Author's Notes: Oh look, another FMA AU because I'm weak and have zero control over myself. I decided to just do inter-connected one-shots, not in chronological order, instead of a long chaptered fic, mostly because I don't have the energy for it and also because I don't have a set ending or direction with it either, just a shit ton of ideas. I've literally got ten billion other FMA AU ideas, but look, Star Wars has become very important to me recently. Plus, I kept thinking about the FMA Star Wars official art.

Disclaimer: I own neither Fullmetal Alchemist or Star Wars. I'm too poor.


i have lied my way to the stars


Roy's mind is distant, as far away as the stars, his thoughts drifting aimlessly and his eyes focused on nothing as he stares out the cockpit window of his ship. He is leaning back in the pilot's seat, one hand lying on the console, a finger tapping steadily, while he holds his other hand palm up. A single gold coin, now rendered mostly useless after the quick and horrifying annihilation of Lior, floats a few inches in the air above his palm, twisting and spinning without direction.

The cockpit door opens behind him, but he doesn't hear it, his mind so far gone. It could've been Imperial stormtroopers come to confiscate his Rebel ship and he wouldn't have noticed at this point. He doesn't want to focus on anything; if he does, there's a high chance that he won't be able to think of anything else and that isn't a good idea. He has to keep collected; he has to remain calm.

Most importantly, he has to block out the pain. To let any of it in, even just a crack, will break into a flood and he is too dangerous when he is like that. If he can't control himself, even he is afraid of what he might be capable of. It isn't anything good. He's been warned as far as he can remember that he isn't allowed to let loose like others – he's different – and so he blocks it all out in a desperate gambit that he doesn't shatter.

"Sir."

When Roy impassively glances back, he sees his second-in-command, Riza Hawkeye, standing in front of the now closed cockpit doors. She has made sure to give him privacy after the events of this past week, keeping him mostly separated from the crew as he deals with things on his own, as he's always been taught to do. It isn't a pleasant process, just a lonely and tiresome one as it has been since he started learning, but at least he isn't completely alone now.

The slightly disapproving look on her face matches the strain in her voice. Her eyes aren't on him, however, but on the coin that is still slowly rotating in the air. He follows her gaze and blinks, as if seeing it for the first time, and then the coin drops into the palm of his hand, where it disappears as he makes a fist and buries it in his pocket.

He didn't mean to use the Force so casually, especially not right now, but the feel of it comforted him. It washed over him in soothing waves, understanding him in a way that no one else could, not even Riza, and he needed that now. He didn't want to feel alone. He needed to know that he wasn't and the Force is always a good source of that, making him feel connected to every living thing in the galaxy and one. It makes him feel almost complete. It's there in the back of his mind now even when he isn't using it, tempting and prodding, but he's learned how to ignore it after years of suppression and fear.

"I wasn't thinking," Roy tells her as he looks back out the window, mostly telling the truth.

Riza knows just how Force sensitive he is and also how dangerous that knowledge is. There are no Jedi left, at least none to be found. They were either killed, captured, or forced into hiding after Order 66 was given during the Clone Wars so long ago. He was only a child then, barely old enough to be considered a youngling Jedi had his own Grey Jedi mother not shielded him from recruitment. Even now he wonders, if she knew, if she sensed something, that kept her from allowing him to be taken in. If he had been, like so many other children, he would be dead now, killed by a Sith in his role to ruin any future of the Jedi.

He's kept the secret for an incredibly long time, for all his natural life, so that only a few knew of it. Roy almost winces, but stops himself. It's more than a few now. Darth Van knows it now. He shouldn't have been so reckless, but when he saw Ed so helpless and devastated and angry, so ready to fight to his death, Roy acted in the only way his mind would let him. If he had held himself back, as he had done so many times before, Ed would be dead and Hughes would be–

No, he can't think about that. He clenches his fists. He has to think of something else or he will– he can't–

Riza lays a hand on his shoulder. It's not much, but it's just enough to bring him back. He wishes that she could do more. He wishes she'd let him wrap his arms around her, press his face into her middle, and just breathe. But she holds herself back for his sake as much as her own. "Can you not mourn just a little?"

"There isn't any time," Roy intones flatly.

"I don't think bottling your grief will help you though," Riza sighs. She sounds sad. He wonders if she has cried in private over their loss or if she hides it from even herself. It's not like she has to push everything away, not like him, but she does it anyways out of professionalism. "Eventually it's too much – there isn't enough room – and you explode."

It sounds horrifying. It sounds wonderful. Deadly. Relieving. He's not capable of letting things go and he has held onto so many things in his life. For a second, he sees Hughes' laughing face and then his mother's conspiratorial smile and his soul aches at the loss he feels in the Force with their deaths. How much more can he hold before it's too much?

Roy shivers, despite himself, remembering just how much power – the overwhelming strength and need for more – he felt when he used the Force against Darth Van. It was too much, so much, not enough, and he felt drunk on it for an hour even after, craving more and terrified of it. One was not supposed to use the Force in tandem with so many strong emotions driving them, but just the memory of it was enough to tempt him still even knowing how much destruction it could bring. Maybe that is what the Rebellion needed, after all.

"How long before we land?" Roy asks, trying to distract himself.

"Not long," Riza says. A frown appears on her face. "You can't–"

"I know; you don't need to worry about me," Roy says as he stands up. When he faces her, he gives her a reassuring smile that he hopes reaches his eyes. "I'll be good. Not even a hint of the Force."

She eyes him with barely concealed suspicion before nodding her head in acceptance and walking out of the cockpit. Roy sighs as he puts a hand on the back of his chair to steady himself. Not a hint. He closes his eyes. It's getting so much harder to say that and believe it, not with the Force calling to him so demandingly these days.