Disclaimer: I don't own anything, least of all Fullmetal Alchemist
and inspiration for this fic comes from On the Line by glamaphonic
The gods envy us
They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment maybe our last
Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed
You will never be lovelier than you are now
We will never be here again
(Achilles)
It was quiet and still dark, the glimpse of sunlight barely present amongst the mist to register as dawn, a pale imitation of its reflection. The sparsely polished floorboards creaked softly, the soft ripples of leaves resounding within the carved hollows of the house that remained swathed in silent solace. The vague sounds of the wind whistling quietly through the open windows startled him, gently tousling his dark hair. It was quiet, maybe too quiet. He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to straighten the parts that the wind had embraced. He shivered slightly, the sweat on his back, from his morning exercises, pressing across his skin like winter's first grasp. His breath came in short laboured stops as he peeled the damp cloth away from his skin and changed into a fresh one. He shivered again as the wind grew bolder in its pursuit of the hidden secrets that lay entwined within the house – just as he had once stepped onto the threshold, facing the large solitary oaken door in pursuit of the infamous mad alchemist. The oaken door however, still remained aloof, its impassive stare pressing into him each time he walked through its confines. He glanced back at the window panes in his room, ensuring they were shut before heading downstairs, towards the kitchen. He rubbed his hands slightly, longing for something warm in the cold that seeped in through the walls. He smiled wryly, recognizing the irony behind having to shiver his way through his lessons when he had come to possibly unravel the science behind flame alchemy. He walked into the kitchen, preoccupied, barely registering the lights that were already alight and the kettle on the stove.
'Morning'
His head snapped up, blinking rapidly as he stared into a pair of brown eyes, which lit up with curiosity as it scrutinized him. It took him a moment to realize that this was probably the third inhabitant of the house, and another to realize that this was the first time he had seen her – he hadn't noticed her while most of the first year had swept past, the summer sunrise slowly fading into the weak murmur of winter rays. Whispers of hushed feet on the rough hardwood and wisps of a dress around the corners of the kitchen door were the closest he had come to acknowledging her presence. He hadn't meant to intentionally remain distant and ignorant – he was well aware of the presence of his teacher's younger daughter, but remained largely uninterested in scavenging the silent mansion in search of a fellow acquaintance, rather preferring the city during his waking hours when alchemy no longer demanded his relentless commitment.
'Do you want some tea?'
Her voice broke through his thoughts and he found himself staring stupidly at her.
'Yes, sure. That would be welcome' he cleared his throat awkwardly, hands lingering on the back of a chair.
He watched her back as she took the whistling kettle off the stove. Her pale blonde hair draped her shoulders, tiny unruly strands framing the golden expanse. She turned to reach into the cabinet, and he watched as the light reflected from her hair, reminding him of the simmering colour of the flame as it begins to slowly kindle over a fire hearth. Her shoulders were rather broad and he glimpsed the soft curve of a waist underneath the sweater she had shrugged over her pyjamas. He was suddenly startled as the recognition that she could be no more than three years younger than he was, swept across him. He had always envisioned her to be younger and smaller – a child lurking in the shadows; he couldn't have been more away from the truth.
'Aren't you going to take a seat?'
He hastily took a seat and accepted the warm mug gratefully, letting the ceramic heat his hands. He looked up, waiting for the tea to cool before scalding his tongue. He fixed his eyes on the girl, who sat right across him. He wasn't sure if it was alchemy that had increased his attention to detail or if he had always been this way around the opposite sex, but he found himself noticing the slight crease between her eyebrows as she drank the steaming tea, her finger as she twirled her hair absent-mindedly, and her eyes that seem to look beyond the papered walls that placed them in the same proximity. Her mother must have had been beautiful, he thought, trying but failing to imagine her as Berthold sensei's daughter.
'You must be my father's new student'
He nodded in answer, unsure of what to say. He tried to imagine what Madame Christmas would say if she were here, watching him fumble with words.
'I haven't seen you around much'
'Yeah', she blinked at him and waited – presumably for a smarter statement than the latter.
'I'm Roy, Roy Mustang' he said, trying to fill the awkward pause that lingered between their cups of simmering liquid.
'I know'
Her hair clip snapped abruptly, sending her pinned hair into a cascade. She brushed it away with a hand, and Roy could no longer see her left eye, concealed by her bangs. He hadn't known that she had had bangs and noticed as the strands seemed to fan out vaguely in reminiscence of a wing.
'I'm Riza' she smiled at him
The mist seemed to have finally lifted, the tiny tumults of rays scampering across the panes that shivered with each whisper of the wind across its surface. The tea had long since grown cold and as Riza lifted her mug, the sunlight seemed to find its own reflection midst her locks, the slight breeze flutter around the edges of her curls across her shoulders. Roy glanced at the clock behind the counter.
