A/N: A giant thanks to onceandalwaysenglishmajor and aheartmadefullmetal16 for helping edit/beta this story, and to everyone who follows me on tumblr, and has put up with my constant flipping out about this AU.

I hope everyone enjoys, and please comment and let me know what you think!

And then, he was falling.

Through his red-spotted vision and his unfocused, rolling eyes, he could see the helicarrier corroding, chunks of machinery peppering off into the river, like him. He could see the orange burning at the top of one of the engines, and the smoke billowing out as the aircraft deteriorated.

But most importantly, in his final moments, he could see her.

The Winter Soldier.

Riza.

Though her outline was rough, and diminished in size the longer Roy fell free, he could see her gripping the helicarrier tightly with that metal arm of hers. After all of her blows to his face, he couldn't see clearly enough to read the expression on hers, and was left with a mystery as he plummeted downward. All he could see was her golden hair, blowing frantically in every direction, and her silver arm, shining as bright as the fires around her.

At least she would be able to save herself, even if he couldn't. Somehow, Roy knew that Riza still existed within the Winter Soldier. It wasn't just unreasonable glimmers of hope, and delusional optimism. He'd seen her face during their fight. He'd seen the way her walls began crumbling and her punches became pulled, and he knew she still had a chance. Riza had always been so strong and resilient. Even though Roy knew he had no strength to swim to shore once he was in the Potomac, he knew that Riza still did.

And with that thought, Roy impacted with the rough waves of the river, and sunk down as his bones became chilled to the core.

Now, all he could see was blue, and he welcomed it, knowing full well his fate. Everything was turquoise and brackish and stung his eyes. He tried instinctively to breathe in, but his lungs instead filled with liquid, and Roy gagged.

It wasn't so terrible to die like this. He had helped save the world multiple times now, and had had a fulfilling life. And Riza could too. He knew she was capable of breaking free.

Ever since she and he had been children, she'd always been the strong one. She'd always been the one who wasn't afraid to punch a bully in the face, or whisk Roy out of a potentially dangerous situation. Even after Roy had gotten the super-soldier serum, Riza had still managed to stand by his side and protect him. She was amazing beyond words.

And he had let her fall, back on that train, miles deep in Hydra territory. He'd let her hand slip out of his, and had watched her golden head plummet off the side of a cliff until she was a speck so small not even his sharp eyes could discern. He'd let Hydra wrap their suffocating tentacles around her, and poke and prod and stab at her brain until she barely managed to show glimpses of recognition toward who she truly was. Or who Roy had been to her, once.

His belief that she never could have survived that fall was what let those scientists- no, those monsters- get their filthy hands all over her and violate something that was Riza's and Riza's alone. She had always been so fantastic at protecting him, but when it came to protecting her, he'd failed so miserably that the word failure did not even begin to cover it.

But Riza was still alive. She was persistent and fierce, and had survived against all odds. She'd survived her freefall; she'd survived being torn apart by scientists and being rebuilt haphazardly into some kind of weapon. And she was strong enough to have held on so tightly so ghosts of her past that she had managed to break free, no matter how briefly, from Hydra control.

And Roy knew, with every fiber of his sinking being, that she could break free completely if she wanted to. The seeds of rebellion against Hydra had been planted in Riza's head, and God knew that woman was stubborn. She would be stubborn enough to go her own way, and start a new life for herself, free from all of this madness and fighting and death.

Visions of Riza invaded Roy's mind, which became buried deeper under the water, and Roy saw her face smiling down at him once more. She was whole and radiant and carefree, back like when she and Roy were teenagers, and Roy almost grabbed out at the apparition, wishing to hold her tight one more time before he met his end. But he knew he couldn't; that it wasn't real, so Roy instead waved it away, imagining Riza in the state she was in at the moment.

Even with the bruise-like purple circles under her eyes, and the scar running down the side of her face, and her blonde hair, once short and immaculate, now down to her chin and jagged at the edges, and that vibranium arm, she looked radiant. She always would, no matter how many scars or bruises or fake limbs she had, she would always be beautiful to him.

So thoughts of the woman Roy once loved filled his mind, and he closed his eyes, warding off the hallucinations of that shining vibranium arm reaching out for him.

Every muscle, tendon, and ligament connecting the Winter Soldier's vibranium arm screamed as the metal limb gripped tightly onto the steel rods and beams jutting out from the disintegrating helicarrier like broken bones. Her hand slipped and slid, but she kept her hold on the aircraft, dodging debris that wished to displace her.

