Summary: She has no name. [Captain America fusion AU/flashfic]
Notes: Written for a friend on tumblr, fusing FMAB with the Winter Soldier. I may turn this into an actual thing at some point, with a much better title.
Winter Soldier
"You know me."
A flash of a boy's laughing face—buttercups in either hand. A field of dandelions, asters, wild carrots waving in the sun. Behind a broken stone wall stands a squat brown house and inside is a kitchen with a worn bolt rifle leaning into the corner.
The man steps forward, in front of her target, gloved hands held wide. She adjusts the tilt of the gun barrel, square between his eyes.
"No, I don't," she says dispassionately.
"Yes, you do."
Laughter and a quiet wet sound of someone opening their mouth. Hands—dusty muddy brown red broken bleeding hands that find the cracks and crevices of her skin from shoulder to shoulder down and across her hips. Needle stitching in and out and the twist of his lips as he bites the thread broken.
"Yes, you do, and I know you, too," he says, and his teeth are bared in a grimace. The target is attempting to inch away—inferior automail dragging on the pavement. She swivels her hand enough to catch him in both sights. Pulling the trigger—one two three of movement, but she is locked in stare with the man. With this man.
Dark hair and darker eyes so fearfully, beautifully close. Moonlight slipping down the length of his collarbone, sharp hollows and dips where her lips meet his shoulder and carry on upward.
"Your name—"
—whispered sweet and slow, a treasure on his tongue, sliding from his mouth to hers and down her throat as she breathes him in and then she glances up and his eyes meet hers—
"—your name," he breathes, "is Riza Hawkeye."
"No, it isn't."
"You were a sniper. We were in Ishval together—we grew up together—I was your father's apprentice and you gave me his research. Your name is Riza Hawkeye!"
"No," she whispers. "It isn't."
His eyes are vulnerable-wide and soft, so scared to have crossed a line, to have broken open what they have—he's waiting on her signal, as always, waiting for her permission, giving her the chance—the choice—to say no and step back and she takes his head between her hands and kisses him, kisses his fears and insecurities because they are her own and he laughs quietly and presses his forehead against hers and breathes her name and she breathes his back.
"Roy."
Her automail finger twitches on the trigger, and his eyes are vulnerable-wide and soft—
"You knowme," he whispers.
—screaming thrashing blood on stones in her mouth the dark emptiness of her lack the separation drag and watching her arm disappear at the horizon—
The twitch completes rotation from finger to shoulder—her arm swings up, and she brings the sights to her eye and aligns the cross-hair with his heart.
"No, I don't," she says with force, and fires.