Author's Note: Well, it has been a while… What with graduation and job hunting, it just feels unreal that I'm now technically an 'adult.' Of course, that's not going to stop me from writing fan stories when struck with inspiration. Thus, the product for my newest favorite Anime!!!

Warning: To those who have not seen the movie yet, I'll be going into its background. That will come in later chapters.

Half Blind

One of the most horrid smells in the world is the smell of charring blood. Worse still is the scent of inhuman flesh curdling into a mess of black carbon. The thing that had once been the leader of one of the most powerful military forces in the world was now one of the vilest smelling puddles ever created. And he had done it. He had killed the Fuehrer. A short, heartless laugh escaped him.

"Can you kill something that was never truly alive?"

The basement had become the personal hell of Roy Mustang. Flames roared out of his control, the alchemy feeding off of the despair and self-hatred that leaked from behind the carefully maintained internal walls that had held strong for the past decade. The sight of a small, crushed body tossed aside like trash blew a hole in those walls – walls that had been patched over once before with a vow to rise to the top of the corrupted military forces he had determinedly followed.

The fact that he had, in a round-about way, succeeded in his goal to end that corruption weighed little against the death of yet another innocent bystander. The son of the Fuehrer had died at his father's hands full of confusion and hurt. He had seen in that boy's eyes the same betrayal that had blackened his own soul when ordered to execute the Rockbells. The boy had done only what he thought had been the right thing, and was rewarded with murder. Roy had never lifted a gun without a military order after that incident at the hospital, relying primarily upon his talents as a State Alchemist.

Strange, how so many people had fallen into despair while in pursuit of their dreams, and yet he had somehow managed to survive all the pitfalls and seductions that plague every man to arrive at his own. The success did come at a price. Roy stared at the crumpled boy and muttered to himself,

"Is it the law of equal exchange? Did another human life have to be sacrificed to put another un-souled being back into nothingness?" He clenched his fists, torn and exhausted muscles sending internal flames of pain through him.

The fire was eating into the wooden beams overhead. Blistering heat singed the edges of his wounds and embers were threatening to take up residence in his clothes. Ignoring the complaints of his abused body, Roy crouched to gather the small figure into his arms. Catching the grotesquely limp neck in the crook of an elbow, he smiled down at the lifeless face of the six-year-old. He had provided that instant of weakness to defeat the homunculus. Would he have seen his false-father's death as salvation or murder? It no longer mattered.

Roy made for the stairs, frowning at the sudden wave of weakness in his legs. He was losing too much blood. Fire roared up the staircase after him and was gnawing at the top of the basement's door as he reached it. It had been locked from the other side. Clutching the small boy to his chest, Roy drew upon the last reserves of his strength and kicked the door down, a piece of the debris cutting across his brow and letting salty liquid leak into his vision. Panting, he crawled through the heat and smoke into the main hall of the Fuehrer's house. Free of its dungeon birth, the fire continued to expand as Roy stumbled through the building. Twice he caught himself against the walls of the mansion, leaving crimson stains on the whitewash.

Finally he turned a corner and found the entryway. The front door was open. Roy staggered towards the cool night air that beckoned and heaved a sigh of relief as he crossed over the threshold. They were safe…

"Brigadier General Roy Mustang,"

The canned voice made him look up. Dull metal clanking and the whir of hydraulics drew his blurring gaze down the mansion's drive. Some creation was coming out of the darkness. It looked like a man, though miss-proportioned.

"You are a traitor."

Roy tried to raise his left hand with its array still painted in flaking red. A shot rang out and blinding pain in his chest knocked him off of his feet. Before full unconsciousness swept over him, he heard a second gunshot and wondered if he would feel the bullet chase him into the afterlife.

Fire. It had always been a part of him… But now… His veins were full of liquid heat. Everything was white-hot – eyes, skin, even every sound. Roy tried to push away the sheet that bound his body, only to have persistent hands tuck it back in. The creaking of a cart, the slamming of doors, other moans and curses, the beeping of machines, and the sensation of coarse cloth on raw wounds tormented his every instant of awareness even though his eyes were shut. Footsteps approached, the hard leather soles ringing out above the hushed whisper of medical personnel slippers. A cool hand on his forehead provided an instant of relief as a soft female voice slipped through the chaos.

"Sir, I need to tell you about Edward and Alphonse."

The names were enough to force him to open his eyes. The first thing he could see was a cold white ceiling that did nothing to sooth the heat prickling his skin. Roy tried to focus on the warm yellow face near his. Riza Hawkeye was frowning - something he realized that he had missed seeing even though her reasons for doing so were usually upon his behalf.