She would have raised her flesh arm to meet the metal one, but the Winter Soldier found that she couldn't. It hung limply by her side, and no matter how much she willed it to move, it refused to secure her hold on the helicarrier. It refused to come up and cement the fact that she had stayed alive while the famous Captain America plummeted toward the icy waters of the Potomac.

He would be dead, she knew, if he kept descending at the rate he was, and there was nobody there to fish his body out of the water readily. Of course nobody was at the shores; it wasn't like anyone would dare to risk getting hit by flaming debris just for the chance to see the Captain.

He would die there.

And for that, the Winter Soldier should have felt accomplished. The mission overall had been such a massive failure, destroying the helicarriers and outing Hydra before they were ready to come into the light of the world; but she had killed Captain America.

She had killed Roy Mustang.

That man, whose face had been haunting her dreams ever since she had seen it, and looked so similar to the one she always saw in her nightmares. She had murdered him. She had let him start falling, and had rid the world of Hydra's most dangerous enemy. She should be pleased with her work.

But instead, she felt something gnawing at her insides, tearing them to shreds with its claws.

There was no accomplishment in what she had done; in fact, the act made her stomach churn and her mind scream out in pain.

"I'm not going to fight you."

"You're my friend."

"I know you."

"Riza."

"I'd follow you into hell if you asked me to."

She didn't know who the Captain was, past what she had been briefed. She'd never spoken to him before. So why were his words so achingly, hauntingly familiar?

Why could she see Captain Mustang in her mind, smiling and unhurt? Why could she hear him talking, going on and on about the future? Why could she feel his hands in her hair, and his arms around her waist, and his lips locked onto hers? Why could she see him reaching out for her, only to have her slip through his grip and plummet into blackness? Why?

The Winter Soldier had been working for Hydra her entire life. She was nothing but a weapon at their disposal; an attack dog held on a tight leash. She had never been with that man before; she'd never talked to him, or listened to his dreams, or kissed him.

The only thing she was, was an assassin, waiting for her next mark; for the next shot and the next flash of red.

But she knew him.

Terrifyingly, impossibly, she knew who he was. Despite her protests and her denial, and her screaming over his words, deep in her heart, she could feel that they were the truth.

She knew him.

And she was letting him die.

Every ounce of logic and programming in the Winter Soldier's mind screamed at her, waging war with the other part of it, as it crawled back out of its grave in the dirt. Her conscious thought tried to reassure her that this man had done something to her; infected her with some malicious code that was manufactured specifically to break her. Her logic tried to stand strong, buffeted by visions and memories and feelings from another time, another place, and another world. But the vignettes of memory were too strong. Captain America's words were too strong. Roy was too strong.

And yet, he kept plummeting downward, a blue blur, diminishing into the debris-littered river.

So the confused, fighting, scared part of the Winter Soldier's mind took over.

And before she could discern what was happening, she was plummeting downward with Roy, one thought echoing over and over in her mind.

I'll stand behind you and protect you as you make your way to the top.

I'd follow you into hell if you asked me to.

So, she followed, ignoring the throbbing in her head, and the cuts littering her body as they stung in the cold air. She followed her fragmented memories, knowing that there was something more to them; there was something more to her, and if she allowed Roy to die, it would vanish along with him.

She overrode the programming Hydra put in her, because she knew that something else had been installed long before, and that was what should be running.

Because even though she was questioning everything else in that moment, the one thing she couldn't question was that burning need to protect Roy. Even though she'd punched and kicked and shot him, she'd never been able to shake the feeling in her gut that she'd been wrong to, and now that he was dying, it was as if she was as well. It didn't matter who she was, or who she worked for; all that mattered was keeping him safe.

Despite the fact that Roy had already fallen into the turquoise abyss of the river and was growing fainter with every second that passed, the Winter Soldier kept her sights on the place of his impact, and with hers, she set off swimming, praying she was not too late to save him.

When she was close, the Winter Soldier saw crimson staining the water as he sank; practically pouring from his stomach, where she had shot him before, and the Winter Soldier reached out with one hand and took hold of the Captain's uniform.

For such an important, imposing man, he seemed so small and light in the river, and the Winter Soldier kicked her legs, propelling the two of them upward, out of the piercing iciness of the Potomac and back up into the air.

