This was written for the January/February session of the FMAExchange, a livejournal community commited to having writers take a new approach to this craft. It came in first place for the round, with a score of 4.1

Caution: This may contain spoilers for both the series and the movie. If you have not seen either, do not continue beyond this point. You have been forewarned.

Candle Life

By ricochet941

Two years ago, the world she had known and loved, was prepared to follow through all its dangers, had been blown away like ashes in the wind. How appropriate; the day that the Fullmetal Alchemist had disappeared, Riza Hawkeye's life had begun to flicker like a dying candle.

Roy Mustang. That was her life. Upon hearing of the vanishing of his young protégé after his recovery, the Brigadier General had feverishly searched for Edward, knowing he had only a short time in which to exercise his power. She stood quietly by his side watching as he ordered all of his subordinates to every corner of Amestris. He'd even recruited Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and his own subordinates to help with the search. Night after night, she silently refilled his coffee cups as Roy sat hunched over maps of the land; they were circled in green, crossed out in red, and questioned marked in blue. Reports littered the desk of all the officers of East Headquarters, but it was only Mustang's team who took the loss of their youngest member to heart.

Then suddenly the wick was cut short. The newly established parliament held an inquisition into Fuehrer Bradley's disappearance. While they had no reason to connect Mustang with Bradley the homonculi's destruction, they did have evidence of his "attempts" of a treasonous insurrection. She walked beside him, his head held high as he entered the courtroom. He was prepared to take whatever punishment they handed out to him. She knew he was wishing it to be severe. Despite bearing the name of Flame Alchemist still, Roy no longer had any fire left in him. Edward's disapearence had humbled him. The sudden appearance of Alphonse in his body had made Roy realize how selfish his own actions were. Many times she had sat beside him as he murmured of how he had betrayed Edward's trust in him long ago, by bringing him into the line of fire, whispers of how self-sacrificing Ed was for the ones he truly cared about.

So he stood before the jury, the judge and the court. He explained with a disturbing calmness how he had orchestrated such a move against the government, but left out key details as to exactly why. He based his actions off the anger of the murder of Maes Hughes, his best friend until the man's death only a few short months before. He kept his head raised as they handed down their decision. He was to be stripped of his command, unless he would deign to resign his high ranking of his own accord. His unit was to be disbanded, and would not be punished along with him if he agreed to follow their conditions. His face was blank as he spoke.

"I, Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist do hereby resign the title of Brigadier General."

She was amazed at his dignity, though she expected no less from him. The court accepted his resignation, but determined not to loose such a fine individual, offered him a position as corporal under the conditions that he served his remaining time in the North. She was saddened by his agreement, but she let not even a whisper escape her. She stood just as strong as he did and followed him out of the courtroom with her back straight and her head held high. She knew, with a sickening feeling, that things would never be the same again.

They had no time to say their goodbyes, but the sharp look in his good eye said there was no need for any form of dramatics. A simple nod of her head was all she could offer, and Riza felt there was no way she could fit all the words she wanted to say in that small gesture. She stepped aside as two armed guards escorted Mustang to his office to collect his things. The following morning, he was shipped up north on a train with no stops on its route but its beginning and its end.

The light in the office had seemed dim to her, as she sat the head of the table. She turned her head from side to side, confused by what she felt. The room did not feel like it had when Roy Mustang had sat royally at his desk, smiling down at them like a benevolent king. She could hardly take notice of those around her. It seemed as if they were moving at pace so fast they were blurred, and before she knew it she was sitting alone with only her things left at the table. She sat in silence for a long time, taking in the surroundings. It was only after the room grew truly dark that she packed away her belongings in a battered cardboard box and moved towards the door. She spared a single glance over her shoulder as she grasped the door handle. A single tear streaked down her pale cheek, landing silently on the box in her arms. No words escaped her as she closed the door.

