Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The worst part is not that she is holed up by herself as their mission comes to an end. She is used to being the last one in and the last one out of a job. Her post requires it, it requires meticulous attention to detail, forethought and presence of mind. Most days, Riza likes this aspect of the job, being able to watch her unit’s back - being their defender.

Today she is miserable as she waits for the all clear to leave her post. Some of their targets had found her location; a stupid mistake on her part she thinks. She might have been a bit trigger happy at start which meant the enemy was able to track where her shots were coming from. She knows better, but the mission started with a firefight and her unit relies on her.

She took down her seven assailants but not without a fight. She runs a hand along her already bruised neck and hopes there won’t be any swelling. She can already feel her ankle tingling back to life after she had to put it back in place and she knows she’s in for a few days of desk duty. Hopefully not medical leave, she hates medical leave. It’s a sign of being bad at one's job, especially for a sniper. She’s meant to be hidden, to stay out of sight and be deliberate - she’ll be the first to admit she hates hand to hand combat.

The worst of her injuries by far begins to make its presence known again. The ringing in her ears intensifies and she shifts, her head is killing her.

She remembers the last of the men had grabbed her throat and slammed her down against the hard concrete floor. The pain was so horrible it took the breath from her lungs and brought immediate tears to her eyes. She thinks her gun shot right through his crotch not two seconds later. His dying words had been something to the effect of: you fucking bitch. Typical, really.

Once he was dead she curled into a ball and cradled her skull as delicately as she could. She didn’t lose consciousness, which is definitely a good thing, but her pulse was prominent against her fingertips.

All she could do was pull herself back into position. She retrieved her headset and lay waiting for her next instruction. Unfortunately, the vertigo set in not long after that, her entire body felt weighed down so she rolled off of her stomach to avoid vomiting on her gun. She managed not to throw up but the pounding of her head did not go away. If anything, it gets worse from the static of her headset.

She keeps it on because she has to, because hearing Havoc, Breda, and Mustang’s voices keeps her calm. Although it’s been awhile since she heard from them now. Perhaps while she was engaged with the enemy they gave an update about their whereabouts.

It took a solid few minutes for her to prop herself against a wall. When she does she notices the room tilting like a seesaw, she has to close her eyes to center herself once more. Ground herself.

She takes stock of her injuries in a repeating mantra: dislocated ankle - realigned - temporarily crushed windpipe, scraped forearm - bleeding under control - head injury, vertigo.

“We have the witness secured, repeat, witness is secured.” Havoc’s voice is like a bell rung directly in her ear. She hisses as her sensitive ear drums practically quiver from the intensity.

“Team A is doubling back, target was eliminated.” Roy’s voice is laced with bitterness. Riza knows that she should say something but she doesn’t want to. She knows she should pull herself together and return to her post, to watch her team’s back.

She settles back on her stomach, ignoring the uncomfortable pangs against her ribs.

She sees Havoc in his tactical gear guiding a handcuffed man out of the building. Falman steps up to help get the witness into his vehicle, a quiet relief pillows in her chest, her eyes glaze over just a little bit. She knows her team is comprised of the best, but the instinct to protect and look out for her unit is always staggering. She can’t ignore it even if she wanted to.

“Time to move out, Lieutenant, meet us at the rendezvous point.” Mustang’s voice is clipped and concise as always.

“Understood,” she wills her voice to be even, but she cannot bite back her breathlessness… she also can’t recall where the rendezvous point is.

She collects her things and rises to her feet only to come tumbling back down as the combined agony of her headache and her ankle assault her. She isn’t sure she can make it out of here on her own and that frustrates her to no end.

She tries again, this time using her unloaded rifle as a makeshift crutch. While she manages to make it to the stairwell, she cannot manage more than the half-flight landing before collapsing again. Her vision swims as she puts her head between her knees. This is not going to work… 

“Team C is en route back to Eastern Command,” Falman’s voice is like a knife to her eardrums.

She has to tell them, she feels like a petulant child because the last thing she wants to do is admit she’s weak. She can’t avoid it, however, not when she cannot manage to get herself walking.

“Anyone still on the premises?” She asks, she wonders if they can hear the dull edge of her voice.