She kept her arm tight, unwavering around him, and kicked, until her feet hit sand, and she could walk out, the Captain pulled behind her until the both of them were on the shore.

On the bank, with waves lapping at his feet, and red blossoming beneath him, Captain Mustang looked so much like a corpse. And even though that thought should have excited the Winter Soldier, it terrified her. The white pallor in his face, and the liquid dribbling out of his mouth as he softly gagged it out made her heart rate increase, and her steady hands shake as she backed away from the man who had once been her target. But another, more terrifying thought popped into her mind.

Why had she saved him again?

Thoughts scrambling, the Winter Soldier clutched at her head, which was now close to exploding from the pain. Her reason for jumping after him was slipping away, buffeted by Hydra programming. Ideas which had been so clear earlier clouded, and visions of her and the Captain blurred red.

She shouldn't have saved Captain America. He was her mission.

But she had to. It was her purpose to keep him safe.

No, her purpose was to kill. Not to protect.

No, her purpose was to protect. Not to kill.

Or was it something else entirely?

Just looking back at Captain America sent sharp pains through her head, so the Winter Soldier spun around, heavy breaths scratching her throat.

Somewhere deep in what may have been left of her soul, she knew she had done the right thing by fishing that man out of the river, but no matter how she felt, all her mind was screaming was wrong. And the longer she had her eyes on Captain Mustang, to fiercer the battle between her two halves became.

She needed to leave. If she stayed until he woke up and tried to speak to her again, the Winter Soldier knew that something inside her would implode, and she was not about to witness the aftermath of that, whether it be for better or for worse.

Even so, the Winter Soldier knew she had to find the truth. Ever since the Captain had first uttered Riza from his lips, she knew she needed to find the truth about what he was talking about. But now it was obvious that she'd need to do it alone. Without Captain America, and definitely without Hydra. Just her.

Just the Winter Soldier.

In a stupid, impulsive move, she glanced back again at the man gagging at the side of the river, and even with the needles in her head, and the maelstrom of emotion going through her mind right then, a warmth spread across her chest. She did know him, somehow; possibly in another life. And the unrest wracking her body was a clear sign of that. And she was going to find out exactly how their string of fate had intertwined in the past.

With that thought, she lifted her booted foot, still waterlogged and sloshing, and turned away from Roy Mustang, leaving him for his allies to find. Dirty blonde hair plastered to her forehead, and the black leather of her uniform clung to her chest, constricting it as she stalked away. The port connecting her shoulder to her vibranium arm ached from the stress it had been under, but despite all of these inconveniences, she was not about to run crying back to Hydra to get it fixed.

This was something only she, and she alone could do.

And as she walked into the trees near the bank, away from Captain Mustang, the Winter Soldier knew there was no turning back. What she discovered; who she became after this was all up to her now. More so than any other decision she had made that day, she knew this was the right one. With that, she disappeared into the shadows once more, but this time, because she had chosen to do so.

Air.

Roy gagged; his lungs were on fire and he could do nothing about it. Everything burned; his lungs, his throat, his eyes, and every cut or scratch or gunshot wound littering his body.

He took deep breaths, choking out water, which dribbled out of his mouth and onto his face, mixing in with whatever Blood or other river water was already there. Roy's lungs welcomed the oxygen, even though it felt like fire, and his chest convulsed as he took in as much as possible.

Air. Oxygen. Land. Roy could breathe; he was out of the water. He was in the sand.

But how? Last his scrambled mind remembered, he was sinking down, deeper and deeper in the Potomac River, without a soul in sight to save him. So who had?

None of Roy's muscles moved when he commanded them to. The fire and the blood loss and the shock to his system kept each limb on the ground; dead weight for Roy to carry. He couldn't feel his fingers.

Roy tried to speak, but only gargled the water in his throat, unable to call out to his savior. He was useless. His eyes rolled involuntarily, and between flashes of black, all Roy could see was sky, burning, trees, skyscrapers, then, crucially, a glimmer of gold, a spot of silver.

Where had he seen that combination before? Who was gold and silver and shining, and had pulled him from the river? For the love of him, Roy's short-circuiting brain could not identify the figure. But he knew her. He knew he knew her.

And as his vision once again faded into black, and his mind shut down on him, Roy was left with the overwhelming feeling of longing toward that gold and silver woman stalking away from him.