Scar Tissue: Chapter 4


"Riza, we're nearly done. Just hold on a little longer, okay?" Mustang said.

She nodded stiffly, tears in her eyes and beads of sweat standing out on her pale face. Hughes carefully patted her uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. To take his mind off her pain, Roy explained what he was doing for Hughes's benefit.

"In order to remove the darker pigmentation of the tattoo so that it is gone for good, I have to make sure the burns extend down into the dermis layer. The trick is to destroy the skin enough to cause scar tissue to form, but not so badly that she'd end up with nerve damage." His voice was cool, clinical, as though he were thinking only of the hard scientific facts and not of the suffering of the flesh and blood woman under his hands.

"So…you're making them third degree burns, then?" Hughes frowned, trying to think back to what he'd learned in biology. He was interested in the particulars of this procedure almost in spite of himself.

"Mm, really they're on the borderline between second and third," Roy replied. "We need partial thickness second degree burns. Ironically, if they were worse, they'd hurt her less, because we'd be frying off the nerves entirely and she'd lose the ability to feel anything on those portions of skin, much less pain."

From the corner of his eye, Hughes saw Hawkeye frown a little. He wondered whether she'd fully considered all of the risks before she'd asked for this.

"But of course, if we did that," Roy was saying. "She'd need to undergo surgery for skin grafts, and then she'd be looking at months of recuperation rather than weeks. Plus, we'd need to take her to a real hospital, which would sort of defeat the whole purpose. Once I'm done with this portion," he gestured, "I'll have to debride the dead tissue before I bandage her wounds. Did you find those tweezers I was asking you about?"

"Uh-huh. Right there," he said, nodding towards the table. "So why aren't you using your gloves?"

He knew what Roy was doing, chattering on like this. But he'd been genuinely curious about the candle his friend had carried carefully into the room, and the circle he had drawn out so painstakingly on the floor. Surely using the gloves would have been easier?

"I'm not using those things on her. Ever," Mustang said savagely, whirling on his friend.

Hughes raised his hands in front of his chest defensively. Even Riza raised her head slightly in alarm.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I was just asking. I didn't even think about it that way…" And Mustang deflated like a balloon. He scrubbed a hand over his face again and sighed before meeting Hughes's concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry, Maes," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to snap at you." Hughes nodded briskly, and Roy turned his attention back to his childhood friend. "All right, Riza, this is the last bit. We're almost through," he murmured, and gently stroked her hair. Hughes resumed his former position with one steady hand on each shoulder, and Riza closed her eyes again and braced herself.

The flame of the candle grew and elongated when Mustang activated the circle, and then slowly trailed through the air until it hovered above Riza's back. Hughes could feel the heat of it, as close as his hands were to her tattoo, and he marveled again at his friend's talent. With an intense expression of concentration, Roy moved the white-hot ball of flame slowly over the last spot he needed to eradicate, rather like a blowtorch. The girl's whole body went rigid with the effort of not crying out aloud.

Her back arched, and a tiny sound escaped her lips before she bit down hard on the knotted handkerchief Hughes had given her earlier. Hughes made a soothing noise and pressed her shoulders down just a little more firmly. She was breathing hard, and small involuntary noises of pain escaped her lips every so often, but she was far less vocal than either man had anticipated. Roy had been terrified he would be hearing her screams of agony in his nightmares for years to come.

Although, now that he thought about it, those little whimpers were just as bad. He wondered about her pain threshold, and then with a horrible sinking feeling, he wondered what had happened when the tattoo was put into place. Had it hurt as badly? Had it been worse? He wasn't sure if he had the courage to ask her.

At last, the portion he'd needed gone was finished, and Mustang extinguished the fire hovering above Riza's back. Moving quickly, he pulled the dead and charred tissue away from her fresh wounds with the tweezers, bearing down on the impulse to retch as the skin peeled away like wet tissue paper. Hughes had to turn away at this point, taking deep breaths through his mouth while black spots swam through his vision.

But both men had seen worse, had done worse, and they would face this.

Riza's breath was coming in ragged pants, and she was beginning to shake with the effort of holding her body still under the intense pain. Finally, Mustang covered the raw red and pink wounds with sterile dressings. He wouldn't bind them with bandages just yet, as he would need Riza to sit up for that part. He wanted to wait until she'd downed enough pain pills before even thinking of moving her around like that. Plus, this way he'd be able to change them a time or two first, with a minimum of movement on her part.

While he tidied up the various medical and alchemic accoutrements, Hughes fussed over Hawkeye, whose tears were streaming more freely now. Hughes pulled the thin sheet up over her carefully, mindful of her wounds, and then fetched a glass of water with a straw and several pain pills. The wan, watery smile she offered him when he held the straw to her lips completely melted his heart.

Though he didn't know this girl very well, Hughes felt that being a witness to this very private and very painful moment in her life gave him a vested interest in her well-being. He was beginning to consider her as a sort of adopted kid sister. Never mind that she was barely four years his junior. Something about her current helpless state, combined with what he now knew of her past, as well as the fortitude with which she'd faced this ordeal…it was making all of his protective instincts kick in. Pulling a clean handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he carefully wiped the tears off of her face and tried to smile as cheerfully as he always did. Watching from the corner of his eye, Roy found himself thinking that Hughes would make an excellent father.