“Just caught sight of the Colonel, we’ll be out in a bit.” Havoc responds coolly.

Riza holds in a sigh, “I need assistance.”

The silence on the line is daunting, so much so she nearly rips off her headset.

“Where are you?” Mustang asks sharply.

“Stairwell of building four, same place you left me.” She says.

“Hang tight, we’ll be there in a minute.”

She pulls off the headset and massages her ears in an attempt to get them to stop ringing. There’s some relief in the cool night air but that feeling is quickly overwhelmed by the pain. Startling, staggering pain, like her mind was waiting for the all clear to feel the total weight of her injuries. She briefly wonders how she’s going to get her boot off her injured foot when the sound of approaching footsteps jars her out of it.

She doesn’t even reach for a gun which is probably the telltale sign that she is really not okay.

“Hawkeye?” Havoc hisses at the sight of her, “You didn’t say you were injured!”

Riza shrugs noncommittally, “I asked for help.”

“Anything urgent?” Havoc asks, kneeling beside her, ready to administer emergency first aid if necessary.

“I-…” She inhales sharply as he puts a hand on her ankle. “Don’t think so… just can’t walk.”

“Lieutenant, you are covered in blood.” When Mustang arrived she doesn’t know but the baritone of his voice makes her shiver inside.

“Most of it’s not mine,” she says, bowing her head into her hands. “I’m probably concussed though.”

“Uh… I think it may be worse than that.” Havoc’s fingertips are tentatively pulling at her clipped back hair.

“Haven’t thrown up or lost consciousness, just a bit of vertigo and really my ankle is-”

“Yep, that’s bad.” She can hear Havoc grimace in his tone. “Oh shit that’s bad.”

“How stuck is it?” Mustang’s crouched beside her too now, one hand on her back and the other on her bicep.

“What’s that?” Riza asks, trying to lift her head but Havoc’s hand keeps her down.

“Your hair clip is in your skull, I’m trying to decide if I should take it out or leave it for the hospital staff.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Riza groans.

Havoc doesn’t respond which somehow makes it worse.

“Why the hell didn’t you call for back up sooner?” Mustang snips at her.

“I had the immediate threat under control and-”

“The second you were attacked we should have been informed! That’s protocol!”

She sucks in a pained breath - he is so loud and her pain is getting worse by the minute.

“Sorry, sir,” she mutters.

“You guys can have marital problems later, I need to get this out, it’s making the wound bigger every time you move.” Havoc’s joke is quickly overshadowed by the starling nature of his request.

“Do you want me to get Breda over here?”

“Just hold these… maybe her hand.” Havoc’s voice is tense even as he tries to tease. The ruffling of his bag makes Riza think he’s pulling something out, but whatever it is Mustang doesn’t take it, he’s too busy grabbing her hands and lacing their fingers together.

“Lieutenant?”

“Just do it,” she insists, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut.

Havoc makes an affirmative sound, “Do you want me to count down? You want anything to bite on?”

“I said just do it,” she snaps before the white hot pain shoots down to her toes.

“Holy hell,” file that under things one does not want to hear when being treated for an injury.

“Is that…?” Mustang’s voice is truly aghast.

“Oh that’s her skull alright… gnarly.”

The implication that her skull is now on display makes her already knotted stomach twist again. 

“Lieutenant, you still with us?”

She tentatively lifts her head, her neck aching much more than it did before. She looks into her commanding officer's eyes and her heart hums like a motor.

“Yeah…”

“Good, I’m going to help you walk out of here, okay?”

She makes a low whine in the back of her throat but does not reject the help. She only notices she’s shaking once she’s tucked in his arms. Mustang gives a few more orders, Riza feels herself curling up even tighter in his hold as her once rapid heart rate begins to slow. He helps hoist her to her feet and together they walk out of the building.

“I’ve got you, Hawkeye, I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Being released from the hospital does not automatically mean that one is fully recovered, but Riza's not someone who can sit still. The nurse gives her explicit instructions to rest but Riza figures that paperwork most definitely counts as rest. Besides, it's not like they'll be going back into the field anytime soon.

"Lieutenant!? What are you doing here!?" Fuery squeaks at her. She's barely stepped foot in the command center and already her ears are ringing.

