Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal alchemist.
A/N: This fiction is situated to Ishval and it is pretty angsty, I just wanted to use the speech Kimbly gave in there, strangely (not) this didn't go quite like I wanted, but I'm posting it anyway. And it is not only angst, there is little bit of something else in the end. I was tired when writing this, so I hope it isn't weird. Enjoy, and review if you have time.
A Dream inside the nightmare
"What about you? You look like you don't enjoy this a bit?"
Kimbly talks to Hawkeye. There is a haunted look in her dark amber eyes. She slowly shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No, of course I don't enjoy it. There is nothing enjoyable in killing people."
A wicked smile appears on the alchemist's face.
"Tell me then; can you say that you don't feel a fading second of happiness as you hit your mark? Don't you feel happy from job well done, miss sharpshooter?"
The terrified look in her eyes is too much for Roy. He jumps up and grabs the collar of the alchemist.
"That's enough!"
Roy's eyes are dark with rage. How does this man dare to say something like this to her? He is shaking. Kimbly just smiles and continues to speak, not seeming too much affected from Roy's behavior.
"You must look straight into the eyes of the people you kill. You mustn't take your eyes off the death. And you mustn't forget."
The smile on the pale face of the alchemist scares him. Those black eyes don't look disturbed, they don't look guilty. There is shine in them and though he maybe is crazy, there is ghostly wisdom in his words, his soft voice lingering in his ears. It is making him feel weak.
"Don't forget, because they'll never forget you."
He shivers. From that moment on he would always remember those words, like he remembered the red eyes, slowly closing and never opening; like he remembered the faces of the children, full of pain. They would stay there, like a tattoo, the ink of memories, never leaving. He lets the man go, feeling dirty. Then a bell rings, telling that a new shift is starting.
"Oh, that's my mark. It's time to work. Bye Mustang."
Kimbly smiles looking satisfied. As he waves his hand Roy can see the alchemic arrays on his palms. They are tattooed with black ink. It was a great use in the battlefield; you don't need to waste time with drawing circles, it does what his ignition gloves do. Yes, it is almost the same and Roy knows many of the state alchemists have tattoos with them. He still couldn't force himself to have one. It is a relief to get those gloves off after all he has done with them. And he remembered one tattoo too well, one that he guessed he would never see again. His eyes quickly flicker towards her and he feels so powerless from seeing her clutching her rifle in her hands, seeking for comfort. She looks like she is only a shell from the girl he had once known. Why oh why is she here?
Hughes rises too and turns around.
"I'll be going too then. Bye, Roy."
"Hughes…"
The man slowly looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow.
"Why do you fight?"
Roy's voice is just a little desperate. It is a question they all wanted to know an answer for. A ghostly smile curves Hughes's lips as he answers with a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone much older.
"I don't want to die. That's all. The reasons are always simple."
With those words he leaves. Roy sits down again, besides the fire. He can't look anyone, so instead he looks at his hands. These soiled hands…he had thought he could protect the country with these hands of his. And what he does, it isn't protecting, it is only mindless destroying. He squeezes his hand so tightly, that his nails bite into his skin, causing some pain. It is good, it makes him remember, that he can still feel something. He looks as one of his nails breaks his dry skin, causing a drip of blood get to his skin. He suddenly feels terrified. Blood…there is blood in his hands. The images fill his eyes, images of dead… He lifts his eyes and storms away. He must wash his hands before the blood stains his skin permanently.
000 000 000
She smells the smell of rotten and gunpowder. She sees how the smoke is going to the sky that seems never be blue. It is always reddish gray from the smoke and sand that is everywhere. She feels the heat of the desert and tastes the dusk in her mouth; she squeezes her rifle to get comfort, like a small child would hold her teddy bear after a nightmare. She closes her eyes and oh how she wishes that when she opens them, she would see another place, not this hot desert…but it doesn't happen. It never does.
She can hear the screams ringing in her ears. She knows they aren't real, she knows, but she still hears them. Screams that came from hundreds of men, women and worst of all, children. It is kind of funny actually, she thinks. Her victims never had enough time to scream. They only had time to fell down and gasp. Then it was over. She'd see the light disappearing from their eyes. So why did she hear the screams that never came out? Maybe it was the payment of not hearing them in the first place. The victims didn't have time to see her face in most of the cases, but she always saw theirs. The snipers always saw their targets. They could never escape her; the hawk's eye never missed her target.
She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. When she does that, she sees them. Their red eyes full of fear and anger. Their faces twisted and terrified when they realize they have no hope left. She quickly opens her eyes again; she doesn't have the strength to watch these photographs her mind has taken-not now.
Instead she forces herself to focus in what she's doing. She lifts her rifle, looks below from the tower she is hiding in, waiting. Her shift is almost over and though she hasn't been sleeping for almost thirty hours she keeps her amber eyes open, looks for any possible threats. All she sees are few soldiers marching away from a house they just checked, moving to the next one. This part of the city has been "cleaned" earlier that day by Kimbley and now they have to make sure nothing is moving in the buildings.