'Do you have plans today?'
'Nothing particularly pressing, no' she looked down into her empty cup
'Do you want to take a walk?' he asked
She look up, surprised at the question. He wasn't certain if it was the lighting but her cheeks seemed to colour slightly as she bit her bottom lip.
'Yeah', she answered hesitantly, 'sure'
He smiled at her, unsure if she was suddenly nervous and got up to help her put away the mugs in the sink. Her hair swung as she moved, brushing against his arm and he bit his lip to stop himself from telling her how it reminded him of a flame's first breath of life.
He stood by her as the ceremony proceeded, watching her hands as they clutched each other in silence, adamant not to tremble and shake; as tears that refused to surface or simply non-existent lingered beneath the pools of burnt ember. Her eyes had hardened since he had last seen her, the laughter once shared between the silent floorboards that had lined her rims were left vacant, its crevice filled with an emotion he had yet to decipher. He laid down the flowers he had purchased from the city, where once he had bought her shy magnolias as bright as her hair and pinned them behind her ear. The shadows where her hair once fell across her back whispered to him, her bangs rustling in the wind, sheilding her left eye – as the day he first saw her in the grey mansion's kitchen.
'I'm sorry ' she murmured quietly, the wind stilling around her words.
Mr. Mustang. When did he become someone where formality had played its rules?
'To having put you through the trouble of taking care of everything', she paused uncertainly, 'even my father's funeral' her voice trailed off and he glanced at her bent head
'You don't have to worry about it' his voice seemed rather loud after her quiet tone, 'as an apprentice it is only normal for me to do anything I could for sensei'
His words sounded stiff, barely a footstep outside the charade of strangers and convention with which she had opted for comfort. She was nearly eighteen if he had remembered her birthday rightly, and suddenly the lines that etched beneath her eyes seemed too old for someone so young. He glanced around the graveyard that had been witness to a small ceremony of three around the body of a dead alchemist.
'Don't you have any other family or relatives?' he asked softly, knowing the answer before the question had left his mouth
She paused for a moment, breathing in deeply.
'My mother has long been dead,' he could see her clench her jaw momentarily, 'both my mother and father seemed to have been estranged from their families, so I've never heard them talk of any relatives'
'What do you plan to do?' he couldn't quite ascertain if he was stepping over boundaries that had marked them on the opposite spectrum of relationships, but he couldn't help but remember the winter mornings they had spent together bundled in blankets with warm mugs of tea, pouring over the translations of manuscripts.
'Fortunately, my father at least took charge of my education and ensured I went to school', her voice hitched, 'I think I would be able to make a living for myself somehow'
Her eyes focused on the strewn grass and while he couldn't help feel accountable for her as her father's daughter and his comfort in a solitary house, he could sense her defensiveness sheathing her belief in her abilities.
'I see' he said gently, reaching into his pocket.
'If anything happens, you are welcome to visit the military authorities anytime', he said while holding out the card on which he had hastily jotted down the number of his division before he had arrived at the funeral, 'I'll probably be in the military for life' he added as an afterthought
She took the card from him, her hands still steady and pale
'For life?' she echoed
'Yes'
'Please don't die' she said abruptly, looking up to face him
'Don't say such ominous things' he responded in a heartbeat, taken aback at her outburst, the lines drawn to prevent their charade from collapsing blurring within her eyes as she continued to look into his.
Mister Mustang
'I can't promise on that' he added, noticing her blouse to be a new purchase, 'pursuing a path in the Amestrian army doesn't guarantee a future accounted for, someday I might end up in an alley just like a piece of trash'
He saw her open her mouth, unsure of how to respond and looked away, breaking their eye contact.
'Even so', he continued quietly, looking at the freshly marked grave, 'you can't expect to change the future without the risk of a sacrifice.'
'When I first arrived at the academy,' Riza looked at him curiously, noting that it was the first time she had heard him talk about his time at the academy, 'I was assigned into a dormitory of four. Fully aware that I would most likely have to spend the rest of my training at the academy with my roommates, I was only naturally apprehensive about the people I would meet. Mison was the first out of the four that I encountered. Scrawny with barely enough strength to manage to shift the bunker, his blue veins etched starkly against his pale wrists, he was the last person you would expect to meet at a military training academy. He struggled through our duties, always the last to finish his training, the last to finish his laps, and the last to arrive at the field for our morning call. The military doesn't care about your individual stories, nor did they have much patience for sloppiness – to them they saw everyone equal, everyone was a solider equal to their duties and responsibilities. Mison as you guessed, wasn't favourably viewed as he fought to carry the tire in a single lap, and yet he always seemed to be cheerful. Some called him an idiot – surely a person had to know when to quit rather than merely remain cheery through the entire ordeal.'
