It's been a very long time since I've thought about royai or fma as a whole, honestly, and for the past week or so I've been in such a mood. I started rewatching the 2003 anime recently and will move on to Brotherhood later. I searched my files for any fanfic I had written that was not Convivencia, because that one needs attention and I've neglected it for what? two years?, and I found this little draft written.

I quickly reviewed it, but to be fair, I don't remember much about what happened in the end of the first series and its movie. I have like two other ideas maybe, but if any of you are interested in anything, please, do tell me!

Title from What You Wanted by OneRepublic, which is included in a fanmix I made long ago that shares the same name.

Enjoy!

FMA03 Verse: snow


i: Snow


Cold.

That was the only thing her poor mind could register. The wind against her face, harsh as it touched and burned her skin, her chattering teeth and trembling limbs, her aching bones and nearly frozen joints. She pulled the scarf up to her nose and dug her hands deeper into the pockets, an attempt to conserve the little warmth she had left as the gloves did little to protect her skin from the biting chill. There wasn't much difference between summer and winter up north; everything was always white, burning the corneas of whoever looked at all the snow that covered the fields whenever the sun decided to shine through the thick grey clouds overhead. Blizzards occurred more often during the winter; this was the only difference.

Her eyes gazed up at the sky, distress showing through her usual composed expression; while Lieutenant Hawkeye enjoyed the cold, this was a bit too much.

Still she walked more, more and more, and a little bit more until she could swear she had walked through half of this frozen territory, and finally, true to her friends' words, the wooden cabin stood tall just after the next hill, roof covered with snow and windows shaking with the force of the wind. She pushed onward, the cold white covering up to her knees, but still she did not back down.

Hawkeye slipped her hands out of her pockets, ignored her own mind's protests and pleas to protect her fingers from the cold, and knocked as loudly as she could without letting her urgency show.

What a terrible, terrible place to be. She could only imagine how people managed to live in this area without feeling greatly bothered by the weather. She enjoyed places where you could tell the seasons apart, places where it wasn't always constantly hot or constantly cold, places like Central, which was bathed by sunlight and caressed by warm breezes for six months then touched by rain and soft snow for the other six that remained. Truthfully, Central was the ideal place for her to live.

She knocked again; more quickly, more urgently, trying to ignore that she was slowly and surely freezing to death. She tried to take a peek inside, to make sure that he was home; if he wasn't, then it was all for nothing and she would return to Central, most likely angry and hurt, but would still thank the heavens for the warm sun – that if she ever made it through all this snow again. Now while Riza Hawkeye wasn't exactly a pessimist, she wasn't an optimist either; she was realistic and practical, and wouldn't have minded dying in snow covered mountains or scorching hot deserts were she put in any other circumstances. Dying while fighting for hers and other lives and for her country was something, dying alone without any means to fight the enemy was a completely different matter.

And what could she do against the cold wind that was roughly slapping her face?

Nothing.

So she leaned back against the door, sheltered under the small extension of the roof to protect her head, and crossed her arms tightly, pressed her lips together firmly, and waited for his return, counting in her head all the times when the wind howled exceptionally loud, like a feral beast protecting the mountains and its beings.

Eventually, she saw his approaching figure in the distance, logs clogged up in his arms, lifting his knees up to his waist as he tried to reach her at a faster pace. They barely made eye contact when he got closer to her; she silently picked some of the logs, he unlocked the door and ushered her inside, and warmth fell upon them like an old, comforting blanket.


There was a clock on his wall above the fireplace, as usual, and it ticked, loudly, as seconds passed by. Wind still howled outside, a mug filled with a warm beverage heated her palms, bringing color back to the tips of her fingers. Roy Mustang sat across from her on his armchair, cheek resting on his left fist and eye fixated on the flames in the fireplace; she knew that look all too well.

"What an honor to have you here, Lieutenant."

He was sad, distressed and happy all at once. Sad that they met again like this, distressed because the demons and monsters that used to haunt him still won't let him sleep peacefully, and happy that, despite the awkwardness that filled the air moments after he closed the door, she was there with him.

"It's been a while, sir," she resorted to say simply.

His head tilted down slightly, "Indeed."

Riza looked away from him, directing her gaze at to fire that kept him so transfixed. Burnt matches lied forgotten by the fireplace, confirming what Havoc had said that the Flame Alchemist didn't use alchemy anymore. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed down into a thin line before relaxing and taking the first tentative sip of coffee in what felt like years; he shouldn't berate himself for things he couldn't control. She understood his reasons for giving up his high-rank title and moving north away from everyone, but they were consuming him.

