A/N: Spoilers for up to episode 54 of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.
Burn Notice, Warning Shot
Roy Mustang sat in his office, shuffling through papers as usual. It irritated him on some level that some days could pass by so slowly, while others rushed by at a break-neck speed. Being a part of the military he had learned long ago that everyday could be his last, so the life-or-death situations weren't what bothered him exactly, and not even the consistency of the passage of time really irritated him. There was just something about how slow some days could be. Something about how they crawled by without remorse and squandered themselves.
Now, if there was one thing Roy Mustang truly hated, it had to be that: wasting away, be it time, life, or otherwise.
He glanced again at some of the papers on his desk and noticed one of the signatures: Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Ah, now there was a woman who embodied everything he loved, by contrast. She never wasted a single movement, not even a single breath. Her efficiency could really be somewhat chilling, especially to someone unfamiliar with her.
Mustang leaned back in his chair, dropping the papers onto his desk with a dissatisfied sigh. He just couldn't stand to sit around doing paperwork at the moment, so instead he allowed his mind to wander—only to rest it, just for a while.
The sun no longer shone brilliantly through the great window behind his desk, but rather a mix of pinks, oranges, and reds bathed the sky, causing an eerie yet warm light to flood the room. Another day gone. Another moment of their lives forever passed by, never to be revisited. His thoughts started to drift towards Hawkeye again.
People unfamiliar with her might view her as stoic, or even cold, but he knew better than that. He was not at all unfamiliar with his most trusted lieutenant, his right-hand woman, his queen. Sometimes he felt he knew her better than he knew himself.
The rain pounded down on the heads of two men as they headed towards a decrepit old manner. That is, one of them could be called a man—a man slightly pass his prime, but still relatively young—the other, though, was truly no more than a boy. He had not quite grown into his undeniably powerful frame, and his eyes held the twinkle of innocent youth still.
The older man swung the front door open and stomped inside, muttering about the "damn freezing rain," and the boy caught between ages filed in behind him.
"Riza!" the older man called, shaking his cloak free of some of the pooled up rain and hanging it up near the fire. The boy followed suit, seemingly enthralled by every action the older man made. When the man turned towards the fire and rubbed his hands together, the boy copied his actions, studying the fire carefully as it leapt and licked the edges of the fireplace.
The sound of footsteps, gently tapping down the stairs, broke his trance, and he turned away from the fire towards the sound. It was an odd moment for him, because any other time he wouldn't have been so easily distracted. No, that's not right. It wasn't a distraction; it was more like an instinct. He turned towards the noise, and his bright eyes met the subtle warmth of another.
"Riza, this is my young apprentice," the older man introduced. "His name is Roy Mustang."
The young lady approached the two men, unspeaking. She stopped and extended a hand to the boy—Mustang the man had called him—and waited expectantly. The boy blinked, and his hand slowly reached out to grasp hers. A spark jumped up their arms and into their hearts when their hands met. He looked down at their clasped hands, and then slowly, looked back to her eyes. A strange feeling engulfed him. This would not be the last time he would feel this way.
"Roy, this is my daughter Riza," the older man continued without pause, as if nothing had happened.
"Pleased to meet you," Mustang answered automatically.
"Likewise," she agreed, dropping her hand back to her side. She looked to the man—her father—and asked, "What are you teaching him?"
The man grinned in response. "Alchemy."
Mustang didn't fail to miss the slight flinch of her shoulders, the pain in her eyes. "Oh I see," she answered obediently. "Do you need anything from me?"
"No that will be all for now. We'll be in my study, do your best not to interrupt would you?" Her father nodded towards young Mustang. "Let's go young man."
"Yes, sir," the boy answered, quickly falling in step behind the original Flame Alchemist.
Once left alone, Riza crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing her shoulders. The freezing rain had no effect on her like it did her father. He wanted to burn away the frozen parts of his life, but would he learn—before it was too late—that no matter how hard he worked he would never thaw the ice in his heart, left there by a woman Riza only knew briefly as Mother.
Slowly she turned and started to walk back towards the staircase. Maybe having a new apprentice would help her father, give him a healthier outlet. Her foot rested on the first step when she heard someone approaching. She glanced back to see that boy— Roy Mustang—hurrying down the hallway, probably to fetch something for her father.
As he walked pass her again she felt a shiver up her spine. Would this impressionable boy turn into a clone of her father? A man sick with his own regret and heartbreak. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking of what kind of life he would lead if he truly followed her father. A part of her—the part that wanted to find a way to cure her father—wanted more than anything to tell this Roy Mustang to go out the way he came, and save him from the self-destructive path he had stepped onto by mistake.
She shook herself from the thought and continued up the stairs. If he chose to follow her father this far, there was little that could be done to save him at this point.
Riza sat down at her desk, flipping through a few choice books, and re-immersed herself in her studies. Despite her academic focus, though, she still couldn't completely shake the thoughts of flame alchemy that coursed through her mind. Honestly, the subject matter never rested far from her mind, as it had truly and completely captured her father's interest. She hated it, she truly did.
Seeing the young apprentice only made her skin crawl at the thought of something so consuming being passed down to another generation. All consuming, like flames. She couldn't help but give a bitter chuckle at the irony. May it consume them all.