She was being transferred to a position at Central, working in the main communications department. Even with her sniper experience, the new parliament had decided her skills were best used away from the battlefield. The days began to pass slowly, as she fitted herself to her new routine. Her mind wandered as she sat her desk, often thinking of the Colonel, and how he was feeling. Occasionally, she crossed paths with one of the other members of Mustang's unit, and she stopped to check up on them.

She came across Warrant Officer Falman a week after Mustang's departure. His usually severe face was harried and sweaty, as he lugged a box down the hall. He stopped as he saw her, and set the box down to salute her.

"I've been transferred to the South Headquarters for the next year."

It turned out Sergeant Fuery was accompanying him as well, but the younger officer would return within six months. She wished Falman good luck and asked him to extend her pleasantries to Fuery, before bidding him goodbye and continuing on her way. She could've sworn that the Central Headquarters became slightly darker that day.

Days slowly moved into weeks, and weeks slowly into months. Once, a letter from the Colonel found its way into her hands. It was crinkled and torn, the ink running in places where snow had fallen. Carefully, she withdrew the letter from its tattered envelope, and smoothed it down on her desk. She was pained to see it was short in length.

Riza,

I write to you to ask for your forgiveness. I selfishly asked you to follow me headlong into danger, even though I knew the risks involved. I do not wish for you to give your forgiveness now, though. I am not worthy of it at the time being. When I return to you with Edward by my side, I shall beg you for your forgiveness again. I pray you will find it in your heart to give it to me.

Sincerely,

Corp. Roy Mustang.

She was saddened by his tone; this was not the man she had promised to follow. She crumpled the letter in her hands, and pushed it to the side of the desk. She had hoped he had not let fire within him die completely, but it seemed he had. She prayed it would find a way to remain lit.

Lieutenant Jean Havoc intentionally wandered into the communications department seven months after the disbanding and demotion. He no longer had his trademark cigarette in his mouth, and there were deep circles under his eyes.

"That damn General Armaro is a crazy bastard."

She felt sympathy for the Second Lieutenant as he explained how his new commanding officer had ordered him to stop smoking and constantly called him to a meeting at either his home or headquarters at all hours of the day, preventing Havoc from having an active social life. He moaned his fate that even now with the Colonel gone, he still could not get and keep a woman. She knew it was his way of commenting on how much he missed the Colonel, and she tried to reassure him that all would be well in the future. The swift drop of Havoc's head discouraged her as he muttered that due to General Armaro's sudden dependence on him, he was being transferred to East Headquarters and could not expect to return for several weeks, possibly months. Before she could offer any words for any of his problems, Armaro had swooped down on them and ordered the second Lieutenant to follow him for the fitting of his newest uniform. Havoc waved feebly as he followed in his commanding officers footsteps, and crossed across the threshold.

She was positive that the next morning all of Amestris was darker than it had ever been before.

Second Lieutenant Breda seemed to have disappeared into thin air. She heard no whispers of his name, and never saw any mention of him in any reports. One early morning, almost a year and a half later, as she waited in line at the local bakery, she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. Her head whipped around, and her breath caught in her throat. Heymans Breda stood behind her, his eyes dancing in delight despite the dark circles beneath them. He smiled at her.

"You are a sight for sore eyes."

They grabbed a cup of coffee and settled down on a park bench, despite her penchant for being early. As he ran a shaking, dirty hand through his red hair, he described the perils of his new life. He had been sent undercover to Drachma to gather intelligence on a rumored uprising. He had been recruited by the leaders of the uprising, and due to his skills in strategy, he was forced to help plan a bombing. Thanks to his role, the Amestrian military had been able to prevent it. He had just come back into town the day before, and was resettling into the capital. He expressed his concern quietly that he not expected to live through the mission. Riza was stunned. She had not expected any of her former team members to be sent on such a terribly dangerous mission. She was even more horrified to learn he was being sent back to Drachma as an assistant to the Amestrian ambassador. He would be a prime target for anyone seeking revenge. It was with great sadness she bid him goodbye. She stood, watching his retreating back, wishing she could help him. Unfortunately, just as Breda knew, there was only one person who could've been cunning enough to help him.