Roy paused. Riza remained silent, unsure of where he was going with his story.
'Humans are amazing creatures – we despair, sin, loose the quaint lines that tie us to our happiness, and yet find hope amidst the tragedy, willing to go down fighting for something we believe in rather than lie down in submission. Our country has so much potential to grow and be great, and not only in military strength as we have pursued so far. Social welfare, education, non-militarised alchemy – the fields are endless. If I could become a part of this country's foundation stones to help it change, being able to protect everyone with these hands, I think I would be happy, despite the enormous burden I would be forced to carry. Equivalent exchange is what you call it. It was one of the reasons I started to learn alchemy and later, aspire to be a State alchemist. Yet I don't think I'm sure I can be capable to make a change yet, seeing how in the end I failed to even learn sensei's secrets.'
He felt his cheeks colour up suddenly and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed that he sounded exactly like the idiot Maes had described him as – too entrenched in a dream that could never take flight in a world bound by rules that were far from fair.
'Sorry, I ended up telling you my rather naïve ambition' he muttered
'No, I think it's a wonderful dream'
He turned to see her smile wryly at him
'The secrets that my father left behind', she paused, swallowing hard, 'he said that they were written in a code that no average alchemist would be able to decipher'
Roy felt his pulse increase, thrumming across his bloodlines.
'So sensei did leave behind his secret manuscripts, after all'
'No'
He felt the air press against him, trying to understand what she was trying to tell him
'They are not manuscripts, he said it would be problematic if his life's research disappeared or was taken by an outsider'
'How did he leave them behind?' Roy asked, catching the drift of what she was trying to tell him
'Mister Mustang', her voice sounded odd, 'that dream of yours, can I entrust my back to it?'
Her voice sounded wrong, scratched with scars that she shouldn't have had to endure. It wasn't the same voice that had yelled his name across the street, squealing in laughter as he had caught up to her outside a bookstore. Her voice sounded like the desperate sob that she had hid in the nights after hearing reports of the massacre from the border wars. It sounded like the fleeting smiles that she wore while comforting her friend, the twisted newspaper articles he had found stacked in her room.
'Is it all right to believe in a future where everyone can live in happiness?' her voice eerily echoed, reminding him of the night he had decided to leave to join the State Military Academy, leaving behind Riza who was no longer the girl he had met in the kitchen with her hair the colour of a kindling flame.
He followed her footsteps wordlessly as she led him back to the mansion, his blood thrumming painfully in his ears, desperate to know the answer, desperate to abandon hope in face of failure. Even if she showed him sensei's notes there would be no certainty that he would be able to decipher them. No average alchemist. Yet, he was average was he not. He had never been able to convince sensei of his dream – naïve as it may seem, something that fuelled his belief in living to bring a difference. He hadn't proven himself to be adequate to carry the weight of the alchemy to be entrusted to a lifetime's research, and yet here he was standing on the threshold of the oaken door that stood solitarily and unwelcoming, as he had once remembered it to be. The floorboards creaked a hollow welcome as his feet retraced a path he had grown to learn, into her room. He looked around, trying to gauge a hint of what was to be expected while staring at her familiar back; and missing her hair brushing past his skin, now that they were alone in the confines of a house that had felt their fingerprints.
He could see her muscle tense beneath the crisp blouse as she breathed in heavily, her hands shaking slightly beside her sides.
'Promise me that you will never give up on your dream, despite how naïve it may sound, despite how this promise might sound like the plea of a little girl unsure of what she is going to do'
If it had to be just a promise, why did he feel like he was setting his fate in stone?
'I promise' he whispered, his voice resounding in the room
She lifted her hands and after a moment's pause he realized what she was doing.
'What are you doing?' he asked incredulously, taking a step forward
'Stay back, Mr Mustang' she responded, her strong voice marred by a slight tremor, 'please'
Her blouse fell onto the floor, in a heap at her foot as she raised her arms to shield her front. For a moment he was confused, clearly she had been wearing another layer beneath her blouse but as he saw the muscle clench once more, the horrifying truth started to emerge, holding him in its grip. He heard an unearthly noise and realized that it had emerged from his mouth. The transmutation array printed across her back stared back at him, taunting his vision for the country, his willingness to sacrifice to protect. The black ink swirled between the creases in her skin, whispering stealthily as they wound into themselves. He closed his eye, his heartbeat drowning everything else around him. He suddenly realized why her hair had been cropped short since he had last seen her. Did he deserve this, what was laid out so blatantly in front of him, when he had failed in his aim to protect? He opened his eyes, and for a moment, he could see nothing on her back, the skin smooth and untainted with the ugly imprints of ink, her golden hair tickling the nape of her neck as it earned to reached past her shoulders. And then it was gone, the fading sunlight illuminating the salamander snaking its way in the cleft of her waist, her hair no longer the colour of a kindling flame but the dying embers in the sunset's red beams arching through the glass panes.