She must have fallen asleep while reading through some new material, as the sound of a knock at her door jarred her back to the present. "Riza?"
"Come in," she answered, turning to see her father enter the room.
"Riza, I have something very important to talk to you about," he began solemnly.
The somber mood of the room made her feel slightly uneasy still, but she had grown more and more used to it over the years. "What is it Father?"
"You remember the boy I introduced you to earlier?" he asked, taking a seat upon her bed.
"Of course," she answered promptly. How could she forget something that had only happened a short while ago? "What about him?"
"I think you ought to be mindful of him," her father answered, his face revealing no emotion. "Watch over him."
Riza felt her throat tighten in response, and she could not restrain herself from accusing him, "You're going to teach him that flame alchemy, aren't you?"
Her father's eyes widened in response to her outburst, and he sat up a bit straighter. "I would never dream of it."
It was Riza's turn to look surprised. "What do you intend for him then?"
"I believe he may be one of the greatest alchemists to ever live," he answered, eyes becoming far away again. "He's very accomplished for his age."
"If that's so, then why won't you pass down your alchemy to him?" Riza asked cautiously, always fearing his reasoning behind the dangerous alchemy he had developed. "Do you intend to allow it to fade away?"
"Not at all," he snapped, coming back to the present. "I would never let all of my hard work fade away. Of course I intend to pass it down."
A chill raced down Riza's spine as she considered this. "Who will you pass it on to?"
"You, of course," he answered like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. Even before he said it Riza knew in the pit of her stomach that this would be his answer, his solution, but still she couldn't help but rebel against the idea.
"Why not give it to that damn Roy Mustang?" she demanded, emotion causing her lip to quiver. "You know I want nothing to do with it."
Her father let out a slow, long-suffering sigh. "Because he's an ingenious alchemist, but a stupid kid. I can't allow something this valuable to fall into the wrong hands, and I know you'll protect it."
And then she knew there was no more arguing the point, not only because he stood up to exit the room, but also because she understood what her duty was now. Her duty to her father and all of humanity: to keep his alchemy her secret. Her father paused as he reached for the door handle, turning to look at his daughter again. An unspoken agreement passed between the two of them and he nodded.
"We'll do it tomorrow."
He departed the room, leaving Riza to her own thoughts once more. She busied her hands cleaning up the books scattered on her desk, but she knew it was a hopeless endeavor. Thoughts and nightmares of flame alchemy would keep her company for the rest of the night.
She wandered down a hallway, heart racing, although she didn't know why. A door at the far end creaked open, and a softly glowing light emitted from it. As if in a trance she made her way to the door, pausing just outside of it, feeling heat pouring out from within. Then she remembered why her heart was racing. A fire had broken out; the house was currently engulfed in flames, but she had to get her father out.
She pushed the door open and took a step inside unthinkingly, only to find herself falling a moment later when she discovered too late that there was no floor in the room. There was no falling sensation, not even the feeling of impact when she landed again. She looked around desperately, heart racing more than she could stand. It felt like it would tear itself from her chest any moment.
The heat of the fire still surrounded her, but all around her was darkness. "Father!" she called out, looking for some light in the blackness.
"Riza," an unfamiliar voice called out. She was certain she'd never heard the voice before, but it felt like she knew the owner of it.
"Who's there?" she called out again, feeling a fear unlike any other—what awaited her in the endless depths?
Suddenly a spark lit up the darkness, banishing it back to the shadows. The single spark seemed to last forever as time appeared to nearly stop. Her heart beat slowly, and her breath caught in her throat. A man in a blue uniform stood before her. He had shaggy black hair, a cocky smirk, and the spark seemed to originate from his fingertips.
"Lieutenant," he whispered, moving closer to her, the spark still trailing from his fingers even with his hand resting at his side. "Will you follow me?"
Riza took a nervous step backwards. Who was this strange man? Why was he here in these dark, fiery depths? He reached out for her with his left hand, the one free of a spark, and gently caressed her face. "To hell and back, will you follow me?" he asked again, his eyes filled with an unknown emotion.
"Who are you?" she whispered, the nagging feeling of not being able to place something obvious chewing at her. "I know you, don't I?"
"You will some day," he answered, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped in surprise and took a quick step back, instinctively brushing her lips with her fingertips.
He didn't follow her retreat; merely he stood there observing her. After a moment the heat started to feel oppressive, and Riza cried out again, "Where's my father?" Without another word the mysterious man pointed in the correct direction.
She raced in the direction he had pointed and soon enough found herself running down another hallway. She burst through the door at the end and this time found the floor to be stable. Her father lay on a bed within, obviously ailing, and she rushed to his side.
"Father?" she asked worriedly, a tinge of hysteria setting her voice on edge. She shook his shoulders. "Father?"
He opened his eyes, barely, and smiled up at her. "Ah, Riza, there you are."
"Father we have to get out of here! The house is on fire, and there's a strange man, and—!" her father chuckling brought her up short.
"Riza, the fire that burns will always live within you," he explained. "I'm sorry to say I tried to give you so much, yet I only passed down to you this fear that smolders within me."
"What are you talking about?" she demanded frantically. "Have you gone mad?"