She shivers as she remembers the conversation they went through last night before the campfire, the words that she will never forget, words that will stay and linger in her soul forever.
"You mustn't take your eyes of the death. You must look straight into the eyes of the ones you kill. Don't forget, because they'll never forget you either."
How she hates that man for saying it and how she hates herself knowing that he was right. Right now she is so full of this war that she could explode. She feels a tap on her shoulder and jumps up, pointing her gun towards the man. Then she relaxes, recognizes the familiar blond man. Jean Havoc, her sniper friend who has come to take her place.
"Ready to go?"
"Just guess."
"I take that as yes…Are you ok?"
Riza looks at him, trying to figure out what to answer. Her soul screams NO, but she just nods. He doesn't have to worry about her.
"I heard about your little chat from yesterday when I woke up. They say Mustang was in flames."
She finds herself attempting to smile. Havoc's jokes are bad, but when you have nothing to laugh about, the stupidest things will do. Havoc has kind of become a brother for her, trying to keep her from shattering. What he doesn't know is that she already has. She was broken down in the moment she saw him here.
"Are you sure you're fine?"
"Just need a little bit of sleep. See ya later."
"Bye."
She walks away from the tower, as quickly as she can and sighs when she sees the camp, already waiting to get to sit down.
She sees someone is coming to her, it's a brown haired man and he has a smile on his lips. She can't force herself to smile; she sees no reason for that. The man salutes her. She slowly returns the gesture. She can see he is a major. Why would a major salute her? A kid from the academy?
"Hi, you are the hawk's eye, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'd like to thank you. You saved my ass few days ago."
She feels disgusted. He is thanking her from a murder. She forces herself to nod and say "you're welcome". Then she leaves, she walks forward to get something to drink. Her mouth is dry, like it was filled with the sand. She walks past the campfire, feels herself a little ill as she sees the flames. They make her think of the secret she gave away, the secret that has caused so much pain for so many. And the man who controls the knowledge that that secret holds. The flame alchemist. The man she has loved.
She walks towards her tent; she decides she needs sleep more than she needs the water. Then she feels a hand landing to her mouth and another catching her from the waist, pulling her to the shadows behind a deserted building. She tries to scream, but nothing can be heard from under the attacker's hand. She struggles to get away. It is when she hears the familiar voice whispering to her ear that she stops.
"It's me."
The hands let go of her and her gaze meets onyx black eyes. Those eyes she has known for years, but it has been awhile that she's actually stared into them. Last night she couldn't meet his eyes. She talked with him, but she didn't dare to face his eyes, no, because she was afraid that he could still read her like he used to. She was afraid that he would see how scared and filthy she was feeling. Now that she actually does look into his eyes, she feels shivers running down her spine. They are still the eyes of the same boy she once knew, still dark and deep, but something has changed.
His eyes don't hold that spark anymore, they aren't warm and there isn't that mischievous look she knew. Something is off. The look in his eyes is so…empty. They are what the people in the battlefield call "killer's eyes". She wonders if he still is the same inside, if he is shattered like she is.
"Major Mustang."
She salutes him and his face twists.
"Please, don't call me that."
His voice is quiet, his face tired.
"Riza…why are you here?"
He looks so sad that she feels her heart breaking. But he should know the answer already.
"They needed more men, so we cadets were sent."
She keeps her voice calm, distant, not mentioning the reason why she even joined the army that sent her here.
"How long?"
"Three weeks before you."
The silence lands over them; they study each other's features. It's been awhile since they met last time, in very different circumstances, but he still knows the lines of her face, and she still remembers how his soft hair feels under her fingers. It is like looking at shadow from happier past, time before the war, when they were still innocent.
It is painful to see him here, to know what he has done with the power she gave him. Still she is feeling saner than she has in the whole time she's been in Ishval. His closeness is comforting.
His eyes are full of worry and questions and he leans slightly closer, brushing his finger under her eyes, where a bluish shadow is giving color to her pale, dirty face.
"You haven't been sleeping."
"No, I haven't."
"Me either. There are too many flames."
His eyes get darker as he moves his finger from her face to her short, blonde hair. She shivers, this time from feelings she hasn't felt for long time. She has missed those slender fingers. The look in his eyes makes her ask a question she's wanted to know since she heard he was here.
"Do you still remember your dream?"
"Yes. That is the only reason I'm still here."
His voice is honest and comforting, it makes her remember. She feels the longing, the want to feel something else than numbness, the small hope that he could help her forget the cruel world around them, the longing of his familiar embrace. She leans in and kisses him, softly, tasting the ash and sand and below it all, the familiar taste of him. He responds, his warmth comforting.
When they gasp for air, he doesn't let go. Single tear runs down her face and she squeezes his jacket, they drop on their knees against the stone wall. There in the shadows they stay, for hours, talk together of the cruelty around them and he paints his dream to her mind again. It is the first night for weeks that she really feels safe enough to sleep, as she lies in his arms. And she dreams a little dream inside the nightmare, a dream of better future.
A/N: So…I just had to get this of my mind, it might not be my best work, but I still hope you liked it. If you did, please review. And please, leave flames for Roy.