Searching through his memory, he tried to recall the last information he had heard about the brothers. Riza pushed on,

"They have disappeared. Parliament is moving to take over control of the military and is presently reviewing all our actions. The last we heard, Ed and Al were in the city, but we can't locate them. All of the known homunculus have vanished as well. I'm afraid there is some kind of show-down going on." She tried to smile. "You won't be court marshaled, I know that much. You're too much of a hero."

Roy tried to reply but his mouth felt like it was coated in lint. Riza quickly moved to pour him a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. He tried to sit up to take it from her and hissed at the pull on his torn muscles. Riza shook her head. Using one hand to support his neck, she propped him up enough to take a sip of water without choking. He settled back against the thin pillow with a sigh. His head throbbed horribly, particularly behind his left eye.

"I am no hero." He rasped.

The first lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "You went against orders for the good of the people – you did what the military should have been doing from the beginning."

Roy slit his left eye open to glare at her. "You know that I did it to soothe my own conscience."

She glared back. "I do not believe you and they won't see it as such anyway."

He didn't bother replying, knowing that of all the people left in his small social circle, Riza Hawkeye was probably the only one who could read him like a book. Instead, he plucked at the bandages that crossed his chest. A slashing spike of pain in his head caused him to wince and turn his face into the pillow. Raising his hand to the pain, he clawed the tape from the cuts the Fuhrer had left him.

Riza gasped. The cuts were festering in his face. She rose from the chair that had been pulled up to the cot and shouted for the doctors.

For the next week Roy struggled against the infection. Lapsing in and out of delirium, the Flame Alchemist carried on conversations with old instructors, with Hughes, and even with Edward Elric. He laughed at the brothers in his mind, cried again as he relived the funeral of his best friend, and cursed all those in authority over him as he pulled the trigger on two innocent doctors.

Riza watched over him, cleaning his wounds and doing her best to bring down his persistent fever. She struggled to keep him in the hospital bed during his rampages and sat during all visiting hours until the medical staff drove her off. Even with all the attention, no change occurred in his health. The slashes to his face grew no worse, but they did not improve. His left eye, however, was slowly beginning to dim – the sharp black fading to a blue/gray. The fever finally broke a few days later leaving Roy pale and weak. He opened his eye – the other still covered by a thick bandage and tried to give her his old smirk.

"Ah, my own nurse. Military hospitals have improved."

Riza looked around at the other sick and infirmed around the Flame Alchemist. With narrowed brown eyes, she handed him a glass of fruit juice.

"Sir, I'm afraid that you'll be unable to see out of your left eye. Your infection ran too deep for the doctors to do anything about it."

He was silent for a long moment then reached up to peel the bandaging from his face. Riza stoically held the duel colored gaze of her commanding officer. He blinked rapidly, frowning.

"This will take some getting used to." He squinted. "It's like peering through thick fog."

Riza picked up the bandages and gently rewrapped his head. "If you strain it, you'll do more damage than what has already been done." She fell silent until Roy tugged questioningly on the sleeve of her jacket. She stood and formally saluted him.

"Sir, I apologize."

He sighed at her formality. "Apologize? What for?"

"For not arriving at the mansion faster than I did."

Roy rolled his good eye. "Don't be stupid. I asked you to take care of distracting the others while I dealt with the homunculus. You did just that." He waved her away. "I'm tired…"

Before she could respond, he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Riza wrinkled her nose at his pale face. The next morning, in full dress uniform, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye marched into the intensive care ward and wheeled Roy Mustang, still in his medical bed, out into a waiting car. One nurse attempted to intercede and found she looking down the barrel of a cold pistol. As she did, Roy turned his face towards the sun and laughed,

"Ah, dear Riza, come to rescue the fallen. Nurse to the hero."

Riza holstered her weapon and glared down at him. "Don't ask for favor from me, sir. I don't trust the doctors."

Roy hissed in pain when she hauled him upright while moving him from the bed to the back of her car. The shock drew him out of the haze he had been swimming in and he tried to pull the sheet with him to preserve his dignity in the hospital gown. He was partially successful but was fairly certain he gave the gaping nurses in the hospital doorway a bit of a show. As Riza helped him into the back seat of her car, he said dryly,

"I was in there for a reason you know."

"Not anymore." Riza carefully withdrew the medical tubing from his arm. "Now I am going to be your keeper."

Roy smirked. "Sounds…"

Before he could finish that thought, Riza had gently but firmly pushed him into the back seat and shut the car door.

"Men!" She muttered to herself.