"Mad?" he echoed in surprise. "Perhaps, but if I truly am mad, and these are truly my final moments, then I want to give my daughter something she truly deserves."
"I don't want your alchemy!" she screamed in frustration. "I told you already: I want nothing to do with it!"
"I know you want nothing to do with it," he answered, shaking his head and shocking her into silence. "But that's exactly why I left it with you. I've left it for you to decide what becomes of my work Riza.
"It's up to you whether it lives on or dies along with our family name," he concluded, turning his head to look at something behind her.
"What does our family name have to do with—?" she came up short as she turned to find what her father was staring at, only to see the man from earlier there in the room with them. He stood off to the side, quietly observing, and that's when it hit her. Why the presence, if not the voice, seemed familiar.
"Roy Mustang," she whispered in surprise. She turned back to her father, wanting to demand the meaning of this, but when she looked back he was gone.
"His final gift to you wasn't alchemy," the man said, answering her silent question. "It was me."
She turned back towards him, feeling tears pooling up in her eyes, and snapped, "What do you have to do with any of this? You're my father's apprentice, and if you want to learn his damnable flame alchemy, then fine! I hope it burns you to ashes!"
"No, Riza," the man—Mustang—whispered, approaching her and resting a hand on her shoulder. "Whether or not I learn the art of flame alchemy is up to you. I am your gift, not your choice." He kneeled down so that he was eye level with her.
"I don't understand," she whispered, looking away from him and his captivating eyes. "What do you want from me? What do you expect to gain?"
"Nothing," he answered, causing her enough surprise to bring her gaze back to him. "I'm here to take care of you."
"You just want his alchemy!" she accused bitterly, struggling to maintain eye contact.
"No, I just want you to follow me to the end," he replied, his steady gaze not quivering in the slightest. "And I want you to promise me something."
"What?" she asked, lower lip still trembling in frustration. Suddenly she felt a cold, metallic weight in her hands. She looked down to see a gun gripped tightly between her fingers.
He leaned in close enough that his lips brushed her ear when he spoke.
"Shoot me."
Bang!
Riza awoke with a start, sweat soaking her clothes and causing her shirt to cling to her back. She looked around in the darkness, waiting for a sign of abnormality that would never come. Her heart was racing, but now she knew it was only from the strange dream.
What had it all meant? The darkness, the heat, her father's disappearance, and…
Roy Mustang.
She shivered in the too-cool night air as she wondered especially what his role in it all could possibly be. Did her father really bring him in as an apprentice, or did he have other plans in mind for the boy? More importantly, what did Roy himself know? Something told her that, despite what she may want, Roy Mustang would be a part of her life for a long time to come. Although, to be fair, she wasn't totally sure of what she wanted at this point.
She reached a trembling hand towards her lips and brushed them gently.
Roy Mustang.
The next morning, after several failed attempts to return to a peaceful sleep, her father returned as promised, rapping gently on the door.
"Enter," she called out, busy combing her hair.
"Are you ready?" he asked, determination in his eyes as he focused solely on his own goals. Riza set the brush down on the table and nodded.
"I'm prepared," she answered, although internally she found herself still fighting off the turmoil of mixed emotions over what was about to occur.
He led her downstairs, into the basement where he had preformed much of his life's work. Riza had always hated the place for its dark, cramped space. Although she was far from claustrophobic, the chill of the air down there still cut her to the bone.
"We'll use this table," her father started to explain, pointing to an operating table. She chose not to ponder why he had such a thing in his possession. "All you need to do is hold still, understood?"
She nodded wordlessly and climbed up, removing her shirt and laying facedown on the table. She rested her forehead against the cool metal and closed her eyes, struggling not to flinch in pain as her father began the procedure.
He muttered to himself the entire time, babbling about making the marks perfect, worried about confusion should anyone read it. Riza tried to focus on his babbling. It was much preferred to the constant click, click of her father repeatedly snapping the lighter to produce a spark, which was only a prelude to the burning sensation as he etched his findings into the once unscarred back of his daughter.
After hours of nearly losing her mind to the pain, finally, it was over.
"That should do it," he muttered. "Okay, you're dismissed." He left before Riza even had a chance to sit up. She wondered for a brief moment what it looked like, but then quickly shook herself from the thought. At least she could be thankful for one thing: with it being on her back, she would never have to come face to face with her sin.
On the way back to her room she paused at the slightly ajar door of her father's study. She could hear him within, muttering about transmutation circles and other alchemic practices. Slowly, almost of its own accord, she found her hand reaching out to knock on the door, but repelled it at the last second. Whatever hope she had left for her father had just been seared into her own flesh, and now it was unreachable to both of them. Perhaps for the better.
She continued to her room, falling onto the bed and allowing the darkness to consume her thoughts for now.
The next day, feeling slightly more rested, she went back to her studies. Her back would remain sore for the rest of the week, as she listened to Roy Mustang's coming and goings, and her father's preaching of alchemy as he walked along the creaking bones of the old house. The days passed like this for a time, and only weeks after she became the literal embodiment of her father's work did she finally emerge from her room to observe the alchemic training going on in her home.