"I'm here to work, exactly as you are doing I presume." She eyes the stack of files in his hands and holds out her own to share the burden of them. He jolts back as if her hands are made of fire.

"The Colonel said you were severely injured!"

"Severe is an overstatement, I was released this morning so I'm here."

Fuery gapes at her, "But… Lieutenant Havoc said it was bad-bad, like open wound sort of bad."

She rolls her eyes and pretends it doesn't hurt to do so. "I have stitches, yes, but that won't prevent me from doing my job. Now, let's get up to the office."

"I… yes sir," he sighs wearily falling in step behind her.

She's later than usually by way of waiting to be released from the hospital. Overnight observation went well and the doctor told her she'd have a smooth recovery. Even if her neck still aches and her head is pulsing with pain, she has to work through this. If anyone some much as suspects that she's off her game that will stain the Colonel's image just as much as hers. She's far more worried about him than herself.

She opens the door and the harsh scent of smoke nearly burns her tired eyes.

"Hey- Hawkeye!? Is that you?" Breda stands briskly.

"Jeeze, Hawkeye what the hell are you doing here?" Havoc's asking a question but it is laced with both judgment and resignation.

"It's working hours, in case you forgot, and put that out, Lieutenant, you don't smoke in this room. You know better," she bites back as she settles into her chair.

"You're supposed to be on med leave, you're in no condition to be working." Havoc stamps out his cigarette as he scolds her.

"You are not in charge of me, nor do you have any right to tell me about my condition. I was released from the hospital so I'm fine."

"You have five stitches keeping your scalp attached to your noggin. Not to mention that ankle of yours-"

"Lieutenant Havoc," she stops his tirade short. "I appreciate your concern but my health is none of your business. If I'm here, I'm fine."

"Patently untrue," Breda says lazily flicking through his reports. "You remember that time you went three days without talking because you had laryngitis? The boss thought you were furious with him until you got close and he realized you had a ridiculously high fever. Doc said you risked permanent damage for waiting so long to get seen."

"I didn't ask for your in put," Riza shoots a glare towards him.

"Falman still has the paperwork to prove my point," Breda shrugs.

"Leave me out of this," Falman pleads quietly.

"I'm taking you home," Havoc stands up. Riza, however pulls out a pistol and slams it on the table.

"I said what I said," she insists.

The two of them stare each other down for a solid minute before Havoc sits down.

"Stubborn ass," Havoc grumbles.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Riza says boredly.

"You guys look like siblings when you glare at each other like that. Same eye twitch and everything," Breda snickers.

"Shut up!" They snip in unison.

"Twins then," Fuery teases before quickly exiting the room.

Riza's head is still killing her, perhaps even worse now. They gave her pain medication at the hospital but it must be easing off by now. She doesn't want to take anything in front of her unit, lest they get riled up again.

She happens to glance at her calendar and sees a training she nearly forgot about. It's happening in an hour and she has to rush to get there. Her vision swirls a bit before her arrival, and her stomach lurches painfully when she sees how packed the room is. It's a good thing she didn't skip today, her reputation might've never recovered.

That self congratulatory thought rapidly dissipates as she works through the training, however. The world sounds like it's under water, her hands start to tremble, and she feels a little faint. She forces herself to drink some water and sit down as the group demonstrations start. She puts a hand to her forehead and feels a feverish heat emanating off of her own skin.

She really should have taken those pills…

She dismisses the group a whole five minutes early but she is swarmed by newly sworn in soldiers clamoring to speak with her.

In short, by the time lunch rolls around she's ready to tap out. She weakly carries herself back up to the office, taking deep steadying breaths as she goes. She is dismayed (but unsurprised) to find that the office isn't empty.

Mustang is perched on one of the desks with his arms folded, Havoc leans back in his chair with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, and Hughes is holding out a fan of photos for them to ignore. They all look at her and pause dramatically at the sight; she must look half as bad as she feels.

"Oh my god," Hughes mutters.

"Told ya," Havoc huffs.

"Sir," Riza salutes despite the agony in her neck with the motion.

"You look like hell," Mustang says tersely. "You're supposed to be resting after a very serious injury."

