Captain Riza Hawkeye walked through the grass at a clipped pace. She was dressed in the military uniform of Amestris; the stiff blue jacket freshly starched, and the heavy black greatcoat obscuring the firearm she wore at all times. A few steps behind her was First Lieutenant Jean Havoc.
It was a gloomy gray Saturday, the clouds in the sky above were thick and foreboding. There had been no rain, but the dark clouds brought a heavy chill to the air. Dead leaves rustled in the trees, and even the polished white headstones seemed dull and muted.
They had passed a funeral procession on the way in, and in the distance she could see a small cluster of mourners congregating. There was a delegation of soldiers, but not a large group of them were in uniform. It was likely the burial of a retired officer, passed in his old age.
Riza measured her paces in the grass and tried not to think of how many friends and comrades she had already seen buried. Far too many gone before their time.
"I hope it doesn't rain,h Jean commented suddenly. Riza glanced back at him, and Jean lifted an eyebrow. "It'll get really cold really fast if it rains."
They were going from here to lunch with the others. It had become a tradition, over the years, for them all to meet up and catch up. Everyone's lives had moved down such disparate and different paths they rarely had a chance to. "I hear even Alex is supposed to make it, this year," Riza murmured as they crested the hill.
"Do you think that the boss will show?" Jean asked thoughtfully. Riza shook her head silently, in all the years that they had been doing this Edward never once came to their lunches. When Alphonse was in town, he attended, but Edward never did.
He had been buried near the back corner of the cemetery, with full military honors. Riza slowed to a stop before the off-white headstone, and Jean stopped beside her, the wreath he was carrying in his arms crunching a little.
It was hard to believe that it had already been eight years. She looked silently at the gravestone of Brigadier General Roy Mustang as Jean crouched in front of it, leaning the wreath against the stone carefully, moving aside the burned-out candle that sat before it. It was hard not to remember how the sulfur had carried in the air that night, the taste of blood and sand and death. Jean had been there too, on the front lines with them; they had all seen the column of fire from the base camp.
Riza, however, had been the last one to see him alive. He had known exactly what he was doing, even as he lied to her about his intentions. Roy Mustang had died as he had lived – a hero.
Every year that they did this, and every year Riza felt like she should say something, but she never did. She could not trust herself to speak. Jean's hand on her shoulder was not unexpected but it was comforting. She smiled for him, a rare open smile and he nodded. "I'm famished," Jean said softly. "Shall we go?"
She nodded her head, and they both turned to leave. Neither of them mentioned or disturbed the single red rose that sat atop the headstone.
His landing was cushioned by the soft, loamy earth. Edward grunted a little in exertion as he rose from the crouch, each year the fence seemed to get a little taller and he did not like that thought at all. He straightened and stared at the cast-iron fence, the bars painted black and almost vanishing into the night behind him.
There was no moon out tonight, the heavy ceiling of clouds that had rolled in a few days earlier certainly had not gone anywhere. That was okay, Edward knew the way. He wasn't fond of fence-jumping to get into the cemetery after dark - where he came from you didn't lock up your dead – and it was just another needless, annoying step.
For years this had been a ritual of his. The groundskeeper and his dog both knew Edward on sight and did not challenge him any longer. He was welcome on the grounds even when the gates of the cemetery were closed at dark. Edward trudged up the grassy hill, taking care of where he stepped as he went along. Some of the newer gravestones were still polished enough to reflect the light from passing cars and he had learned not to be disturbed by that.
"Hey, you old bastard," Edward said softly as he approached the headstone. "It's been a while."
He wore his dress blues. It always felt more fitting for him to do so – Roy had always loved to see him in the military uniform and these days he wore the outfit like it was a second skin. The breeze whispered past, tugging at the edge of the skirt and the heavy dark coat he wore against the chilly air.
Not long after he had been transferred back to Central, Edward started visiting Roy's grave once a week. It was almost therapeutic to see it. He would talk to it softly, talk out the things about work that had been bothering him and work out the solutions as if Roy was sitting there, his sounding board. It had helped him more than any of the sympathy that his coworkers and soldiers gave him.
And then, things had changed. Rian stepped in to his life. Work began to get more complex and yet at the same time started to get easier as he got more comfortable in his role. Before he knew it, he had stopped his weekly visits to Roy's gravestone.
Edward crouched in front of the grave and clapped his hands quietly. It was not as spectacular as snapping his fingers, but the tiny flame leaped to life, catching on the fat pillar candle Edward sat in front of the headstone.
"I still miss you," Edward said, his voice catching slightly in his throat. "I know I always will. I hate that, you would look me in the eye and tell me I need to move on and I have, but, shit. You know." He straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Everyone's doing fine. Al an' Winry are talking about having another kid, can you believe that? As if two aren't enough. Rian's taking a look at maybe going into a different career path in the military, Al's got him interested in the Intelligence department now." Edward smiled. "I wish you could have met him, Roy. I think you'd like him. He keeps me balanced."
The light from the candle seemed to make the letters on the grave move of their own volition. Edward took a step forward and pulled a single red rose from inside his jacket. There was a weighted ribbon tied around it, and he set it atop the gravestone. "I know I never thought I'd reach the point where I was happy again, but I am." Edward put his hand on top of the cool marble slab, resting it beside the rose, and then leaned forward and kissed the grave through the back of his hand. "I love you, Roy," he said quietly. "And I always will."
Wherever you are – I hope you can see me smiling.