Although a bad feeling stirred deep within her whenever she happened to be in the same room as a transmutation, she decided it would be in her best interest to at least try to understand this thing she had become a part of; a curse inherited by her very birth. She couldn't help but wonder if anyone else in the world found themselves in the same position: born to a father so renowned in alchemy that it would be inevitable for them to avoid entanglement within the art.
Shaking herself from the thought of a fate so wretched being shared by many, she observed her father teach the youthful Mustang.
She never practiced alchemy herself, because she felt ill around it, but even a novice like herself could see the genius of her father's pupil. He quickly picked up on the new techniques her father taught him, and as for the basics? He was simply masterful. There didn't seem to be a thing he couldn't pick up on and understand completely.
Eventually it grew into a routine, watching them practice for hours at a time every day. The uneasy feeling alchemy gave her never went away, and she never grew more understanding or attached to alchemy itself. However, there was one thing that drew her in, one thing that made her come back to watch again and again. If she had to say what that one thing happened to be, well…
Honestly, watching Roy Mustang work was a thing of beauty.
It felt like she could literally watch him grow into the great man he was undoubtedly destined to be. Almost as if she were growing up with this boy she hardly knew, yet, despite only watching from the sidelines, she felt more and more attached every time she saw him practice. She started to know him in other ways. Not in a formal way, but rather from observing his traits and habits—the little signs that made him more of what he was than any words could describe.
That face he made when he started pondering a new idea, that moment his eyes lit up when he grasped a concept, the little hunch of his shoulders when he didn't understand something as quickly as he would've liked.
Something about every little thing he did drew her in and kept her close.
Maybe her distraction with him kept her from noticing her father and his continued descent into madness, or maybe she noticed the entire time and only used Roy to excuse herself from trying to seek an impossible solution to his condition.
Either way, it happened late one night.
She lay on her bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, for several hours. Something about the night felt off, so sleep evaded her. Suddenly she heard the front door creak open, and she quickly made her way out of bed and down the stairs, making as little noise as possible in the creaking, old house. She instinctively moved towards her father's room, and sure enough heard voices from within as she approached.
"So you've decided to become a soldier after all? That's all the proof I need. You're not ready to learn flame alchemy," came her father's voice, sounding strained and disappointed.
"But Sir, I am," another voice—Roy's—protested. "It's the only thing left. I mean, haven't I already mastered the fundamentals of alchemy?"
"Of course you have," her father answered promptly. "And I regret even teaching you that much, now that I know who you plan on using it for."
"But," Roy tried again, "alchemy should be used for the people, shouldn't it?"
Her father grunted noncommittally.
"Master, our country is constantly under threat from all sides," Mustang explained desperately. "The military needs alchemists. It's a matter of defending our homes. If we don't help them—!"
"I'm tired of hearing that!" her father snapped in annoyance, cutting him off. Riza leaned closer, worriedly, hearing her father break into a coughing fit.
"I can't stand to see you like this," Roy whispered in frustration. "There's no reason for a man of your stature to suffer in this kind of squalor. If you would simply join the military you could get grants for your research. You could—!"
"I don't need a grant for something I've already completed," her father snapped, cutting him off again.
"You've finished your research?" Roy asked in surprised.
"I've created the most powerful alchemy," her father explained. "It would only cause tragedy if I placed it in the wrong hands. And now that I've finished it, I've allowed myself to grow complacent." He paused for a moment before explaining, "We alchemist are hungry creatures, we must continue the hunt for knowledge for as long as we live. If we forego pursuing the truth, we allow ourselves to die. Trust me, I've been dead for a long time."
Riza could scarcely breathe. He had talked madness before, but this almost sounded like he was giving up on life itself. She suddenly found herself flooded with mixed feelings. Had he truly grown to the point of utter despair? What if he meant what he said and he—?
Her thoughts were cut off as violent coughing erupted from within the room.
"Master!" came Mustang's worried cry. "Are you all right? Master Hawkeye!"
Riza couldn't stand it any longer. She burst into the room in time to hear her father's dieing words, given not to his only living kin, but rather his young disciple: "Look after my daughter. She's in possession of my research. Look after her…"
"Riza!" Roy spun around upon hearing her enter and rushed her back out the door. "Stay out here, I'll take care of him."
"No!" she cried. "He's my father! He's my father!"
"If that's true, then respect his final wish!" he snapped. "Let me take care of this."
Riza felt herself tremble and her eyes started to water up. She had just witnessed the passing of her father. What was she going to do now? She had no family left, and as of this moment no real future.
Roy lingered near her, watching as tears started to stream down her cheeks. His master's final request was for him to take care of this girl he knew so little about. All he knew of her was from his own teacher's words, but he had never spoken directly to her. Finally he let out a sigh and reached a hand out towards the young woman, hesitating as she flinched in response, before cupping her cheek in his hand.
"It's going to be okay," he promised. "I'm going to look after you. I promise."
Riza looked away to wipe her tears away. "I think I need to go lay down," she muttered. Roy could only nod in agreement and watch the darkness swallow her up.
He turned his attention back to the room where his master now rested. Funeral arrangements would need to be made, and what of Riza? Did she have any living relatives? In all his time at the Hawkeye's manor he had never seen anyone other than Master Hawkeye and Riza. What was she going to do now? And—he looked back towards his master's prone form—would she be willing to divulge the secrets his own master felt he wasn't eligible for? He could always force it out of her, but that wasn't the way he operated.
