's a chiseled man, somewhat reminiscent of General Armstrong, she thinks. His jaw is a sharp square and his deltoids almost touch his ears, but his eyes are a warm brown. Riza awards him the best smile she can muster under the circumstances.

"Nice to meet you."

"General Mustang didn't waste any time moving you out," Holden says. "That's to be expected of such a team player. Us little guys can rest easy knowing the General has our backs, you know. He's a good man."

He is, Riza knows.

"You know what he told me just before I boarded this train?" A man at the front of Riza's row turns around. "He ordered me to come back alive. I'd never met the man until just then, and he was so genuinely concerned for my safety."

Riza flattens her hands on her lap and tips her head back. She listens to the people around her swap stories about the gallant General Roy Mustang. There was at least one person in every seat in the car she and her guards occupied, and each of them had a kind word for her General. Her eyelids fall slowly and her breaths drag steadily as she falls asleep to the rumble of voices. They put his face in her mind and she's able to pretend it's him besides her long enough to drift into an appreciated unconsciousness.

She's not sure how long she got to sleep before she's woken by a thunderous crash and the screech of steel wheels against the train tracks. Her head had somehow migrated from the seat to Holden's shoulder, and as she's jostled forward with the blast he catches her head in his hand before her forehead could topple into the seat in front of her. Lights are flickering above her head and the familiar sound of a gun being cocked wrenches her out of her sleep-induced confusion. Not fully understanding what is going on, she tugs her own gun out of its holster on her hip and checks her clip out of habit.

"Whoa, this is kind of exhilarating," someone behind her mutters. She turns her head enough to catch the face of a young soldier she doesn't recognize. He has icy blue eyes with hair the color of wheat and he's wearing a cocky grin on his face. "I've never seen the hawk's eyes in action." She all but scoffs at his words because he's naïve, she thinks, but also only just a young man. She stands from her seat and hears his low whistle followed by a sharp grunt as an older officer next to him jabs him with his elbow.

"Get your gun out, you idiot," he says. "Or else that kind General will be turning you to ash when we fail to deliver Captain Hawkeye to Briggs unharmed."

"The General wouldn't do that," the young soldier laughs nervously. "Would he?" He begs Riza to answer in his favor, but she only shrugs at him.

Before the practical kid could retort, another jolt of thunder spreads through the car. Riza has to grab at the shoulders of Holden and the young soldier to keep herself on her feet. She tries to pinpoint the source of the shock but it had reverberated throughout the train. It's the scent of burning rubber and harsh smoke that leads her to her to breathe, "Bombs."

"What?" Holden asks.

"There are bombs on or under the train. I know that smell."

A low grumble escapes Holden's throat. "Persistent bastards, aren't they? How did they find us? When did they have time to plant bombs?" He flies to his feet and thrusts a massive arm out in front of Riza, curling his fingers over her arm. "I do apologize, Captain Hawkeye, but it's probably best that you lay low." Riza suppresses a dissatisfied whine. She's growing increasingly frustrated with the men around her who think they know best and so she gently pushes Holden's arm down and out of her way so she can shuffle out of her seat into the aisle.

"We need to stop the train," she says. "It could hit a town, another train, or a person."

"We can't leave this car," Holden says. "Orders from the General himself."

"If you won't go then I will," Riza warns. Her eyes dart across the aisle and down rows of seats over her guards. When no one makes a move to take over for her, she shoves the door to the next compartment of the car open with her gun perched reliably in her hand. She immediately regrets the decision when a hand bolts over the threshold to her face, and rough fingers cloak her jaw. She hears concerned shouts from her companions, shouts telling her to shoot, but she's staring into the nothingness of a black mask and black eyes and they're pulling her in. Haltingly, her feet are scuffing toward the masked person and it takes the squeeze of their fingers against her skin to trigger her to whip her gun up and fire a shot through their wrist. She staggers back as the masked aggressor tosses her out of their grip to grasp at their lesion.

"Captain," Holden bellows. "Drop!"

She does. She drops to her knees as a clip's worth of bullets are laid into the masked person. When the assaulter is lying in a pool of blood Holden bends down to wind an arm around Riza's waist and pick her up, whirling her around so she's behind him. He slams the door shut and orders men to keep it closed. "Close call," he says.

Riza steps back into the aisle, a little dazed. She presses her palm to the barrel of her gun and feels the heat there as it stings her skin. Someone came after her and that someone grabbed her face. She takes a few long breaths to quench the thumping of her heart and Holden sticks his hand out at her. "Stay away from the doors, Captain." She nods, fully intending to do so. As acquainted with battle as she is, she doesn't think she'll ever be used to the feel of an enemy descending upon her. She had frozen for a moment.