Her own life seemed orchestrated, scheduled, but empty. She got through the day with as little feeling as possible. Afterwards, she would make her way home to her apartment; where once home she would absent-mindedly pet Black Hayate on the head before throwing herself into her nightly ritual.

She had come to abhor the darkness. Something about it had started to remind her how bleak the future looked without Roy Mustang, and so she came to despise the blackness. Even though her apartment housed no less than four table lamps, three overhead lights, and two night-lights for Black Hayate, Riza found herself filling the house with candles. As she readied for bed, she would have to wind her way through the small room and around the candles that littered the floor. There were red ones, black ones, scented and unscented, short and fat, long and thin, and a particular expensive Ishbalan specialty candle that Edward had given her after his encounter with the alchemist murderer Scar. Each would be lit, its flame gently tossing about in the restless air as she climbed into bed. She would watch the candles until her eyes grew heavy with sleep, and then she would turn her face to the wall and will herself to drift off. She was aware of the dangers of falling asleep with a room full of lit candles, but she found she wasn't frightened of the flame. In a strange way, she felt protected by the dim lights. Some nights, she just didn't care.

By morning, some of the candles would have been whittled down to a puddle of wax and a wick. Some would still have their flames, but they were small and insignificant. She would step out of bed carefully, and one by one blow out the lingering flames. After carefully cleaning the wax from the floor, she would replace the melted candles with new ones, before resuming her regular morning activities.

Occasionally, she would run into Alphonse Elric while she was walking Black Hayate for his morning piddle-session. Riza was saddened to find that the bright, determined face of the younger Elric brought her such sadness.

"I'm determined to find Brother and bring him home."

She could only wish his determination would stretch to include the Colonel, but she knew Alphonse was hardly aware of Roy's existence. On those chance meetings, she tried to keep her face calm, as Alphonse would accompany her on the walks, pestering her about what she knew of his older brother. She resisted all urges to ask him to make a visit north, to a small outpost where she knew a colonel-turned-corporal was waiting as well for the return of the Fullmetal Alchemist. She wondered whether Roy would be stirred to remember himself by the vision of the younger Elric, who seemed to grow more like his esteemed elder brother every day.

The visits with Alphonse left her more despondent every time he left her at her doorstep. Had she been a lesser woman, she would've found herself unable to hide her sadness. Still, she carried on, her hazel eyes sharp and her lips pursed. Though she wasn't exactly the most outgoing person, she still felt unable to bring herself to try and make friends with her new coworkers. She knew her rather cold manner would aid her in this. So as the days moved by slowly, she became a mystery; the only thing they knew they could see in plain sight. A single candle, it's wax a deep blood red, that remained lit all the hours she was in the office, sat on the corner of her desk. When it was nearly melted away completely, it was discreetly replaced with an exactly matched new candle.

Two years. She walked in silence towards Headquarters. It had been two years since Roy's removal to the outpost up North. In two years she had hardly given up hope that he would return, but the hope had been whittled away, growing weaker as each day had passed. She took her seat behind her desk. The candle that had stood as her memorial to the Colonel had too been whittled down; it had a day's worth of wax left. She sighed inwardly, as she reached inside her desk to grasp a match. Striking it against her desk, she held the short flame against the shortened wick. She watched as the candle flared into life, a weak, unstable light that would surely not last forever. The match died, and she tossed it into the trash, before looking around the office. No one else had arrived yet. She allowed herself a moment of despair. Leaning her head against her open palm, she closed her eyes. Two years it had been, and nothing had happened. She knew she could wait no longer.

At the end of that day, she scooped the melted candle into her hand, and pushed it into the trash. It would be the last time they would see a candle on her desk, she had decided. Unless something happened, there was nothing left for her to hope for. She had to move on. Even a flame could not last forever.

Hers was not a candle life.