And, besides, those eyes of her still stirred a foreign feeling deep within him. He simply couldn't allow harm to come to her—especially not harm by his own hand.
The funeral preparations were made, and although the funeral itself was small, Roy and Riza both agreed it would've been to the late Master Hawkeye's liking. It happened on a crisp, chilly morning, but Riza would always recall how there wasn't a cloud in the sky that day. Little did either of them know how much this day would influence the course of their lives, for better or for worse.
Initially they stood before his grave, giving a small yet personal memorial service for the man that bound them together, and for a while nothing but silence passed between the two.
"You've done so much," she said, voice strained, staring at the freshly lain tomb of her late father. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough."
"It's the least I could do," Roy answered easily. "After everything he's taught me." He paused to pull something out of his jacket. "You should take this, you can call me in the military if you need to." Another pause. "Let me guess, you also don't approve of me becoming a soldier."
Riza looked at him, surprised. Since when did her approval matter at all?
"Your father told me soldiers are left to die like trash on the side of the road," he explained, and then he said something truly surprising: "That may be, but I know it's the only way to make a difference. I know I'll never be happy unless I try to make this country a better place." She looked over to see the same determination she had seen so many times before in his eyes, unmoving, unwavering.
"Man, that must've sounded pretty childish, hu?" he asked, looking away in embarrassment at his outburst.
Riza couldn't help but smile, just a little bit. "Not at all," she answered. "There's nothing childish about caring." Now it was his turn to look surprised. "I'd like to believe that you're serious about this," she continued. "That you really do care." She paused, staring intently at her father's grave. Finally she asked, "Can I trust you Roy? With my father's research?"
She turned to look him in the eye. Her father had said it, in several manifestations. In her dreams, yes, but physically he left it to her. His research. Who she chose to share it with, well, it really was up to her now. Her father may not have believed in the military, but it wasn't the military she was giving his research to, it was Roy, and that made a difference. Didn't it?
"Your own father didn't trust me with it," he said in response. "No offense, Riza, but he probably knew better than you what I'm capable of."
She turned away from him again, looking back to the tombstone. "He knew you were capable of performing it if you could get your hands on it." She considered her next words carefully, and wondered for a moment how much Roy knew of her relationship with her father. "But I know you're capable of controlling it."
She felt his eyes fall on her again, but refused to meet his look.
"Do you trust a man you know so little about so much?" he whispered.
"No," she responded quickly. "I trust a man I know plenty about."
Now she did return his look, no doubt in her eyes, but only a fraction of that same determination she saw reflected in his eyes. He nodded, and then asked, "So where's the research at?"
Riza felt her face flush before answering, "It's inside. Come on, I'll show you." He followed her inside, up to her room. She sat down on her bed, blushing more and more as she turned from Roy and removed her shirt. At first he looked utterly confused by her actions, but then she heard the small gasp as he witnessed her scarred back for the first time.
"He did this to you?" he hissed, obviously shocked his own master could do such a thing.
"He did it with my permission," she corrected, shivering in the chill of the drafty room. The minutes ticked by, with Roy staring intensely at her back the entire time—he left only for a moment to get a pencil and notepad—until finally he set the pencil down and let out a sigh.
"Your father truly was a genius beyond his years," he told her, still reveling in the information he had just received. "How he came up with it at all baffles someone like me; I don't know how I could possibly think to take this very power into my own hands."
"I don't think he would've taken you on at all, if he thought for even a moment you weren't worthy," Riza replied, still trembling from the cold. "He was only disappointed that you put your faith in the military."
She heard him approach her, and soon felt his warm hand on her bare shoulder. "You're going to catch a cold," he informed her, sitting on the bed behind her and wrapping his arms around her bare torso. Resting his chin on her shoulder he whispered, "Are you disappointed in me?"
Riza's heart was racing, and the blushing had spread like wildfire and engulfed her entire body in an unpredictable fire. "No," she whispered, trembling still, but no longer from the cold. "I have faith in you."
He turned his head, nuzzling her neck and placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Take care of yourself," he whispered.
Riza jumped up, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you leaving already?"
"Yes, I feel I've overstayed my welcome here," he answered, respectfully looking down at his shoes. "If you ever need me, you know how to find me."
With that he turned and walked out of the door, and for a terrifying moment, she couldn't help but wonder if he was walking out of her life for good. She slid her shirt back on and picked up the piece of paper he had given her. A number was all that connected them physically now, but the hateful knowledge of an alchemy left behind by her father was what truly bonded them, and Riza knew it.
She knew that if she gave this man her father's alchemy, then it was her responsibility to follow him and make sure that the alchemy was never misused.
Riza Hawkeye did something she knew she could never be forgiven for in her father's eyes: she joined the military in search of Roy Mustang. She wasn't sure what had happened after he left, except that when he left she realized she was truly and utterly alone in the world—a thought even she couldn't stand. She knew Roy had to be within the ranks somewhere, and if she searched long and hard enough, she could find him again.
It simply didn't feel right, not being by his side.
Roy Mustang, meanwhile, carried on unaware of his pursuer.