The sand swirled in the wind, blowing its harsh caress across the dry fields of carnage. The snapping of his fingers had become a mindless repetition, an action that had had used to mean a lifetime of hope and a vision to resurrect the broken, now reduced to the smell of charred flesh and the thick crimson that stained the dusty plains. He had long since lost count of how many lives that that single snap had rudely cut off, not that unleashing a spitting rage of fire would allow him the leisure of counting his causalities. He found himself slipping into a state of numbness, his questions compromising his resolve firmly shut behind a door without a key. The white gloves that he had once worn with pride, enlisting in the front that demanded service to his country, honour to the lives he aimed to protect, had turned into an unspoken liability the first weeks he had been dispatched. Soon enough, it turned into a routine of words spoken and actions that needed to be accounted for. He stopped holding his breath, pausing uncertainly before he incinerated the blocks of buildings that stood starkly against the unforgiving sun – his fingers moving on their own, the snap of the oxygen burning the imprints of the horrified screams onto his skin.
He rested his head against his hands, rubbing the battle fatigue away from his eyes. His pulse hadn't calmed down and it had been a while since he had felt unnerved on the field. It had never occurred to him that he could be regarded as defenceless and weak in the absence of a standing enemy to target. He had been helpless while an attempt had been made at their lives. He was nothing more than a façade, no more even a machine of the military – take away his flame and the flame alchemist disintegrates into a mass of shadows and screens. If they hadn't had someone watching their backs, he and Maes could have resulted in mahogany boxes draped with the colours of Amestris.
Hawk's eye
He had heard of the infamous sniper before, he doubted if anyone dispatched to the frontlines had failed to hear the rumours behind the persona although no one in his division seemed to know anything confirmed about the person behind the sniper's rifle, not even their gender. It had been rumoured however that they were in their last stage of training – not even a fledged solider but a cadet with an outstanding track at the academy. He shifted uneasily as he though over the name 'hawk's eye'. An unintended coincidence could have been the only possible explanation for his mounting discomfort. He tried desperately to bury the flashbacks that crowded behind his visions – of a young girl, her light hair tied into two firm plaits, biting her lip distractedly as she hit the target repeatedly with a growing silence and precision that had never ceased to amaze him.
'Ah Hawk's eye!' he heard Maes exclaim from behind him, presumably at the sniper who had approached the barracks, 'thanks for looking out for us earlier'
'Just doing my duty sir', the voice grated against his skin
Struggling as he was, it would never do to neglect the breeding ground the battlefield presented for potential allies he would be in dire need of once he started his ascend to the top. Succumbing partially to his temptation of uncovering the sniper's identity to prove himself wrong, and partially to ensure a possible ally, he stood up stiffly and looked back.
He forgot how to breathe, looking into the familiar darkened brown clouded with something he had never seen before. The golden hair that had weaved its imprint into his memory shifted slightly with the wind, falling over the left eye as it had always done, ever since he could remember watching the flame between the strands. Out in the field, it must have left to grow, the strands just brushing the nape of her neck desperately in need of a trim – a luxury no one was sure that they would have the liberty of receiving unless the dusty plains had been soaked with the blood of carnage.
'Long time, Major'
Her voice had dropped in pitch and sounded much more clipped and official than he had expected. But what had he expected?
Maes stared back and forth them, waiting for an explanation. Roy tried to ignore him, staring at the stranger in front of him, her rifle slung beside her and her holster tightly strapped with extra ammunition. It wasn't the casual grace with which she handled her weapons or even the curve of her breasts outlined against the tight turtleneck she wore but instead, her eyes that told him that he didn't know the woman standing in front of him anymore. The last of the laughter and naivety that he had seen simmering in them at her father's funeral had been washed away, only to be replaced with an emptiness that stretched legions, a coldness lining them as she stared at him. The guilt that had been packed away within, hidden from his grasp, rose in his mouth like bile. He felt himself dreaming once again, glancing down at his hands seeing the blood stained patches decorate them as would the medal bestowed by the army for exceptional service – a single atom of the metal that could barely encompass the life he felt evaporating as he gazed through the haze of smoke and sand. He wanted nothing more than wash his hands with acid, letting the liquid eat into his skin, watching with fascination while his skin bubbled and disappeared into an abyss of nothing. How could he dare to look into her eyes, answer her, when the promise he had made in the darkly lit confines of her room, a lifetime ago, had faded to be replaced by his white gloves engraved with the array that imprinted her skin? Night had been the only time he had truly feared, preferring to stay awake for most part than return to the haunting attacks that replayed in his dreams until he was filled with nothing but the smell of a village on fire and the metallic taste of blood. However, she stood before him now, refusing to let his demons lay shut within him.