"I'm fine," the last bit of the word slurs as she stumbles into a filing cabinet.

"Shit," Havoc hisses as he rises to his feet.

Mustang's grabbing her elbows to steady her in an instant. "Holy shit you're warm."

"I'm alright, sir," she mutters through the fog of brutal pain.

"You're not, you have a fever, you're not at all fine," Mustang scolds her.

"Hawkeye, look at me," Hughes' hand is on her cheek and she manages to look him in the eye. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

She rolls her eyes but doesn't answer right away. He keeps moving his hand or it's at least swirling…

"Yeah she's toast, we need to get her to the med bay." Hughes says tersely.

"I'm not-"

"You are hereby ordered to go to medical, Hawkeye." Mustang cuts her off with a wicked edge to his words.

"I'll go home, alright?" She bites back, her eyes burn and her stomach twists as she suggests it. But orders are orders and she really doesn't feel good any how.

Mustang shuts his eyes and sighs, "Fine, I'll take you home."

"Sir-"

"Havoc go get her things, please. Hughes, go start my car will you?"

"On it," Hughes slips away to go in search of his keys.

Mustang leans down to scoop her up but she puts a hand on his chest, "I can walk."

"Like hell you can," Havoc grumbles. "Yesterday you had a damn hair clip in your skull and now you've got vertigo so bad you can barely talk straight. You need to let someone carry you."

"I'm okay enough to walk," she insists.

"You can't even stand, you're going to hurt yourself further," Mustang snips at her.

"Stop looking at me like I'm pathetic!" Her voice wobbles dangerously and she hates the way the three of them stop to look at her. "I'm not weak so stop treating me like I am."

Havoc's the first to speak, gentler than he has all day. "We don't think you're weak."

"Yes you do, you do because you won't let me… and because people will see me and… and they'll think I can't handle myself but I can it just hurts and-"

"Hey," Mustang cups her chin. "It's okay, no one's going to say anything about you being hurt, Hawkeye. Soldiers get hurt all the time, this isn't a dig at you."

"But I'm not just a soldier," she says. "I'm a sniper and your bodyguard, I'm meant to protect you and I can't even protect myself. I'm a woman and people spew garbage all the time about how I don't belong here because of that alone. Don't you get it? If I'm weak that's a failure and then it reflects poorly on you for keeping me on even when-"

"You have a severe concussion, you're not thinking straight." Mustang shakes his head, "No one in their right mind would ever think that you're anything less than the best sharp shooter in the damn country. You've got a good reputation, Hawkeye, that's not getting thrown out the window because of one injury."

"But-"

"Hey, the team and I are still plenty scared of you even when we know you're not 100%," Havoc says lightly.

"Everyone in Central thinks you're the one who should leave Mustang, not the other way around." Hughes says, receiving a wicked glare from Roy in response. "You're his bodyguard, certainly, but no one can depend on you if you're not at your best."

She feels like she's going to start weeping so she cowers away from them… then she's heaving as the minimal breakfast she had comes back up. Roy gently gathers her hair in his hands (careful not to tug at her stitches) and runs a soothing hand down her back. Havoc kicked a trash can under her just in time, though Hughes is the one right in front of her as she comes back to herself.

"I think we really need to get you back to the doctor." He says sternly, "And I'd listen to me if I were you, Hawkeye. I've been practicing my fatherly lectures since we found out Gracia's pregnant and I really don't think you have the energy to fight back."

She sniffles briefly as Mustang tentatively lets down her hair, "Fine."

"Havoc, tell the team not to slack off while we're gone. Have Fuery clear my schedule too."

"On it boss,"

"You don't-"

"Quiet you," Mustang teases her fondly. "I'm not leaving your side again, you clearly can't be trusted to take care of yourself, so I'm going to have to do it."

"I think you mean we are going to have to do it," Hughes jingles Roy's keys in front of them. "I'll drive, you can look at pictures of my beloved Gracia to stay awake!"

"That'll make her hurl again," Mustang deadpans.

"Colonel," Riza weakly whimpers. "I'm sorry."

He sighs wearily, "Make it up to me by taking care of yourself, or better yet, letting me take care of you."

She glances up at him despite the pain, a small withering smile crests her lips. "Yes, sir."