A little voice in her head screamed that he hadn't corrected her when she called him sir, that he hadn't told her he was a mere soldier, that he was now on a lower rank than her. She could easily boss him around and he wouldn't have many choices beside obey her, yet something told her there was a reason as to why he was so silent, as to why he didn't say that he was now her subordinate.

Aware of his lingering gaze on her, the lieutenant turned to face him, and in the split second in which she managed to catch his eye for the first time ever since she arrived, she saw, briefly, what was bothering him the most in that moment.

To put it simply, it was her.

Riza refused to believe her presence alone would make him this agitated, so she took her time to unfold and decipher all of the things hidden in that guarded eye of his. It didn't take her too long, just another sip, a grimace, and about two minutes of staring at the fire licking at the logs, eating them away.

Of all things he could've said and done and felt, Roy felt like he had failed her and dragged her too far only to give up his place in the military and leave her in Central while he lived in these frozen mountains as an isolated soldier. Riza set her mug down on the stool placed between the couch and his armchair, a substitute for a coffee table that he would never get, and laced and unlaced her fingers, pressed her palms together or down on her thighs to avoid the shaking that was sure to come. He was allowing himself to live in a brief moment of illusion just so he could pretend that nothing had happened, that they were still general and lieutenant.

"I'm sorry."

He still refused to meet her eyes and now watched the wind raging outside; she kept her gaze fixed on his face. "For what, sir?"

Almost imperceptibly, he winced, but nothing escaped those amber eyes that watched him. "For everything, I guess. For leaving, for holding you back for so long, for making you follow me."

"It was your choice," she referred to his first reason, all the others were her own choice and he knew that oh so, so well.

Roy combed his fingers through his bangs and pressed his digits lightly over the eyepatch covering his scarred eye. "I can't say I regret leaving, but..."

His palm fell onto his lap as the woman before him reached for her nearly cold coffee and she sipped it as if it was her favorite drink. He smiled, lips tilting up sadly; had he known she would stop by he would have left to get her some tea or something that she actually liked. Coffee was not exactly what she would have preferred in a situation like this and there was not a single drop of milk so she could have her coffee with it or even have it alone. Maybe he was the worst host of all times.

"You do." One black iris lifted up to take her expression in, that soft smile touching her lips and lightning up her face, soft and discreet and absolutely his. "I know you hate the cold."

She couldn't be any more right, so he chuckled and wove his fingers through his hair, slumped shoulders straightened as he leaned back and sat up properly as the general he once was, proud to serve the nation and its people. Riza didn't say anything else; she merely looked down at her lap as she let out a huff of laughter and cupped the mug with both hands. The fire cracked, stretched up and onto the logs, roared meekly as opposed to the fire the man before her could control and release at will. Mug back on the stool, palms on the soft couch, her mind reeled back and forth, trying to find ways to drag him out of his own self imposed misery.

Roy watched her intently; every shift, every breath, nothing escaped his hungry gaze. Fearing she was just a creation of his mind, the soldier kept staring as if she could disappear at any moment, leaving him alone in his small frozen cabin. Her presence didn't bring any warmth to the place, but it cradled his heart gently and soothed it, shooed away his fears and insecurities, lifted off the heavy air of loneliness and sadness that had long settled in his new modest home. She brought comfort and quenched his longing to see her, to talk and interact and sit with her, just the two of them and piles of paperwork due the next week.

Amber eyes glanced away from the flames, swept across the room and caught his burning, intense stare, and held it, unwavering, like they had done many times before. He could feel his lungs stop working, keeping toxic air in as he held his breath when their eyes met, fingers curling around the thick fabric of his pants and he held still, like a child who had been caught stealing cookies from the jar placed on the top shelf. The orange light glinted in her orbs, melted them away as if they were golden stones that pooled and swirled, mixed with her accumulating tears and deep feelings of devotion.

Quick like a lioness, she moved forward and he followed suit, meeting in the middle and wrapping arms around the other's form in that embrace they were dying to share. He could feel the pressure of her cheek against the covered skin of his face, her hands fisting his coat and the shuddering breath that escaped her parted lips and caressed his ear. Roy tightened his hold on her and hid his face in the crook of her neck. Such proximity was frowned upon in the military, but hidden away from everyone else, they gave in, allowed themselves this indulgence.

Oh, how he had missed her...