He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say suddenly. What could he say? Sorry?
A solider running towards Maes interrupted him
'Captain, we received intelligence of an attempt at ambush at the barracks by the insurgents!'
Maes turned to look at him, the lines of relief from their previous attempt disappearing as he considered the landscape around him.
'How large is this group of insurgents to be?"
'Twenty, Sir! However we have yet to predict where they would launch their attacks'
'Twenty insurgents, I see' Maes looked out thoughtfully towards the landscape
'The eastern flank is a wasteland, with almost no buildings or any cover that can be provided to these insurgents, which could potentially leave the western and southern points the most vulnerable, especially if they would seek to destroy our supply of ammunition' Roy interjected quietly
'The western area consists of rations which I doubt the Ishvalans would be willing to sacrifice in dire times, which makes the southern area the most probable for attack' Maes agreed as he looked over at the solider
'Order Caleb to spilt his squad to take up positions at the western and southern points while Michael will take the northern post. Take your position at the northern point along with your squad, solider' he commanded
'If it is really a group of insurgents, I doubt the numbers would be big. It could probably be over in a couple of quick minutes, without your help' Maes flashed a dry grin at Roy and clapped his back
'Sir! It's the eastern flank they're targeting, the eastern flan-!'
A bullet ricocheted off the aluminium roof and Roy instinctively ducked, pulling Maes down to the ground.
'Fucking shit' Maes swore, as Roy removed a piece of chalk from his sleeve as quickly etched an array onto the ground. He slammed his hands down and Maes watched as a concrete wall grew from the sand, enough to provide them with cover as they brought in re-enforcements.
'Relocate the soldiers defending the northern side to the eastern flank!' he yelled at the solider who had warned them about the insurgent's targeted front, 'Caleb and Michael are to remain stationed at their positions until further orders are issued'
'Yes, Sir!'
Maes removed his automatic from his holster and peered above the wall as another bullet flew past them, barely grazing his ear
'Can't you do anything Roy?' he asked panting
Roy took a look at the landscape and bit his lip.
'If it had been littered with buildings or slums, or anything that could have served as potential fuel it would have been easier to incinerate the ground. However, these insurgents decided to use sand dunes and the natural terrain as their cover. Sand composes primarily of quartz, or silicondioxide, which is highly non-flammable unless I were to separate the elements to use oxygen and the reservoirs of water in the cracks between the ground to create hydrogen gas to produce an explosion; but not without placing us at risk as well.'
Maes handed him another automatic in answer
'Nine o'clock, Sir' Riza said quietly, her voice calm while Roy was momentarily confused by her presence
'Can you take him out?' Maes asked her in return
She didn't answer but pressed the trigger of her rifle, as a small cry across the sand answered his question.
'Two o'clock, two degrees more to the east' Roy said, while Maes watched him incredulously.
Riza simply nodded at him, focusing on her target as she pressed the trigger again. A bullet raced past her, leaving behind a streak of red on her smooth cheek.
'You're hurt!' Roy exclaimed as Maes ordered his men into position
'It is nothing, major' she replied rigidly, her eyes focussing on the arid landscape, calculating where the bullet had been fired from. She watched from her barrel as she saw movements amongst the grains and a torso emerge. She waited for another moment before letting the terse bullet free, piercing through the wind and straight through her intended target, the scarlet stain blossoming across his chest. She didn't pause but continued to watch, her eyes skimming the area like a hawk waiting for its prey. Roy watched her as she breathed in calmly, her eyes void of any emotion as she readied to kill another. Her hair flitted in the wind, swiping at her check that had started to bleed freely, its strands as paradoxically restless as her hands that remained still and trained on the trigger. He remembered when her hair had had once been the colour of a flame's first breath and smouldering embers. Now it seemed little than the flame that had ravaged his nightmares, the yellow no longer discernable from the crimson that coated the locks in their stride. The woman who held the rifle was a stranger, he didn't recognize the creases that lined her face and the stains that washed up against her hands; no more than he recognized himself in the reflection that stared back at him every morning, its black eyes burning in an inferno, the colour of her hair as she pressed the trigger once more.
