The first time that they met, she was thirteen. Her father had had apprentices before, but from the beginning, she knew that this one was different. He entered their lives like a whirlwind—eager to consume the knowledge that her father had to offer and unapologetic for his actions. For the first few weeks, she mostly ignored him in favor of finishing her schoolwork and cleaning the house that her father left in disarray. On the first morning that he asked her if she needed help around the house, she was taken aback and was too shy to answer, but over the next few months her shyness disappeared. He was the first of her father's apprentices to offer her friendship, and to make her smile.
For now, it was enough.
When her father died, she grieved, but she was also relieved. She knew that her father had loved her in his own strange way, and that she had reciprocated that love by consenting to have his life's work forever imprinted on her back. Her father's love was a heavy burden to bear. When Roy had offered to make the funeral arrangements, she gladly let him. They sat by each other throughout the service, and although they never spoke a word to each other, they could sense each other perfectly. After the service, they stood by her father's grave, and he told her of his ambitions for the military, and for himself. He seemed embarrassed by it, but she found his dream admirable, and when he gave her his number to reach him in the military, she hardened her resolve. She asked him if he would like to see her father's notes, and after a startled glance, he consented. She knew that he was the only one that she trusted with her father's monstrous alchemy, and that he would be the one to share her burden.
For now, it was enough.
When she first began to remove her shirt, he was alarmed. However, she continued to remove her shirt with her back towards him until the entire tattoo was visible. She heard his sharp intake of breath, and she kept her eyes downcast. Her and her father's final act of love had turned her into a monster. She tried not to dwell on it. She jumped slightly when she felt his hand on her shoulder. He didn't say a word; he simply let his left hand lie on her shoulder while he lightly traced the tattoo with his right hand and muttered incoherently to himself. After a moment, she turned her head and pressed her cheek into the hand on her shoulder. She allowed herself a small smile, knowing that she had made the right decision to trust him with her father's work.
For now, it was enough.
When she arrived in Ishval, it was hell on Earth. Although she had never been the most exuberant girl, any sense of carefreeness left in her had died within the first few minutes. After the first day, her eyes refused to do anything but remain downcast when she was off duty. After a week, her soul was beaten. She had heard of the great Flame Alchemist of course, and knew that it was inevitable that she would see him. What she didn't expect was the overwhelming emotional reaction when she did. Of course he remembered her, and she didn't miss the fleeting look of pain in his eyes when he recognized her. They locked eyes, and that glance was enough to speak volumes. Not you too; not here.
After the war, she busied herself burying an Ishvalan child. This was the destruction that her father's alchemy caused. He devoted his entire life to this work, just to have it wreak havoc on innocent people. She did not blame Mustang for his use of flame alchemy in this war because she knew that he was following orders, as harsh as they may be, and she had followed her fair share of harsh orders. He found her burying a child that was not hers, crying for a country that was not hers. She asked him to rid her of her father's work, and although he was terrified of hurting her, he consented. They both understood the destruction that flame alchemy could cause, and as he burned her back, he severed her last tie to the past, and to her father. For now, she could start again.
For now, it was enough.
When the war ended, he asked her to be his bodyguard and to serve him directly. She answered him immediately, and there was no regret in her actions or voice. If she had to follow anyone in the military, she would want it to be him, the man who she trusted with her life and who she had watched grow up. She allowed herself a small smile, and although his face remained stern, she could see the corners of his mouth itching to return that smile.
"Sir, I would follow you into the depths of hell if you asked me."
For now, it was enough.
The men in the office looked at Mustang with disbelief as he crowed on the phone to his newest conquest. They were exasperated with him for managing to find a new woman to talk to whenever Hawkeye stepped out of the office. They thought he was tempting fate by giving out his personal number to so many different women, and for becoming distracted from his work. Hawkeye would get him, they were convinced. Who wouldn't be scared of her? She was a tough task master, and she was a perfect shot with a gun. She was also one of the most loyal soldiers that they knew, and they admired her for that.
She smiled on her end of the phone. The men in the office would never believe that "Elizabeth" was the same lieutenant who they saw every day. She doubted that they knew that the vast majority of Mustang's past conquests had actually been her. For now, "Elizabeth" was a secret between her and Mustang that the rest of the world was not privy to. And although she would never admit it, being Elizabeth allowed her to communicate with Mustang in ways that she never could as Hawkeye, and perhaps that was her favorite part of this whole charade. She could let her light shine though just a little while she pretended to be someone else. She knew that he saw it for what it really was.
For now, it was enough.
Hawkeye glared at this woman—this thing—in front of her. How dare she imply that Mustang was dead? There was absolutely no way that her Colonel could fall to someone like her. And yet that look of utter satisfaction on her face…she snapped.
She released a barrage of bullets on Lust, but she just kept coming. Clip after clip emptied into the homunculus, but she never lost that sneer of satisfaction. Riza's desperation climbed with every shot, and when her last bullet hit Lust, she slumped to the ground. Mustang was gone. Her world was over. She screamed at Alphonse to get away from her because after all, what was the point of living if he wasn't there to live with her?