After he acquired the knowledge of flame alchemy he returned to Central for testing, and was then quickly instated as a state alchemist. He intended to make all the difference he could with what was granted to him, and although that wasn't much, he felt it would be enough.
He met plenty of good men as he traveled from post to post and learned the ins and outs of the military lifestyle. One such man, Maes Hughes, gave him a bit of a headache, but he was a good man. A reliable, steadfast man. With a few screws loose, but still reliable, for the most part. He only ever asked Roy one thing that made him squirm a bit.
It started as a simple conversation, late at night as they were traveling to their new outpost. Maes started bragging about his beautiful girlfriend, how he was so overjoyed to have met her, courted her, and some day would wed her. Not to mention she was apparently the best thing since alchemy itself. Maybe better than that even. Of course, that only scratches the surface!
It would get on any sane man's nerves after a while.
"Would you shut up already," Mustang growled, finally frustrated to his breaking point. "I get it, she's great! Not that I don't care, but you've already told me the same thing at least thirty times!"
"Thirty-five, actually," Hughes replied cheerfully. Seeing Roy's sour face he had to laugh and ask, "Aw, come on! Don't you have a girl back home that just makes you want to talk for hours?"
"No, of course not!" Mustang snapped, feeling his face flush more out of frustration than anything else. Then Riza's image popped into his head, and suddenly the blush was less out of frustration.
"Oh! You're blushing!" Maes crowed in delight. "So who is she?"
"She's no one!" he barked.
"Oh boy you've totally fallen for her haven't you?" Hughes continued on, enjoying making Roy squirm far too much. "So why haven't you told her yet?"
"Who says I haven't told her yet?"
Smirking triumphantly the elder man replied, "It's written all over your face. You haven't worked up the guts to tell her how you feel!" Elbowing Roy in the ribs he demanded, "Now come on! Just let it all out! Tell me all about this wonderful mystery woman!"
Roy ran a hand through his hair, frowning thoughtfully. "Without her I wouldn't have been able to become a state alchemist," he started, building steam. "I really feel like we grew up together, although I met her when I was a teenager. Her father taught me everything I know, so I was around her house quite a bit. She would sometimes watch us practice, and I noticed she wasn't usually watching the alchemy or even her father, but rather she was watching me. Like something I was doing was special compared to everything else. She probably thinks I never noticed too.
"I always wanted to talk to her and get to know her better, but either she was being reclusive or her father had work for me. When her father died, I helped her with the preparations for his funeral, and I gave her my number in case she ever wanted to call. She did a couple of times, at first, but slowly she stopped calling me. I've been worried about her, but I can't just take off to go see her on a whim anymore. Some days I feel like I squandered our easier days," he concluded finally.
"Holy cow!" Hughes shouted. "Stop the car! This man is in L-O-V-E love, and he needs to tell this girl now!"
"Shut up!" the blushing Flame Alchemist cried, attacking the mad man and doing his best to stifle his loud-mouthed companion.
"Roy and—!" Maes came up short and twisted his neck, as his head was currently in a headlock courtesy of Roy, to get a look at the young Flame Alchemist. "Say what did you say her name was?"
"Riza Hawkeye," he answered, his voice suddenly gentle again, as if he was caressing her very name.
"Roy and Riza sitting in a tree!" Hughes burst out. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Roy with a baby carriage!"
"That's it; I'm going to kill you!" Mustang threatened, twisting his friend's neck even more. Maybe friend was a loose term after all.
Time passed and people moved their separate ways, but it wasn't long before most of the state alchemists and soldiers found themselves re-discovering what it meant to remain innocent during the Ishvalan Civil War. It was during that time that Riza finally caught up with Roy.
He had been conversing casually with Maes Hughes, after finding they had both been deployed to the same area, when she approached. An unknown person, cloaked, but with the hunched shoulders and look of a war-weary soldiers.
"Hello Major Mustang, long time no see," she said, her voice flat and deprived of the same life it once held. Roy felt his teeth clench in response. Lowering her hood she asked, "Do you still remember me?"
"Damn it," he muttered, his knees going weak at the sight. Riza had been such a beautiful, untainted girl. He knew the sufferings of war, but he could bare that. How had she come to carry the same weight? How had she found the same path lain before her? She couldn't have possibly followed him all this way, not like this.
"Um, who's this?" Maes whispered, looking back and forth between Riza and Roy.
"This is that girl I told you about," he answered. "Remember all those months ago?" Hughes let out a little 'oh' of understanding, before saluting and walking off, effectively excusing himself.
Riza watched a moment, as the other man walked off, before approaching the man she thought she knew so well, but as she came closer she realized something that made her sick. His eyes. They were different from the youthful, determined ones of the past. These eyes bore a deep sorrow and guilt, and she knew why without even asking.
"Do you remember me?" she asked again, looking hopefully up at him.
Roy let out a small sigh, almost a sound of relief. "Of course I remember you. How could I ever forget?"
Riza smiled in response and it seemed to return her to the old days when she was just a quiet spectator and he was still learning alchemy from the original Flame Alchemist. The moment stayed only briefly though, and soon she had to ask, "It's my fault, isn't it?"
"What?" he gasped in surprise.
"If I hadn't given you access to the flame alchemy my father created, then you wouldn't be here right now," she explained. "You wouldn't have that look in your eyes."