He was drunk. He had to be or he must be hallucinating, he decided. He watched over the rim of his glasses as his favourite lieutenant hiccupped and let out a throaty laugh at something Havoc had said – which Mustang could only presume to be a dirty joke. She caught his eye from across as if sensing his thoughts, and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter that reminded him of her eyes as they fixed a swing on the tree outside on the summer he had turned sixteen. He smiled back at her, his heart beating tightly against his chest, numbing his brain to a senseless whisper as he kept his eyes fixed on her. It had been a long week, and if had cared to admit it, he had worked overtime trying to resolve the disaster in Reole and placing his pieces on the chessboard at a potential opening at Central headquarters, passed along earlier in the week by an unexpected visit by Maes. He felt a sudden hand on his back and turned to look at the devil himself, as the laughing face of Maes Hughes sat down next to him.
'You never told me that there would be a celebration tonight' he said jovially as Roy groaned into his drink, downing it in one-go. He had realized that his team deserved a weekend out, before he thrust them back into work to decipher the background of the infamous insurgent, nicknamed 'Scar'. What he hadn't anticipated however, was a possible tipsy Riza Hawkeye and the rush of adrenalin that seemed to possess him every time he was in proximity to her tonight.
'Have you looked into the documents I gave you?' Maes interrupted his thoughts and Roy felt himself get sober
'I did, I haven't started to make a move yet, calling in old favours. But the way things seem to be headed with the crisis in Reole and the Elric brothers, my posting in Central could be due anytime'
'And then you can come and visit me and Gracia and Elicia! You should see how much Elicia has grown' he twittered, a happy smile on his face as he took a sip of his drink
Roy watched him quietly in amusement, listening to him talk about his daughter for nearly the fiftieth time this week – a small count for someone like Maes
'Are you happy?' he asked suddenly, interjecting Maes' excited proclamation at Elicia's first words being 'daddy'
'More than I deserve' he pronounced staring at his friend's odd expression
'Is it those nightmares?' he asked, his voice becoming sombre, guessing the real reason behind the abrupt question
Roy didn't answer but took another swing from his re-filled glass.
'Colonel, stop sulking in the corner. You'll make those wrinkles look even more prominent' a more than tipsy Havoc bumped into him, cutting off anything that Maes had to say as he dragged a stool and sat next to them
'You need to have one more drink' he refilled Roy's glass once again, 'and cheer up, no one has died yet'
Maes stiffened at his comment, expecting Roy to lash out, but to his surprise, the colonel only sighed wearily, attempting to appear as though he was reluctant to join in the festivities. He watched as Riza and Breda joined them, all three clearly having had a lot to drink. He raised his eyebrows as he considered Riza in her shirt that had come untucked from her skirt, her collar slightly crooked – clearly not in uniform. She collapsed heavily next to Havoc, his hand curling around her waist to support her weight as he lowered her down slowly. Maes watched interestingly as Roy's eyes found their way to her waist and remained affixed until Havoc removed his arm once she leaned back against his frame.
'Major why hasn't the Colonel had enough to drink?' Breda asked, his raspy voice dulled by the alcohol
'Too old' Havoc ventured, smirking at the Colonel, wondering if this conversation could lead to any repercussions when he reported back for duty on Monday
'Not enough stamina'
Roy's eyes darted towards Riza who picked up a handful of peanuts. Maes chortled in response.
'So I guess we can all assume that Roy's infamous womanizing is just a rumour?'
'A tactic for diversion' she responded, munching the peanuts
'It's because I'm stuck in this depressing corner on a Friday evening, deprived of a sore sight for my eyes' he responded, finishing the amber liquid in his glass
'Are you saying I'm not pretty?' Maes huffed at him
'You certainly are the prettiest amongst everyone in here, Hughes' he replied, not noticing as Breda discretely filled his glass
'The Colonel clearly has been misinformed', Havoc interjected, 'he hasn't seen me in my full glory yet'
Riza snorted derisively as she looked at her fellow partner
'You don't have much going on either, Jean'
Roy felt himself freeze, his arm outstretched on the table as he blinked at the pair in front of him. He had noticed long ago in his unit, that Riza and Havoc made an excellent team together – combining loyalty, ingenuity, instinct and hard work, something he needed desperately by his side if he had wanted his operations to succeed. Yet he had never noticed anything romantic implied between them, until now as he watched Havoc respond and they collapsed into a fit of laughter with Breda. He let the alcohol burn his way down his throat, the cold liquid seeping through his mouth as he felt the ice cubes clink behind his teeth.
'Stop being so gloomy' he half-heard Hughes whisper to him and waved him off, taking the liberty to fill his own glass and unknowingly saving Breda the trouble of navigating a secretive mission to get the Colonel drunk.
Seven glasses and an hour later, everyone had quite exceeded their alcohol tolerance level – sufficient to say, everyone was as drunk as could be an alcoholic at two in the morning.
'What happened to Vanessa?' Hughes slurred, winking at Roy
'Vanessa has been lovely' he answered back, his dulled eyes searching the gathering for the face of his lieutenant
'Who's Vanessa?' Breda asked curiously
Havoc groaned in response, 'She was supposed to be my date, Colonel'
'I couldn't have forced her to have dinner with me, I can't help that my existence is so charming'
'Are you sure you didn't use alchemy?'
