Everyone has a weakness, that one chink in the armor. Roy accepted that. He just wished his wasn't so… pathetic.
General Roy Mustang, the equally revered and hated "hero of Ishval", was defeated by something as simple and common as rain. And today, the sky itself seemed to be mocking him, as water fell in heavy droplets, splashing on his wool uniform. He looked up and scowled at the smoky gray clouds, blinking water from his eyes. In response, there was a blinding flash of lightning, followed shortly by a low rumbling. Yes, Mother Nature was definitely mocking him. At least he was almost to Headquarters.
He clambered up the soaked steps to the proud building, hurriedly running inside, out of the storm. He shook his head like a dog drying off, drops splattering onto the unlucky sergeant beside him. The sergeant mumbled something under his breath that sounded quite a bit like "ducking master" and stalked off to wherever it was that he was needed.
Roy marched up to his office and barged in, startling his subordinates. There was a loud crash as Lieutenant Havoc fell out of the chair he was leaning backwards in, surprised by his superior's sudden arrival. The unlit cigarette that had been sagging from his mouth fell to the floor and was promptly crushed by Lieutenant Breda as he stomped over to help the blond slacker to his feet. Sergeant Fuery sighed and brought the chair back to a sitting position, while Warrant Officer Falman chuckled to himself.
"That's what you get for tipping your seat, Havoc." Roy shook his head at the scene and flopped in his chair, more than slightly daunted by the veritable skyscraper of paperwork seated on his desk.
Havoc grunted. "You could have at least apologized. I mean, really, Chief. That's just rude. Don't you guys agree?"
His question was greeted by the shuffling of documents, the other officers wisely deciding to keep their mouths shut.
"Gee, thanks guys. C'mon Hawkeye, don't you think that the General needs to apologize?"
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, who had remained silent until that point, fixed her steely gaze on Havoc. "I think you need to get to work, lieutenant. You wouldn't want to have to work late, would you?"
Havoc immediately picked up a pen and set it to the paper before him. "Of course not! I would never interrupt you and the General's after hour paperwork parties!" Breda snickered. It seemed that Mustang and Hawkeye were always staying after hours, finishing the work the General was too lazy to complete during the day. There were rumors that sometimes they worked on more than just work…
"I heard that, Breda." Roy began to sift through the intimidating pile of documents, sorting them into categories, when he realized something. "Hawkeye, you cut your hair." Indeed, his protector's hair was once again short.
She glanced at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, sir?"
Roy arched an eyebrow. "Your hair. You cut it." He pointed to his head and made scissor motions with his gloved hand.
"Sir, my hair has always been this length." She then returned her attention back to her own significantly smaller amount of work.
Roy's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. Then he noticed something… peculiar. He dropped his pen in astonishment. "Your scar! It's gone! How…?"
Riza sighed. "What scar, sir? You need to be more specific."
"The one on your throat. From…" He didn't finish the sentence. He really didn't want to remember that day.
"As far as I'm aware, General, I've never had a scar on my throat. Are you feeling okay?"
Roy didn't answer. Instead, he got up from his chair and purposefully walked towards the lieutenant's desk. "Sir…?"
He tentatively reached out, and his fingers came into contact with her chin, lifting her to face him. She trembled, as years of suppressed emotions throbbed beneath her skin. His other hand gently pressed against her neck, as he examined the untainted skin.
There were no traces of the scar.
"It's gone." He breathed the two words in amazement.
"I told you sir, I've never had a scar there." Her voice was quiet, every sense acutely aware of how close they were.
Their eyes met – Onyx and Auburn – and Roy knew she wasn't lying. But that would mean… "Hawkeye… how…"
He took a few steps backwards, suddenly feeling incredibly lightheaded. His vision blurred, giving everything an underwater feel, murky and distorted. How was this possible? Was he dreaming, right now? No. It was too realistic. If it was a dream, surely he wouldn't be feeling the fabric of his uniform rubbing against his skin, or his stomach plummeting as an awful sick feeling spread throughout his body.
He started to fall backwards, the ceiling spinning, but never hit the floor thanks to Hawkeye. She gripped his arm tightly, pulling him back to an upright position. He hadn't even noticed her get out of her chair.
"Sir! Are you feeling alright?" Her voice was laden with concern. She studied his face, looking for signs of sickness. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, checking his temperature.
"Did you get enough sleep last night, boss?" Roy jumped, realizing that his comrades had surrounded him without him knowing. Havoc lightly laid his hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
"Is he running a fever?" Fuery looked frightened, like a cornered animal. He had never seen his superior like this, and he didn't want to.
Riza frowned. "He feels a bit warm. Sir, you should get some rest. You won't be able to do any good in this condition."
"No, Hawkeye, I'm fine." He brusquely brushed her hand away, causing her to stumble backwards. "It's all of you that aren't!"
"What are you going on about? Are you hi-" Havoc's outburst was cut off by a severe glare from Hawkeye.
"Hang on, let's let him explain." Breda turned to Roy expectantly.
How could they not know? Was this some kind of mass amnesia? Hypnosis, even? No, it couldn't be. The Lieutenant's scars were gone. It was almost as though… it had never… even…
He impulsively ripped his gloves off, dropping them to the floor. He looked at his hands in disbelief. His scars were gone too. The thin lines from the transmutation circle he had carved into his skin, the identical marks from Bradley's swords – were gone. This was impossible. This was too much.
Ignoring his subordinates' shocked faces, he numbly walked to the nearest chair and collapsed in it. He held his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his inky hair. There was no way he could have made up the events of the last couple years. Yet they had apparently never happened. None of this made sense. None of it.
He lifted his head and found his comrades staring back at him, confused and unsure. "The homunculi? The Promised Day? The Philosopher's Stone? Does any of that ring a bell?" Blank faces. "Nothing… nothing at all?"
There was a unanimous chorus of "No, sir." After a pause, Fuery piped up, "Aren't homunculi fake humans? Made with alchemy?"
Roy nodded. "And the Philosopher's Stone… that can break the laws of alchemy." This time it was Breda. "But I've never heard of the Promised Day."
Roy stood up, and took a deep breath. "Listen, everyone. I know that I'm going to sound like I'm half-mad, but something has gone terribly wrong." He glanced from face to face, making sure they were paying attention. "I'm not asking you to believe me, because there's no evidence that any of what I'm about to say actually occurred. But I'm positive that it did happen."
He was about to tell them everything – about Father, the homunculi, Bradley, Dr. Marcoh, the Philosopher's Stone, the Promised Day – when there was a knock at the door. Three knocks, to be precise. One long, followed by two short raps. The Flame Alchemist froze, blood icy cold. He knew only one person who consistently knocked like that. Even back at the military academy, he had always knocked like that.
The door clicked open. Recognition flickered across his friends' faces, but Roy refused to turn around. He wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't…
"Hey everyone! Guess whose daughter just turned 4 years old!"
AN: This is my first multi-chapter story, so it may be a bit rough around the edges, but I have most of it already planned out. I think it's going to be… a bit different from some other Royai stories. I can already tell I'll have a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you'll have fun reading. And of course, I welcome all reviews and comments – even flames! – with open arms.