Yet another blast shakes the floor under her feet and a few pairs of hands stretch outward to keep her steady.

"What are we going to do?" Someone asks.

"It's safe to assume there are terrorists in all the cars but this one," Holden says. "But we do have to stop this train. They're attempting to contain us, it seems, probably because hey don't plan to kill the Captain here. We'll be handing her over to them if we don't gain some control over the situation." Riza swallows hard. No, they wouldn't plan to kill her here. She's been a hostage before and she knows what that entails. Most likely they would only wound her so they could hang her over the General's head for however long as they pleased.

She feels the uncertainty grow like a mist around her. She opens her mouth to counter with, Well, maybe they expect you to leave here, but is cut off by a bomb burst. This one feels to her like it's right under her boots and she catches sight of her bodyguards tumbling against windows before she realizes herself what is happening. She hears the creak of the wheels and the snap of metal chains against steel walls as the train breaks into pieces. Holden lunges for her before she loses her footing. He wraps her in his arms and hugs her to his chest as he falls back first into a window. Riza manages to choke out a, "Holden," before her breath is knocked out of her by the crash of the train into the hard-packed snow. Holden hisses into her ear as glass shreds his flesh.

Before the racket has truly registered in her mind, Riza is untangling herself from Holden's grip and fumbling around for her gun. Her head is pounding and she tastes the iron of blood on her tongue, but all around her are the bruised and bloodied bodies of her guards, and she's frantic to find a way to protect what remained of them. She scrambles to her feet as best she can with seats in between her legs. Above the whine of the dying locomotive, she can hear distant voices growing louder as they neared all too quickly. "Where's my gun," she mumbles as her heartbeat reaches a maddening high. "My gun, I need my gun." She pulls herself up over the seats and searches the snow below the busted windows, but finds nothing. Finally, someone taps her shoulder with the butt of a gun and she takes it eagerly. "Thank you."

Her chaperones start to stir, some of which with thick red film over their eyes. She notices the one who had handed her the gun was the young soldier who'd been so enthralled by her earlier. She looks at him, surveys the purple bruise forming on the peak of his cheek, admittedly concerned. He just nods at her carefully with a thumbs-up.

"Captain," Holden pushes himself up on his elbows. "When they get here, we'll take care of them. You run." He gestures with his chin to the windows across from him. "Climb on top and wait until you've heard the last bullet leave the last clip." Sitting out during a fight doesn't sit well in Riza's gut, but she agrees. She rationalizes that she may be able to pick a few off from her high perch, anyway.

Just as Riza's nodding to Holden in support of his plan, the doors on either side of the train are wrenched open. Snow pillows in with a harsh wind around Riza and her guards. Her sight is instantly stolen by the thick blur the combination creates. As the lights start to dim to a deafening dark in the car, she knows she has to act fast. She waits long enough to help Holden to his feet before sticking her gun in the waistband of her pants and clambering up the seats to the window directly above her. Her fingers are painfully numb by the time she presses them to the cold glass.

"We're just here for Captain Hawkeye," a muffled voice calls into the car. "Resist, and we'll shoot."

"Captain Hawkeye isn't here," Holden says, and Riza is suddenly glad for the weather as she dangles from a seat, unnoticed above his head. "You've been tricked. Leave now."

One ugly, throaty laugh barrels into the cab over the whoosh of the wind as the man who first spoke says, "Kill them all and find the Captain." The car promptly explodes into wisps of light and cracks of bullets against flesh as both sides take the man's words as their cue to strike. Riza reaches for her weapon and almost drops it when a bullet grazes her calf. She bites down on her lip to keep from crying out at the surge of pain that runs into her chest and points her gun at the window. She tries her best to cover her face with her elbow as she shoots upward and glass rains down on her. She re-holsters her weapon and gains a few gashes in her hand as she grips the sides of the jagged window and hauls herself out into the freezing cold. She gives herself a moment to lie on her back and roll away from the window, snapping her gun out of its holster again. Her eyes steady on her surroundings, which, she laments, she can't see.

"Dammit," she says, her breath floating around her as the cold air steals it. She listens intently to the fight going on beneath her and slams her fist into the ice forming on the outside of the car. She needs to do something. There is no way she can sit back and keep herself hidden away while her comrades die only a few feet from her. She shifts toward the broken window, peers down inside and catches sight of the young soldier's face as light flickers on-and-off over it. His eyes are lifeless, blood trickles down his cheek from the corner of his mouth. Riza swallows a scream and skids backwards into…something. She swirls around on the ice, still seated, and another mask-clad someone kneels in front of her, taking her jaw in their hand. "Not this again," she says, whipping her gun up as she had before, ironically not frozen as ice whirls around her. This person was prepared for her, however, and they steal her wrist in their free hand and dig their thumb painfully into the lacerations in her palm. She grits her teeth, involuntarily opening her hand to relieve the pressure. Her gun falls with a clang onto the steal.

