Four men carried the dark oak coffin; one black haired with small eyes, usually eager, now sad beyond belief, one blonde, upright and tall, willing himself not to cry, one strawberry blonde, angry at the man at the coffin for dieing, one grey haired man, older then the rest but bound by the same grief.
They slowly lowered the coffin into the open grave where a crowd of people stood waiting. Among the anonymous there was a small blonde, hiding his tears and a large muscled man, letting the grief take him, as well as others.
Roy mustang walked up to the crowd, curious but quiet. He knew people here but they were a rag tag bunch, like they had been picked out of his memories.
He tapped a blonde with sly eyes on the shoulder. "Um, whose funeral is this? Only I feel as if I know him." He asked apologetically.
The crowd turned to face him. They were now filled with those he had killed. Ishbalans, thousands of them suddenly. The man turned around and his face was no longer the same, he was still sly but he wore a head band holding back thick spikes of dark green hair. "You know him." He cackled. The crowd surged forwards, baying for his blood. "It's yours!"
Roy screamed, kicking and screaming for his life, cursing himself for forgetting both his gloves and his gun. And did one of them have a bomb? If not why was there a beeping? He reached out, searching for the answer-
His hand connected with his alarm clock, beeping irritably. He sighed. A new nightmare and he was a child again, experiencing the first of many to come. He untangled himself from the duvet and rubbed sleep out oh his eyes. What a way to start the day.
As he made toast the easy way, he glanced out of the window. A funeral procession. Why did he buy the house next to the grave yard, he asked himself. It was cheap, he chuckled.
As he ate the mildly burnt toast, he gave another glance at the procession and hocked on his breakfast. Four men carried the dark oak coffin; one black haired, one blonde, one strawberry blonde and one grey, all about to burst into tears. Déjà vu for breakfast anyone?
He hurried to get dressed in the most respectful clothes he could find, remembering the dream at last minute and storing both his gloves and his gun in his pocket.
Outside it was more like his dream. A small blonde hid his tears while a large muscled man embraced them. There was only one difference. In the dream his trusted Lt was there, standing away from everyone else and fingering her gun. Try as he might, she wasn't there.
He hesitantly tapped someone on the shoulder, "whose funeral is this." He asked, his hands closing on the gun paranoid. "Oh colonel. Didn't you here." A soldier said, pitying showing in his eyes. There were an awful lot of soldiers in the crowd, "Its Lt Hawkeye's"
That was worse the any nightmare. His lieutenant, who had saved his life on many occasions, was dead and at that moment was being lowered into a six foot hole.
He stayed the rest of the funeral, staring hollowly at her grave. As it started to rain, he put his hands in his pocket and turned home.
His hand met his gun and he had one last, dumb idea. His lieutenant would scold him for it but who had said "My body will leave this world together with the corpse of the flame alchemist" Why wasn't he allowed to leave with the body of his lieutenant?
He stood in front of the grave with the gun in his hands, which trembled with cold and from … Something else.
He touched his chin with the cold steel and looked up at the raining sly. "Wait just a bit longer Riza." He murmured, a hesitant smile on his lips. His fingers tightened on the trigger.
A hand touched his shoulder. "Don't you think she's trying to tell use something?" Havoc asked him, "It's raining and she always said you were useless in rain; you couldn't hurt anyone. Don't you think that includes you?"
Fuery piped in, "You lost her, but you know her, she hates unnecessary deaths, and you dieing without finishing your dream is unnecessary." Behind him, Breda and Falman nodded.
Roy paused. There was still the heart wrenching sadness but their words had created something else; Determination. He would do it. For Riza, for Hughes and for everyone else that had suffered, from him or not. "Thanks guys."