Seeing that Hughes was sufficiently distracted, and their patient was not looking in his direction either, Roy slipped out of the room and allowed himself to sag weakly against the wall of the hallway outside. He covered his face with his hands—his killers' hands—and started to shake. He took several deep breaths as he slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, forcing aside the images now burned into his memory of the wounds he had inflicted on his childhood friend. The way her back had arched in pain, how her muscles had tensed, how the tears had slowly leaked from her eyes though she was fighting them with everything she had… and never mind how her soft silken skin had reddened and blistered and charred under his hands.

"Oh god. I'm sorry, Riza. I'm so sorry," he whispered into his hands.

He could still hear Hughes's low murmuring from inside the room, punctuated every so often by Riza's softer tone. When he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door, Roy struggled to pull himself together in time to meet his friend's discerning eye.

"Ready for that drink now, I'll bet," Maes said softly, looking down at Roy. He didn't comment on the fact that his friend was sitting on the ground against the wall shaking like a leaf. Roy shook his head.

"I can't—I don't want to leave her all alone just yet." Hughes just pursed his lips and watched him for a moment.

"Look, I'm supposed to meet Gracia for a lunch date soon," he said finally. "How about this: You sit with her now, keep an eye on her. I'll come back here later this evening and keep you both company, make sure everything is still going all right. I'll even bring you both some dinner. Deal?" he asked, extending a hand. Mustang knew that even if he refused, Hughes would still show up. He snorted softly.

"Deal," he replied, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Hughes left soon after that, and by the time Mustang returned to his room, Riza had fallen asleep. He smiled a little as he remembered that painkillers had always made her tired and loopy. Pulling his chair closer to the bed, he settled down to hold vigil over his sleeping victim. No, not victim—patient, he reminded himself. He couldn't keep beating himself up like this. It was what she had wanted, and he had agreed…it was done. He couldn't regret this now.

But the doubt crept in anyway. Should he have left so much of the tattoo untouched? Would it be enough? There was no way he could do this over again…had the burns been deep enough? What if, after all of this, her skin didn't scar as much as he'd anticipated and the tattoo was still visible? What if he had failed her again? Would she be able to forgive him again? What if he had to do this again, watch her flinch and shudder under his hands as her skin was torn apart by his flames? Had to watch her fight her tears, trying so damned hard to be strong for his sake as though he wouldn't see how much pain she was in, how she suffered?

God, he hated this! Why did he have to be the one to do this to her? Sure, she'd told him that he was the only one she trusted, but just look where that trust had gotten her. And now, every time she saw her scars in the mirror, she would think of him, and think of what she'd had to endure. She would associate him with her pain and suffering, and she would grow to hate him. How could she not? He didn't realize that tears were streaming down his own cheeks until her sleepy voice interrupted his internal monologue.

"Shouldn't I be the one crying right about now, Mr. Mustang?" she mumbled, with a sleepy eye fixed on his face.

Roy froze. She hadn't called him that since they were children. Ever since he'd joined the military, she'd addressed him by his rank.

"It's not your fault. I asked you to do this," she continued in the same dreamy voice, her eyes slowly closing again. Really she was only half lucid, caught between a memory and a dream. Even in such a state, she still knew exactly what was going through his mind. And her gentle words calmed him down somewhat.

What right did he have to cry, anyway? Riza needed him to be strong right now; he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity when she still needed him. He swiped at his own face impatiently and reached for the basin of cool water Hughes had left out.

"It doesn't change the fact that I'm sorry, Miss Riza," he replied softly, using the honorific he'd always attached to her name when he'd lived under her father's roof.

He dipped a cloth in the water, and squeezed it out carefully before using it to wipe the sweat off of her forehead. He was sure the fever would kick in soon, if it hadn't already, as her body fought to heal itself and prevent infection from setting into her burn wounds. He'd need to get her an extra blanket, and he would need to keep checking on her throughout the night.

As the cool cloth touched her skin, Riza's lips parted to release a soft sigh, and goose bumps sprang up all along Roy's arms. His hands shook slightly, and his mouth went dry, and he had to tell himself to get a grip before he could continue. Once he finished sponging her forehead, he moved the cloth along her hairline, where her bright golden hair had darkened with sweat, and then over the exposed side of her neck and throat. For a moment, the only sound in the room was her labored breathing and the soft swish of damp cloth on bare skin.

"Riza…I'm so sorry," he whispered again at last, unable to resist.

"You're going to have to stop apologizing, Roy," she said. Her voice was a little clearer than before, and she seemed to be fighting the haze of the painkillers. "You never had to say it out loud…I already knew how you felt about this. And now it's just redundant."

"You amaze me, Riza," he managed through the lump in his throat. She just smiled.

And then her eyes flew open again, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope. It was the way she'd often looked at him when they were children, when she was still learning to trust him.

"Will you stay with me for a while?" she asked, her voice suddenly small and childlike. Mustang felt his heart constrict as he recognized the words…she'd asked him the same thing once, long ago. The first time she'd ever asked a favor of him, as a matter of fact, and he'd gladly stayed up half the night reading aloud to the feverish girl. He'd do it again now without hesitation if that's what she wanted. He snorted a little and reached for her hand.

"I can't believe you thought you had to ask."


A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and favorites! For some reason, several of the links the system sent me for my last chapter were broken, and wouldn't let me respond to the reviews from the last chapter. So I wanted to say a special thank you to ssadropout, Cerisabeth, and Sweetdeath04 (as well as my anons Franoncrack, Reader, Kate, and Wise to whom I cannot respond individually anyway). Your words of encouragement are deeply appreciated!

-xoxo Janieshi