Disclaimer: No, I don't own any of the characters, or Full Metal Alchemist. Psh. I wish.

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Thanks!

--yuki-chan

Riza stared out the ice-frosted window, watching flakes of snow whirl by gently. She curled and uncurled her pale fingers; her hand felt empty without her gun. The weapon reminded her that she herself should remain like it; emotionless, cold, and calculating. But it was hard, to stay and think like a weapon day after day. Sometimes she was afraid; afraid she'd stay like that, without emotion, for the all of her life.

Riza forced her mind to wander elsewhere, to the infirmary, and her wound. She was already sitting up, even after being shot in the stomach earlier that day. Even as she thought about it, a pang of agony shot through her abdominal area, disappearing as abruptly as it had come. She hurt all over; aching with the cold hours she had spent lying in the blood-dyed snow, with her head throbbing and her heart breaking into tiny shards that cut her until she cried out.

Riza shuddered, and drew the white blanket around her. She had always hated hospitals. They smelled faintly of the sickening-sweet smell of blood, with pungent and chalky traces of medicine hovering in the air. It unnerved her, to stay in a white room, with an unfamiliar ceiling, and a machine hooked up to her arm, humming constantly. She felt blood rise up in her throat, and she coughed, splattering bright red liquid over her white covers.

Her chest shivered to a halt, and she glanced at the doors, turning the blanket over so the bright red liquid didn't show. She couldn't let the nurses see. They'd operate on her again, or something stupid along the likes of that.

Roy leaned against the wall outside Riza's infirmary room. The small Christmas present he had bought for her was rumpled and disheveled-looking as he balanced it on his fingertips. He tossed it into the air, and caught it again smoothly. Standing up, having finally summoned up enough nerve to visit Riza, he pushed the door open.

Riza looked up suddenly, startled. Her eyes turned cold as she saw her superior enter. She saluted him stiffly, coldly. "Good afternoon, sir." Dropping her hand, she busied her hands and eyes with the fraying corner of her blanket.

Roy tried to smile, but his muscles wouldn't work. So he merely placed the small present on her tableside. He shoved his hands back into his pockets, and before he left, he remembered how Riza had pulled her hand away from him, and how much it had hurt to watch her. He had seen how blank her eyes had been when she had saluted him. Roy paused before the door, head slightly bending down, at the floor, when he said quietly, "Merry Christmas, Lieutenant." His voice was polite, mild, but formal. So formal, it stung Riza, and so suddenly. It was as if they had just met yesterday.

Riza watched Roy move out of the room, and waited until he left before she even allowed herself to look at the small present. Picking it up gingerly, she untied the ribbon carefully, and opened the lid. She almost dropped it with surprise; it was a delicate necklace, with a small heart-shaped locket dangling from the end. Opening it, she blinked. A picture of Roy was grinning back at her, ever-careless, with his trademark smile on his face and rumpled black hair. And she herself was there too. Roy had his arm thrown around her, and she still had her constant frown, stiff and so reserved as usual; it had been last Christmas. She traced her lips, feeling the flesh curve downward. She almost laughed at herself. How stiff she was. She was like the exact opposite of Roy. She remembered everything, down the very last detail, while Colonel couldn't even remember his own uselessness in the rain.

Riza looked down at her lap. A small piece of paper had fluttered down from the box. Picking it up, she unfolded it and read it quietly: "To Riza Lieutenant Hawkeye: Merry Christmas, and have a happy New Year. Love from, Roy."

It was then Riza realized her own mistake. The man who had shot her, however much they looked alike, was not the Roy she knew. And though she would never admit it, she knew she loved him as well.

Riza rang the bell by her bedside, calling for a nurse. A nurse, complete with a uniform and a cap, marched in, her red high-heels clicking irritatingly on the tile floors. "Yes, Lieutenant, ma'am?"

Riza's face was set back to its familiar stern and stiff look. "I'd like to see Colonel Roy Mustang. I am allowed to have visitors, right?"

The nurse looked bewildered. "I'm afraid you won't be able to see him, ma'am."

"Why not?" Riza frowned.

The nurse nodded toward the window. "He was decommissioned today, until further notice."

Riza felt blood rush to her mouth, and she coughed, splattering blood everywhere. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think about anything, but Roy. What have I done?

Roy sighed, leaning his head against the cold pillar outside the military building. He'd been decommissioned. Resting his arm on his knee, with the other leg stretched out, he looked up into the cold, gray sky, and it reminded him of Riza.

He laughed sadly, quietly. The military was the only thing that kept them together, and the only thing that could keep them apart.

Roy sighed, white snowflakes melting on his fingertips. Shivering, he pulled his brown coat around him even tighter; they'd even taken his uniform away. He smiled, remembering how loudly both Havoc and the rest of his subordinates had protested. Havoc had actually flipped the Fuhrer off.

Roy stumbled to his feet, cold and aching. He turned to the towering, gray, snow covered building that had been his home for so many years. His hand raised to his forehead; a salute. He looked up at the tiny windows; so far up they looked miniscule. Somewhere among them, Riza would see him. She would. He expected her to come running out, all of a sudden, despite her injuries…

But as he waited longer, she did not. It was all wishful thinking. Roy forced himself to laugh, and he saluted once again. "To the military." He padded away into the harsh cold and ice. He couldn't see her.

Riza sat up in bed. They had warned her not to exert herself; they had diagnosed her with consumption. A nurse came in, making sure Riza didn't do anything that would harm herself; but even as she tried to smile at the lieutenant, she could see how blank her eyes were; they were dull, and her cheeks were pale.

She had always known it hadn't been him. It was a different man, who shot her. She leaned toward the frosted windows once more, and squinted slightly; there was a dark figure that seemed to be looking up at her. Riza rubbed the window with her hand, tried to melt the frost away, but to no avail. She sighed, and a she could almost see him grinning at her in her mind. Riza knew they would not see each other in the military ever again; the evidence was too strong against him. They Fuhrer was gracious enough to let him leave without further trouble; just as long as he never came back again. Will we meet again? A single tear coursed down her cheek, forgotten and unchecked, like a raindrop in a thunderstorm. Lost.

And Roy walked away, into the bitter snow, without ever knowing how she felt. Without ever saying goodbye.

To think that they always seem to look the other way at the wrong time.