Life without him just wasn't enough.
When she heard his voice, her head snapped up so hard that her neck cracked. She stared in disbelief as Mustang and Lust began to fight, and she likely would have been incinerated if Alphonse hadn't protected her. Finally, Lust's screams faded away, and she couldn't help screaming for Mustang as she ran towards him. He glanced at her, and his eyes softened. He told her that she was glad that she was alright. She instantly started berating him for his lack of self-preservation, but through her tears, her eyes spoke what her words could not say. She was bearing her soul for him, and she knew that he saw it.
For now, it was enough.
She was a hostage, and they both knew it. From the moment she received the orders that she was now the personal assistant to the Fuhrer, they had both known the implications—if he messed up, she was going to be punished. She had expected the danger from Wrath, but what she had not anticipated was the cleverly disguised homunculus Pride. She was not fearful for her own life—she had long ago come to terms with that—but she was scared for him. She needed to warn Mustang as soon as possible about Pride, and she was not afraid to admit to herself that it wasn't just because of her belief in his political goals, but also because she couldn't stand the thought of losing him. As she walked home with the fresh cut on her cheek from Pride, she consoled herself with the knowledge that if he were there, he would wipe the blood away from her face and take her into his arms. But this would stay a fantasy. She couldn't endanger him anymore by seeing him face to face. Knowing that he cared and that they would overcome this together was all she needed.
For now, it was enough.
Although inside she was trembling, the gun that she held to the back of his head was firm. She had to be firm in order to get through to him, because God help her if she were to break down. She had said her piece to him, and now she waiting patiently for his reaction; he couldn't see the desperation in her eyes, and by the time he turned around to face her, it would be gone. When he did turn to her and apologized for being an idiot, she knew that he was safe again. He slid his hand over hers, their eyes met, and she knew that he would never go that far again. Gingerly, he pulled her toward him with the hand that held her gun, and they embraced. He brushed a chaste kiss against her forehead before pulling back, and she allowed herself a small smile. The moment may have been brief, but it was all that they needed. The rest would have to wait, because right now they had work to do.
For now, it was enough.
She lay gasping in a pool of her own blood, but she refused to let that shake her. She stared at Mustang praying that he would understand her gaze. If anyone could understand this, you can Colonel. At last, he nodded and she let her eyes drop closed. She could hear the sounds of fighting all around her, but she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes as she lay slumped on the ground. As if from a great distance, she felt her body being cradled, and she heard his voice, but all she could do was nuzzle her face closer to him as she felt her life drain away.
And then suddenly, it wasn't. She opened her eyes to see Mustang gazing at her with a look that he usually reserved for times when there was no one else around, and the little Xingese princess averting her eyes. She smiled tenderly up at him, and they exchanged words, but what they said was meaningless. The look in his eyes said everything. That look was everything. Living without you is just not enough.
For now, it was enough.
When he told her that he couldn't see, her first reaction was to choke back sobs. She knew that crying wouldn't help anything, especially him. When he asked her if she could still fight, she was prepared. She was the only one who he would trust to be his eyes, and although they were both weak, together they made a formidable team—as unbreakable as the dawn. Together they fought their way out of pain, out of enslavement, and into the light.
Later in the hospital, he allowed her to feed him, and asked her to help him understand the Ishvalans so that no one would ever have to go through the horrors that they had seen again. She smiled although he couldn't see it because she knew that her Colonel was back. When Marcoh came in and told them about fixing Mustang's eyes, she could see the emotions play across his face as he considered his options. She knew that he would choose to heal his eyes, but only after insisting that all of his men could be healed too. She would be there to hold his hand and be his strength as he got his sight back. She would always be there for him, whether he asked her to or not. It wasn't a question of whether or not he needed her, because they both knew that wherever one went, the other was bound to follow, no matter the consequences. Roy…
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was her.
For now, it was enough.
Brigadier General Roy Mustang sat in his office contemplating the chess piece in his hand. The queen. For him, it held a greater significance than just being the most versatile and crushing piece on the chessboard. For him, it represented her. She had been there, a solid wall of strength, since he was in his teens, and they had watched each other grow up and make mistakes. He had trusted her with his life, and he knew that he would never do anything to endanger hers. When he became Fuhrer, he was going to need a strong woman at his side to keep the country, but mostly him, in order, and he couldn't think of anyone else that he would want other than her. Someday, they would be more than stolen glances, chaste kisses, and eager hands. But until he reached Fuhrer, the code of the military would hold out, and they would keep their distance. Two sides of the same coin, just waiting to meet in the middle. He held the queen in his left hand, and tried to picture a metal band around his fourth finger. He decided that it wouldn't look too bad.
Someday, he would want more. He would need more. And she would be there to give him everything.
But for now, it was enough.
The last time I wrote Fanfiction, I was in 7th grade. That was almost ten years ago. Yikes.
-Disclaimer: Honestly, if I owned FMA(B), I wouldn't do much. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?
-I haven't watched Brotherhood in a long time, so I apologize for sequence errors, and if anything was out of character.
I hope that you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.