"No," he whispered in a disappointment directed at himself. "I would've figured out a way to join regardless. And anyways, I could say the same about you."
It was her turn to look at him in surprise. "I came here of my own free will," she declared.
"You followed me, though, didn't you?" he whispered, sorrow filling his eyes.
"Just like you chose to follow the path of the military," she explained quietly. "I chose to follow you down that path. No matter what the cost."
A moment of understanding passed between the two of them, and they both turned to look at the destruction they had rained down upon these lands.
"We've certainly paid the cost, whatever our dreams may be," the Flame Alchemist remarked quietly. "I'll burn in hell for what I've done here."
"Then I suppose I'll be burning with you," Hawkeye answered, not missing a beat.
He turned to make a rebuttal, but looking at her again, seeing her here and knowing what she must've gone through to get here, all he said instead was, "I suppose you will."
Watching the burning city below only seemed to reinforce this, so after a moment—wordlessly—they returned back to the camp, found Hughes, and sat down. They could both use the break, even if neither cared to admit it. For a while the three sat in a neutral silence, but then, Riza suddenly asked a question Roy had no answer for, nor would he ever.
"Maybe you can answer this, Major," she started. He still disliked the formal way she referred to him now; he doubted he would get used to it any time soon, but he could play along easily enough. "Why are we being order to kill citizens, when we should be the ones protecting them? I thought alchemy was meant to be used to help people, so why is it being used to kill them instead?"
Before Mustang could think of a decent response to such an honest question, Kimblee—a fellow alchemist—spoke up, "Because that's the job we state alchemists have been given to do." He continued easily, "You ask why we're here killing these people instead of protecting them? Because this is a war and that's what soldiers do. Isn't that right?"
"You think this is our job?" Mustang demanded, blood boiling. "To cause tragedy?"
"Well, that's how it seems," the other man responded, unfazed. "But let's see. Tell me, Miss, you're not very happy to be here are you? Well you don't appear to be."
Both Roy and Hughes turned to glare at the up-start alchemist, while Riza could only return his deadly stare.
"But can you honestly tell me," he continued, ignoring the warning looks being shot his way, "in that split second when you take down an enemy, you don't allow yourself to feel the slightest tinge of satisfaction and pride in your skills?" He leaned forward, a malicious look of self-satisfaction creeping across his face. "Well, Miss Marksman?"
"That's enough Kimblee!" Roy yelled, rushing the man and prepared to punch him out should he utter one more word against Riza.
"I'll tell you what I don't get," he continued on, attention turning from Riza now and focusing on Roy. "That you people expect something different. You act like you're surprised, like you didn't choose this."
Mustang growled in response. Choose this? Who would ever choose this?
"Did you put on that uniform thinking you wouldn't be asked to kill?" Kimblee asked persistently. "The one thing worse than death is to avert your eyes from it. Look straight at the people you kill, don't take your eyes off them for a second. And don't ever forget them, because I promise that they won't forget you."
Just as Mustang thought he was going to lose his last feeble strand of sanity a bell rang, snapping him back to reality. He released Kimblee roughly and took a step back.
"Oh, too bad, there's the bell," the twisted alchemist sighed without regret. "Time for me to get back to work!" He walked off practically buzzing with joy; it made Riza and Roy both sick to their stomachs. They were possibly never more in-tune to each other's feelings than they were at that very moment.
Hughes stood up slowly, brushing himself off in a futile attempt. "I've got to head out too," he said sadly. "See you later Roy."
But before he could leave, the frustrated young major demanded, "Hughes! Can you tell me why you fight?"
"It's simple," the older man answered solemnly. "I don't want to die, that's the only reason. The reasons are always simple."
The two watched Hughes walk back to the battlefield, and Roy collapsed back on his rickety seat.
"Roy," she whispered. "What haven we gotten ourselves into?"
For that, he had no answer.
Not long after they reunited, the tide of the war turned, and they found themselves rapidly approaching the end of the long and bloody conflict.
The last time they saw each other in Ishval, Mustang found her patting down dirt on a grave.
"Aren't you going back?" he asked. "You'll be left behind." Glancing at the mound of dirt he questioned, "Who's that? A war buddy?"
To his surprise she shook her head. "No. It-it's an Ishvalan child. One left dead with nowhere to call home," she answered sadly.
He looked at his long time friend with concern. "Let's go; the war is over now."
"The fighting maybe, but the nightmares of what we did in this place are far from over," she answered solemnly, voice on edge. "They'll stay with me for as long as I live."
Roy opened his mouth, about to tell her how some times you just had to let things go. Move pass them, live beyond them, even if it was easier said than done. But she continued, suddenly angry, with a hatred towards him that she had never shown before.
"I believed in you," she growled. "I trusted you with my father's research!"
He automatically thought back to the day when he read and unlocked the secrets upon her back. Why couldn't it all be as simple as that one sweet embrace they had shared then? When did it all fall apart and turn into this hellhole?
"And I applied to the military academy," she continued, "because I hoped to help other people. The way things turned out, it's not what I wanted, but there's no escaping the truth. I can never atone for the suffering I've caused."
Again he wanted to protest, to comfort her, but how could he when she only spoke truthfully?