'How dare you suggest that alchemy is the only part of me that is impressive'
'I didn't mean that. I meant, there is nothing impressive about you except how you manage to get any work done in the office without Hawkeye is a wonder'
'Well maybe the flame is a bit impressive'
'So is my cigarette lighter'
'Did you just call me a cigarette lighter?'
'No, my lighter is much more smooth, Colonel'
'You don't need to be smooth when you have the charm'
'Which is why you don't have a cutie-pie like Elisia waiting for you back at home yet'
'How old is she Major?'
Roy stood up abruptly, muttering a small 'excuse me' as he made his way outside, leaving the Breda and Havoc listening to Hughes talk about his little girl. The night was crisp and clear, he looked up to see a map of stars staring back at him. He wobbled slightly on his feet, and drew out his cigarette pack to place one in his mouth. He wondered where the lieutenant had disappeared as he took a long drag and watched abstractly as the smoke curled against the dark shadows dimly illuminated by the lights of the bar. He found himself remembering the shirt she had worn, unbuttoned at the collar, the next button latter undone as he saw the heat on her face from the amount she had to drink. He took another drag, briefly closing his eyes feeling his head spin as he inhaled. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he looked into a pair of familiar browns.
'What are you doing out here Colonel?'
He could see her collarbones beneath the skin that was stretched across them, the crook of her neck where her hair nestled softly.
'Colonel?' she asked again, taking the cigarette from his hand and putting it out for him. He looked down at the dying out embers of the cigarette light and was startled to realize that a slit in her skirt crept up her knees. He saw the flash of skin as she stepped off the cigarette bud.
'Are you okay, Sir?' she asked for the third time this night and he licked his chapped lips, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was
'I could ask the same about you, lieutenant'
'Sir?'
'Where did you go?' he asked
'Trying to get some fresh air, Sir' she responded, fixing him with an odd stare
Her hair had grown in the last few months and she had let it grow. It now peeked shy of her shoulder, the strands yearning to clasp her collarbones as he did. She had refused to grow her hair after they had been dispatched from Ishval and assigned to the Eastern Headquarters. He hadn't dared to ask her about her decisions that remained exclusive of the military. He remembered holding her head in his lap, noticing the burnt ends of her hair as her back lay out in front of him, the blood pooling on the floor. Her blood, her flesh, her burden. Now standing in front of him, he could see her face contorted into a confused frown. She must have had a lot to drink he realized, knowing that Riza Hawkeye never betrayed her emotions so blatantly, not since the girl waving at him from the oaken porch had grown up. He wondered if any part of that girl still remained as the wind blew, tugging at her hair gently. He noticed her trademark bangs, fanning out in the shape of a wing and obscuring her left eye. Her hair at least seemed to remember who she was, even if she had he thought, his fingers suddenly itching to brush her hair away from her face. If he had been more drunk, if he had had more to drink with alcohol rushing through his veins and giving him that adrenalin rush, things could have been different. He could have taken her hand, touched her face or placed a soft kiss on her forehead. But the night was still young and he wasn't drunk enough so he kept his arms to himself, his shadow falling over her; and in the shadow her hair almost seemed ebony black, black as his eyes as he stood there studying the woman who would follow him into hell if she had to.
She opened her door and he was there, leaning against the doorframe as he looked at his shoes. She could smell the strong stench of alcohol and cigarettes clinging to his skin, his shirt untucked and his tie wrapped halfheartedly around his neck. She let him in, locking the door behind him but not before she gave the hallway a long searching sweeping glace. She placed a glass on the counter and filled it with water, taking a seat across him. He reached out slowly, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and removing the tie from where it hung down like a death sentence.
'I'm sorry' he breathed
She got up to walk towards where he had discarded his tie and picked it up from the floor to find his hands on her wrist. She fought a barrel of emotions as she stood still, wanting to scream at him and sob in frustration realizing how this changed everything.