"Captain Riza Hawkeye," the person mutters lazily. She can barely hear them over the wind flying around her head. "Nice to meet-" She stops them mid-sentence, does the only thing she knows to do in her situation: she takes her free hand, winds it into a fist, and slams it into the person's temple. They topple sideways, obviously not expecting the blow, and she takes advantage of their vulnerability by kicking herself away from them. By the time she manages to get to her feet, the masked person is just starting to join her and she hurriedly presses her foot to their chest and punts them off the side of the train. They seize her ankle as they go down, and she joins them on the long drop into the piles of snow below. As soon as she touches the sickeningly cold powder she grapples around it for a weapon, anything she can find. She hopes that maybe her gun had fallen in the commotion but nothing turns up as she wades through the watery ice.

"Over here!" She hears her assailant call to their colleagues over the wail of the storm. "C'mere, Captain Hawkeye. This'll be much easier for the both of us if you just," they wrap a fist in her military jacket and grunt, "Give up." They jerk her back against them, and she thinks tiredly about how sick she is of being touched. She slams her elbow into their gut and they lurch with the blow but don't loosen their restraint. They curl their arms over her chest to keep hers tucked tightly to her sides. "I can't wait to dump you on the steps to Central headquarters," they breathe into her ear. "Dead." She rolls her eyes at them. How little they must know about her if they think death is what frightens her.

"You must be pretty unafraid of General Mustang," she rasps, digging her nails into their thighs. They tighten their arms around her and they slip over her clavicle to land on her throat. They keep squeezing the air out of her even as her lungs begin to burn and she starts to hack out labored breaths.

"The Flame Alchemist," the person says, but Riza isn't paying attention. She feels her consciousness slipping as black spots begin to litter her vision. "Is a dead man, one way or another." Words like that would have riled a free Riza, or breathing Riza, but this Riza is struggling to keep her head above water. "Go to sleep so we can get you home in time to for the morning. We want to greet your precious General with a pretty new letter dipped in your blood."

No.

With all the strength Riza can find she picks her leg up and thrusts her heel into the top of her captor's foot. They draw back in pain and their arms naturally slip as they almost reach for their leg, which is surely pulsating with pain. Her arms finally free, Riza grips the person's biceps and tips herself forward, hard. This person is big, but Riza is strong. She pulls them onto her back effortlessly, even as she's eating large gulps of air, and gravity takes care of the rest as her assailant falls headfirst into the snow. While they struggle to find their footing again, she goes quickly for the train. Her foot stops just before she sets it into the first groove of metal as she listens attentively to…nothing. There had been sounds of gunfire pounding into her head before she was fighting for breath and now she hears nothing. "No, no, no," she whispers to herself, her hands skimming the frozen steel.

"You might have made it out of here if you had packed the whole train," a deep voice filters into Riza's ears and she turns towards it slowly. Her legs are aching and she's lost all feeling in her fingers but she narrows her eyes at its source all the same. She widens her stance, pulls her fists up. The person speaking to her isn't wearing a mask. He has a thick black beard and a large burn scar over his right eye. "We probably wouldn't have caught on to your little trick if this had been any old train full of regular passengers," he takes a few steps toward her and she acts as though she's reaching for her gun. "Come on, Captain, give it up. There are at least five of us and only one of you."

Shit, Riza thinks. She glances around for any route of escape, the wind dying down enough to reveal to her four more masked individuals brandishing guns, which were pointed at her. She lifts her hands, palms facing her enemy, as she lays her eyes on other people around the perimeter of the trees, a few yards away from the backs of the people in front of her. They're hard to make out against the white, but they stand out stark against the foliage, even under the cover of moonlight. A relieved breath escapes her throat. She walks forward sluggishly as the soldiers behind her aggressors do the same, mirroring her actions. When she's close enough for her captors to take her, a Briggs soldier breaks the quiet. "Step away from Captain Hawkeye."

General Olivier Armstrong saunters forward on horseback as her men take control of the otherwise uninhibited situation by cuffing five terrorists. She points a finger gun at Riza, makes a bang sound, and her hand recoils from the feigned shot as she says, "You're dead, Hawkeye."