wrath is def my fav homunculus for many reasons but above all his humanity – and the lack thereof. this will be a series of small drabbles? ficlets? from wrath's pov on riza hawkeye, and the relationship she has with her beloved superior officer.
warnings: some gorey/not-nice thoughts
The first few weeks that First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye is under his command he doesn't really pay her much attention. She is not the one that they need to be focusing on their attentions on – she doesn't pose any real threat to their operation. King Bradley may not be as durable or immortal as his siblings might be, but he would wager that she would run out of bullets before he would run out of regeneration energy.
He begrudgingly admits that against Mustang it would be a completely different story.
Nevertheless, he is surprised at how seamlessly she fits into his personal detail, how quickly she blends in alongside his other bodyguards. It irks him a little that she does not stand out – she is, after all, meant to be a remarkable woman. The stories that followed her from the training academy to Ishval to East City to here in Central speak otherwise of a woman who – by his estimations – has largely failed to meet his expectations.
Bradley decides that perhaps a more personal approach is needed when it comes to the Colonel. It is one thing to have a hostage and say empty threats; it is another entirely to be that insignificant as a hostage that your captors find themselves struggling to use you in any meaningful way. Perhaps that was their plan – to keep their heads down and attract as little attention as possible. It is not a bad plan, and under any other circumstances he would be more than happy to not have to give them any more thought – but unfortunately for Führer King Bradley he does not get that luxury. Colonel Mustang needs to know that his entire team is in danger – but more importantly, his precious subordinate's life hangs in the balance.
He wonders how Mustang would react if he killed her right now, in his office. A quick cut would be all he needed – and the Lieutenant would be dripping all over his imported rug, hands desperately trying to stem the flow from her neck, staining her uniform an ugly burgundy shade that would cling to her in awkward angles.
She would die within three minutes. Even if he gave the man a courtesy call, he would never reach here in time. She would gasp and grab at what precious moments she had left, with only him to watch, to listen. He would watch her with disdain – she did not deserve his pity, or his respect.
"Tell me something, Lieutenant Hawkeye," he says, as he watches her prepare his tea. She is so quiet, and he needs to be reminded that she is useful and should not be killed for fun.
"Sir?"
"If I were to kill you right now, what do you think your beloved would do?" his voice curls almost bitterly around the endearment, but she hardly notices as she stiffens, colour draining from her face.
"Are you referring to Colonel Mustang?" she asks, finally, straightening her back. There is hardly a waver in her voice – though he can see from here that she is breathing quicker, her forehead beading with sweat.
"He is, is he not?" he asks, leaning forward onto his desk, watching her very carefully.
Lieutenant Hawkeye hesitates, before shaking her head. "I believe you are mistaken, sir," she says quietly.
"Am I? I was under the impression that you were only one of Mustang's team that would keep him in check. Maybe you are disposable after all."
No reaction this time. Interesting.
"Is there anything else you require, sir? Brigadier-General Folster is waiting outside to see you presently." She meets his stare firmly, her previous reaction all but forgotten.
Bradley shakes his head, accepting the tea she hands him.
"No. That is all, Lieutenant."