'It's not your fault, sir' she whispered back. Somehow it seemed wrong to speak in their normal tones, the shadows creeping around them as he didn't let her wrist go
'I shouldn't have underestimated Bradley, I should have seen this move coming'
'You couldn't have, sir', she continued to answer him, her voice unnaturally calm despite the storm that raged within her, 'Bradley would have had to find a way to disengage you from the playing field at one point in the game. At least he's assigned me to be his aide which could mean further access to documents that had once been out of reach'
'Don't say that' he snarled, looking up at her, 'don't say that like you were a piece just to be manipulated for a goal'
'Sir?' she said, startled by his outburst. The lines beneath his eyes seemed to have become more prominent under the harsh kitchen light and she flinched at noticing his black eyes staring intently at her
'This is exactly what he wanted to achieve, Colonel. He wanted you not only to be proven at a disadvantage strategically, but also compromised emotionally'
'I'm not going anywhere, sir. I'm still dispatched at Central' she added hesitatingly
'You're going straight into the den of the tiger' he answered back, letting her wrist go and standing up
'Forgive me, lieutenant' he said softly and Riza stared back at him, confusion clouding the boiling at the pit of her stomach. She could feel his hot breath against her face as his hands found her face
'I'm sorry' he repeated, casting his eyes down
Something inside her broke as she saw the man in front of her, losing his team had shattered him more than he would care to admit. She had watched him since he had arrived by their oaken door, a boy filled with flight and wonder at the world he was about discover and then the man who had discovered the horrors this world was capable of as she watched him from the sidelines at Ishaval. Where had they gone so wrong? She wondered mirthlessly, the teacher's son stained by the horrors he had to face behind the keyless door every night, the screams of the undying punctuating his ragged breath and the teacher's daughter who stood by him, counting the number of lives she had learnt to kill quietly. His vision was what had kept them tethered to the world, its purpose bearing down on them as unbearable burdens that they had sworn to lift through the struggle. She had followed him into the battlefield and out, knowing that she would follow him anywhere he would go. Without that purpose, she doubted if they could continue to deal with horrors of what had scarred them within. She placed her hands on his, and leant forward slightly so that their foreheads just touched. Her heart beat painfully against her ribs as the enormity of the order started to hit her, pounding back into her with blows that left her breathless. She was supposed to protect him, she was supposed to be his last pillar of strength, his queen, determined to never let him fall, but until this moment she had never considered how largely her colonel would be impacted by her removal. It made him too dependent, too weak. She felt something within her twist painfully as an image of her colonel lying dead on the battlefield flashed past her vision. She couldn't leave him – he wasn't ready, she wasn't ready. The desperation of what was happening crashed into her like massive tidal waves and she closed her eyes, letting him press his mouth against hers. Someone was probably watching them, but tonight she didn't care. She tasted the ash of his cigarette and the sour taste of his spirit kissed mouth as she opened her mouth and sighed into him, letting his touch consume her. His hands found her waist, leaving one against her cheek as her hands snaked up behind his neck. His eyes found hers as they split apart, his mouth finding her collarbones as she closed her eyes once more.
His hands that had started out slow and gentle, grew desperate as he pushed her shirt of her shoulders and pulled her onto him where they collapsed against the wall. Her hands found him beneath his buttons, running her fingers across his hardened middle. He groaned and kissed her mouth greedily, letting his hands explore a terrain that he started to memorize – he wanted to remember every mole and crevice on her body, the way her shoulder muscles flexed as her hand reached below his stomach, the tiny bumps where her stomach met her hips, she was so beautiful that it hurt. He pulled down the rest of her clothes and pressed himself onto her, wanting to feel her skin against his, unknowing where his atoms ended and hers began. He kissed down her neck, down to her breasts and making his way further down. He heard her sigh and felt the fingers through his hair, clenching them as he kissed her between her legs
'Colonel' she said softly
'Not tonight' he answered her after a moment's pause, 'don't call me colonel tonight'
His words seemed to jarred her awake as her fingers skimmed over his back, her mouth finding his, biting on his lower lip in her frantic need. He felt the fear rushing through him, his pulse speeding up as the realization that he was losing her struck at him. He held against the wall, pulling her legs onto his hips, their breaths coming out in raspy gasps as he found his way into her. She groaned slowly as he thrust against her, softly at first but increasingly faster, her lips on his, his fingers digging into his back as her legs wound tightly around him. He buried himself within her, her breaths and whimpers caressing his skin, her heartbeat inking herself onto him. He felt adrenalin course through his veins, dousing him in a momentary fall of pleasure and he gasped as desperate shudders raced up his body, whispering the only name that mattered repeatedly, punctuated with his intakes.
'Riza. I'm sorry. Riza. I'm sorry'
He felt her body tremor against his as she followed him an instant later, as she had done for as long as he had always remembered
'Roy'
He felt himself break at her soft whisper and the tears that had started to cascade down her cheeks, collecting at her dry lips
'Please don't die'
Her bangs fell forward, covering her eyes until he reached out to brush them out of her eyes. Her hair was as light as the first time he had seen her, curling beneath her shoulders and sticking against his face as he leaned in to kiss her again. The colours of a flame that had burned through him, the colours of a flame that had yet to be smothered out, the colours of the flame that burned the brightest when he found his name on her lips.
I'm not really sure how this turned out, it would be really nice if you could leave a review! :)