Disclaimer: If I owned FullMetal Alchemist, well, okay, if I owned it it would really suck. Aren't you glad I only write fanfiction, which is much easier to avoid?
I still am in need of help as stated in the last chapter. If you have a knack for explaining simple things to idiots, your help would be appreciated! And if you enjoy reading stories of a higher quality than my garbage, check out my favorite stories!
Warning: Spoliers for episode 25!
They both stood before the grave. Roy's shadow concealed the gravestone in darkness, the way it should be. Riza was behind him, respectfully silent. He came here often now to grieve the loss of his friend. In her pocket was a packet of tissues. Her hands held an umbrella to repel heaven's tears. Looking at her watch, she was relieved. In a few minutes, the colonel would be ready to leave.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Finally, a hollow voice spoke to her. "Lieutenant, have you ever lost someone?" She was silent. Her mother had died shortly after giving birth. She had been raised by her father, whom had passed away a few years ago. However, now… she was losing someone else. Somebody she cared about was dying in front of her eyes.
"Yes." It was best to answer him. Hawkeye did not particularly enjoy the rain and preferred to be inside in foul weather like todays. The sooner he was happy with his business here; he would be willing to leave.
"Are they buried here?" Again, his voice cut through her thoughts. Her eyes flashed annoyance, but with his back turned Roy did not notice.
"No sir. He has no grave. His death is not something you can bury." He turned to face her, his ebony eyes red from silent tears.
"What?" Confusion joined defeat in those dead eyes, and Riza opened the umbrella, shielding him.
"We should get back to HQ. There is much still to do." The colonel did not follow her lead, and she paused, looking at him appraisingly. The gun on her belt seemed tempting right about now. "Sir?"
"Who is it?"
"Somebody I swore to protect from harm. I kept them alive physically, but I could not shield them from their own heart." This time, when he would not follow, she looked back at him, a dangerous look in her red-brown eyes. He followed her, all the while trying to figure out the riddle.
It was just before Roy left the office that day did he figure it out. On his desk, on top of his pile of finished paperwork, was a sketch of a grave. Inscribed in the stone was this message:
Colonel Roy Mustang
Died of a broken heart.
From that time on, Roy did not visit the stone everyday. Slowly, he began to rebuild his life. Only the heavy drinking persisted, whenever his first lieutenant could not save him. Still, the writing on the sketch did not match anybody's handwriting that he knew of. Everybody was just as intrigued by the picture as he. He owed much to the unknown grave, and one day, he would discover how much.