It's about damn time I start posting more fanfics, isn't it? Thank you all for taking the time to even bother to look into this story…

I've had this piece on my mind for quite some time. Most of my stories are based on the anime, more so because I haven't gotten a chance to read the Manga yet. There's a big difference in the two, and I know that recently, there have been discoveries within both Roy and Riza's pasts. However, before I learned this, I had my own visions and opinions on what Roy's life was like when he was a child, before he had gotten himself into the art of Alchemy. Sometimes, I imagined him living with his parents in the city, or out on a farm.

This one, I decided to stick with a view of Roy's uneasiness towards rain. In the anime, I've noted that when Roy's with Hawkeye, he's not so disgruntled about it. This led me to believe that something happened between them. I didn't put too much detail on the relationship between those two, but I wanted readers to know that she was there with him in the war, as well as afterwards.

Throughout all of this, I also wanted to stick to my distinctive style of writing—the parallel sort of way that I begin and end the story, while making the difference in opinion somewhere within the middle. It took a bit, but I managed to pull it off. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

Also, I would enjoy your reviews, opinions, and thoughts. I'll be starting a fanfic with maybe…10 or so drabbles and short stories within it. I've got some things in mind, but your ideas are always enjoyable.

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA, or any of her characters that she so created.

Miss the Rain

The sky above shuddered with a rumble, and parted as a silver, almost white light, cut through the clouds with an unnatural ease. The heavens opened, and a heavy, hard rain began; it's contents spilling across the land and darkening the Earth, replenishing that which had been lost, or nearly lost. At one time, Roy Mustang had enjoyed the rain. The soft, yet natural scent of the drops as it settled into the ground, shifting and forming into a new shape. Almost like alchemy.

He had taken to it long before, while exploring the fields and forests surrounding the place in which he had grown up. Rain, he had learned, was like a friend. It stole away the sun's relentless glare and scorching heat, and instead cooled and relaxed. Yes, he had learned that rain was something good; it made him feel that way. Like everything was under control. Like everything was relaxed and cooled.

But despite his past experiences with rain, his opinion had been changed completely. Now, as he watched the faceless figures in black turn and leave, some paired, some alone, he couldn't help but feel the cold, cold feeling that had started within his heart and numbed him to the fingertips. There, beneath the pouring heavens, the water soaking the expensive suite that someone had gotten him—he didn't know who, he felt as if he would never feel the warmth and comfort he had once known from the element.

The two graves, standing side by side, stared back at him. It's finely shaped features weren't noticed; only the names, burning within his memories. Left alone, in the graveyard some ways away from their country-estate house, he stood at his parent's graves, soaked all the while.

Dark, dark eyes never left the names. The young boy's pale features stood out, despite the black jacket and pants. Ebony bangs clung to his head, but despite the rain, the water, he hadn't cried. Not yet. It hadn't sunken in yet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his head tilted back, his gaze rising to the heavens as the rain hit his face more clearly. Onyx eyes narrowed, emotionless.

Roy Mustang hated the rain, and he would never miss it.

He was useless in it.

He took up alchemy. He had dedicated what life he had left to researching, learning, and mastering the art. One specific element in particular: fire. He found the life that he had lost with his parent's death, and he was reborn. His world, his mind, his actions; it all revolved around alchemy. It completed the hole that had ruptured him; that had torn him apart.

And then, Ishbal came.

Because of his knowledge of alchemy, he turned to the state, studied more than ever, and was mentioned by his one friend- Meas Hughes, to a higher officer. He took the test on a Monday, and the next week he was being fitted for his uniform. They needed him on the front lines, along with other alchemists within the ranks.

Ishbal… It was hard to describe just how much hell it was. They started early, and it was built off of that. Hardly any sleep was acquired, more or less of it spent on countless hours filled with screams, orders, gunfire, and explosions. Even when they were trying to sleep, it was still going on. Only a few miles away, the war continued to drag on.

His alchemy, his life, was put on a chain and collar, and used for what he had never dreamed of. They mutated it; turned it into something filthy and grotesque. The smell of fire, which he had taken to liking in his years of learning alchemy, was replaced with gun powder, smoke, burnt flesh, and blood. He knew what it was from; it was from his alchemy, because he had preformed it. And because of him, thousands of lives were destroyed.

There was no rain, and he was glad for that, in the beginning. Then, somewhere towards the end of the first or second month, he became wary. Then, he realized, despite him hating it, that it was a hell of a lot more better than sand and blood.

When he had taken the life of two people on his own side, the Rockbells, he had nearly lost himself once more, if not already. Nearly lost himself to the point of where he had almost taken his own life. His finger was so close to the trigger, and it was a wonder how he hadn't managed to pull it before Marcoh had showed up.

But then, he had made friends. Aside from Maes, a Sergeant Major Riza Hawkeye and Sergeant Jean Havoc. Riza, he saw much of. Havoc was off and on, considering he was shared among the alchemists and higher ups to aide them during missions. Hawkeye stuck with him throughout most of the war, though. He knew she had heard of the happens with the Rokbells. In fact, both she and Maes were the main reasons why he was set straight again, if only a little.

Then, the Philosophers Stones were brought into it. Such tiny, small stones that held within them tremendous powers; it was the final key to the success of the war, to the end of it.

Just as quickly as it had started, it ended.

Smoke billowed gently from the train, and the loud, sharp whistle was blown. Shouts and cheers filled the man's ears, and with a sharp glance out the window, he noted just how many people had shown up to greet the soldiers coming home. Narrowed black eyes rose to the faint light coming from the exits of the train station; the clouds were hanging low, large, puffy, and gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance. An ominous shadow consumed him now, more so because he knew what was going to come.

"Come on, Sir. It's time to go."

His gaze turned to find the person who had shared the compartment with him. Onyx met amber, yet no reply was given as he allowed himself to be consumed by her swirling gaze. Slowly, he nodded, sore muscles knotting and tensing with pain as he rose from his seat by the window. Stepping forward, he followed his Sergeant from the compartment, down the way, and off of the train into the roaring crowd.

Everyone had gone, except her.

He could hear her footsteps behind him as he made his way from the station. Just barely outside, and it seemed that the storm was near. The smell of rain was in the air, and his sharpened hearing caught the woman's soft inhale.

"Rain… I missed the rain. Did you, Sir?"

His footsteps halted, and he heard hers slow to a stop as well. She was just a foot or two off from him. He could feel her gaze on him; his own set dead ahead. Thoughts swirled, and his parent's graves swam through his vision. The cold, chilling rain did not come, though. It was warmed by the memories of Ishbal; how much more better it was than the war. He would take his parents death over Ishbal any day, when he was still a boy, when the world, his world, was so untouched and innocent.

With a gentle rumble, the heavens opened for the second time in his life, and the warm, heavy drops quickly consumed them both.

Within moments, his uniform was soaked. Ebony bangs clung to his forehead, the water droplets dripping from the tips. Warmed by the sensation, he felt his tense, stiff muscles relax with ease.

Was the war over? Yes, but not the one inside. It hadn't sunken in yet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his head tilted back, his gaze rising to the heavens as the rain hit his face more clearly. Swirling onyx eyes narrowed lightly, and his bare hand slid up, the moistening rain hitting it gently, in a consistent tap.

Faintly, he was aware of Hawkeye's own hand enclosing around his other hand, and he gripped it gently, and slowly, he nodded.

Roy Mustang hated the rain, but he had missed it.

And he realized, for the first time, that he wasn't so useless in it after all.

Alright. There you have it. Constructional criticism is very much appreciated. I'll be waiting for reviews. Keep in mind about the new story coming up.

-Hoshiko