"I have a favor to ask, Mustang," she said quietly, bringing his attention back to her, but the next thing she asked was utterly unacceptable. "Please burn this off. Deface my back."
"How could I ever do something—?" he cried in outrage, not to mention pure disgust at the thought of scaring her beautiful back any further.
"At least," she interrupted, "I may not ever be able to atone, but at least I can destroy the secrets on my back! There can be no more flame alchemists."
Although he didn't want to admit it, even he knew it was true. There would be no continuation for this saga. This part of alchemic history would rot away with the two of them, never to be taught to a new generation, and in effect, never to be used to wipe out masses of that very same generation.
"Can you do this?" she asked, voice quivering. "If so, please release me. I want you to set me free from my father's burden. Please set me free from his alchemy. I'm begging you." The one thing she had never wanted to be a part of, and now look at what it's reduced her to. Begging the man she loved and trusted to defile her, just to free her from such a sin. Her father, in his own twisted way, was wise for dieing after learning this. It's not knowledge for the living.
Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth he nodded. "All right," he agreed reluctantly, focusing on only the small hope that it might ease some of her pain. "I'll leave as little trace as I can."
Riza sniffled a bit, on the verge of tears. "Thank you so much. Thank you."
They found a building not quite reduced to ruble, and he performed the deed with a sharp focus that tried in vain to ignore her winces of pain, her whimpers of terror.
After he finished, Mustang could do no more than restrain his anger as she thanked him again, barely holding back tears. Damn whoever made this happen. Damn the Fuehrer and his blood-drenched solutions. Damn the alchemists who enjoyed this. And damn himself for ever allowing Riza to follow him this far.
After they parted ways the rush of the ending took over. With the end of the war came the transfers of entire battalions from place to place—not to mention all of the soldiers being discharged and returned home—Roy once again found himself alone, while Riza found herself once again hoping for the opportunity to meet up with the man she had chosen to follow.
For once, a good stroke of luck smiled upon them, as a relatively short time later Riza found herself assigned under the command of Colonel Roy Mustang.
She walked to his office and knocked lightly on the door. "Enter," came the quick, business-like reply. She stepped inside and walked up to the desk, saluting and then standing at attention.
"So you decided to take this path after all," Roy commented, keeping his face neutral. "Even after what you went through in Ishval."
"Yes, Sir," she replied without hesitation. "If the world truly operates based on the principles of equivalent exchange, then we soldiers have plenty to give back. If this world is meant to prosper, then it is our duty to carry the bodies of the dead across a river of blood to their resting place."
Roy glanced down, digesting her words for a moment, before standing up to announce, "From now on I'm assigning you to be my assistant. I feel like I could trust you to watch my back."
Riza could do no more than stand there, listening to the orders of her superior, but she knew it went deeper than that. It had always been deeper than that, since the day she gave him both his greatest gift and curse.
"Although," he said, bringing her back to the present, "I expect you understand what this means. You'll be able shoot me in the back as well. If I ever deviate from this path, then I want you to shoot me, and I'm trusting you to do so." He paused, meeting her level gaze. "Do you accept my offer?"
She closed her eyes, breaking eye contact. "Of course I do, Sir," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll follow you into hell if you ask me to."
The Colonel nodded in satisfaction, although he never really doubted it for a moment.
"Lieutenant?" he asked, bringing her attention back to him. "Long ago, did you ever have an odd dream?"
"A dream, Sir?" she asked, a little puzzled by the topic.
"Yes, like when you sleep," he explained. "Did you ever have a dream that you couldn't explain at the time you had it, but then it made perfect sense later on in your life?"
For a moment nothing came to mind, but then slowly a nightmare from long ago re-surfaced. It had been horrifying at the time, but in retrospect, was it really so bad? It was more a fear of not knowing Roy that made the dream truly scary. Not knowing if she could trust him, yet here she was, putting all of her faith into this man she had dreamed of long before he came into existence.
Instead of answering directly though, she asked, "Have you, Sir?"
The Flame Alchemist smiled wisely. "Perhaps."
A knock on the door jarred Roy Mustang awake. He looked around the room groggily. Had he fallen asleep doing paperwork? No big surprise there. By the looks of it he must've been out for quite a while, as the orange hues had left the sky in favor of deep blues.
"Enter," he called. He looked up to see Riza Hawkeye poke her head into the room.
"Sir, I was getting worried when you didn't return home," she explained. "I thought it would be wise to come and check on you." She looked around at the relatively normal room. "What happened, Sir?"
"I seemed to have fallen asleep doing some work," he answered, standing up and stretching. His back popped in response and he let out a sigh. Man he hated paperwork. No way sleeping like this was healthy.
"Do you need some help with that, Sir?" Hawkeye offered, eyeing the mound of papers.
"No, I'll just finish them tomorrow," he answered, yawning. "I need some shut eye." He glanced back down at the papers and caught sight of her name once again.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.
He looked over at his long-time friend, and couldn't help but smile, just a bit.
"Sir?" she asked confusedly.
"It's nothing," he answered. "Let's go home Lieutenant."
"Yes, Sir."
A/N:This is dedicated and in thanks to all the people who create RoyxRiza fan art, fan fiction, AMVs; you all inspire me, and without you I wouldn't have been able to write this, thank you!