It's gone.

Riza propelled herself backwards as quickly as she could, until she found herself trapped in a corner.

Gone.

She clutched her left shoulder, and then rapidly slid her hand down until she felt nothing but air. No elbow, no forearm. Just bandages, then nothingness.

Gone.

There were more of them. Six… maybe seven? Eight? She couldn't tell. They were running, dodging, jumping as she feebly kicked her legs out, occasionally making contact with a set of legs or a face.

Gone.

She couldn't fight anymore. Her energy was waning. She had overestimated herself and underestimated them. They had debilitated her, and now she was trapped. How could she fight when they had taken her arm...

One of her assailants separated himself from the group and rushed at her, his footsteps pounding on the floor.

She decided that she had one chance. One last chance to fight back; even if it meant losing the battle. She kicked forcibly, and to her surprise, then horror, she connected, tangling her feet in his legs. She felt him tumble and fall. But he was unrelenting. Instead of backing down, he lunged, seizing her in his iron grip. She struggled, desperately clawing at him and beating him. Too strong. He was too strong and she was too weak.

Riza's energy was gone. Her muscles and body had betrayed her. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. The darkness was beginning to take over again.

They had won. And she had lost.

Roy Mustang made it to the hospital in record time. Four minutes after he had talked to a very distressed nurse, he was through the doors, making his way desperately down the main hallway. When one of the nurses saw him, she flagged him down and ushered him down a second hallway, her mouth going at a mile a minute. He honestly didn't know what she, or the nurse that called him, had said. The only words he was concerned about were: Hospital. Need you here. Now.

When they turned down a third hallway, Roy could see Dr. Marcoh at the end. When he got within earshot, Roy could hear the doctor sharply giving orders to the small group of nurses that had surrounded him. By the time he had reached Marcoh, the doctor had turned his full attention to the Flame Alchemist. The doctor tried to speak to Roy, but he ignored him and rushed for the doors they were in front of. Marcoh desperately tried to hold him back from the set of doors, but the doctor's efforts proved fruitless.

His Lieutenant needed him now.

Roy threw the doors open and stormed in, only to stop a few steps into the room, eyes widening with the horror he saw.

The scene before him looked like the site of a massacre. Bloodied handprints and saline solution covered the wall and floor, painting it a dull red. The trail of blood and fluids ran through a small group of panicked nurses and stopped at a figure cowering in the corner, her left side covered in blood.

He knew. He knew who it was.

Roy quickly stepped forward, only to have his arm caught by Dr. Marcoh. "Mustang, wait!" The doctor cried. "We don't exactly know what this-"

Roy jerked his arm away and began to walk forward. "Lieutenant…"

She didn't respond. She didn't even look toward him.

"Lieutenant!" This time, he cried it out, more forcefully.

Still no acknowledgement.

He was within an arm's reach now. "Riza!"

This time she turned, terrified, widened eyes locking on, then looking through him. To his dismay, she kicked her legs out, tangling them in between his. He stumbled forward, catching himself on his hands and knees. Roy looked up in time to see her face. Her eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated fear.

He found himself diving forward, and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close to himself. He didn't know why he did it; he had simply reacted. Apparently, she didn't know why he did it either.

She began to panic, alternating between blindly tearing at him and hitting him with her right hand.

"Riza," he choked out desperately. "Riza, please, listen to me!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

He pleaded her name over and over, tightening his grip as he begged.

Finally, her assault ended. She feebly tapped her fist against his shoulder one last time, her head bowing forward and resting against it. He felt her body relax as she went limp in his arms, every ounce of her energy gone.

Instantly, Dr. Marcoh and a few additional nurses were at their side, quickly pulling her away from a fatigued and shocked Mustang.

He turned his head slightly; seemingly unable to process everything that was happening. Roy could only watch passively as they began reconnecting her IV line, inserting a variety of needles with syringes full of unidentifiable medicines into the new saline-filled bag they had connected to the line.

And for probably the fifth time that day, Roy Mustang felt completely, utterly useless.

"What the hell happened?" asked Mustang darkly as he looked up from his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap. He glared at the man who was sitting at the desk before him.

Dr. Marcoh wearily rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and sighed. "That's what I'm trying to piece together, General. From what my nurses are telling me, she was unprovoked-"

"Why didn't you call me," Roy retorted sharply, "when you were planning on waking her up?"

"I already explained to you, General; It was a fluke. One of the nurses misheard my directions, and instead began recovery too quickly."

"Then explain to me why she didn't respond to me. Dr. Marcoh, you know my Lieutenant; she never ignores an order!"

Dr. Marcoh let out a drawn out, exhausted sigh, "That's what I've been racking my brains on for the past couple of minutes, General. When she was still sedated, I performed a quick physical evaluation. Eardrums were intact, and pupils dilated and constricted with the appropriate amount of light stimulation." Ignoring the General's continuous glare, he proceeded cautiously, "I have seen something like this before, when I was stationed in Ishval years ago."

The General's gaze softened slightly at the mention of Ishval.

"I've seen it before, but never this combination of symptoms. Tell me, General, did they ever teach you about conversion disorder as a part of your interrogation training?"

Roy slowly shook his head, eyes hardened once again. "No. So what is it?" He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"It's something that even we doctors are still trying to fully understand. But what we are figuring out is that it is a way of showing psychological stress in a physical way. So, something must have happened to trigger this; something stressful that she didn't want to see or hear." He watched as the General's gaze completely softened. "We must tread very carefully, General. The body is good at healing physical injuries, but the mind is different; it requires time and patience."

Mustang leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees and intertwining his fingers. "How… how long will she be like this?"

The doctor slowly shook his head, "I don't know, General. It's generally temporary, but it can take weeks or even months for symptoms to resolve. With immediate and proper management, they will go away in time. Right now, we need to focus on getting her to allow us to take proper care of her."

Roy looked at him with a worn expression. "How are we going to do that if she won't even let you touch her?"

"That's the thing, General. We can't do anything about that; we need her trust." The doctor looked Roy in the eyes, his face serious. "But you can do something about it, because there is no one in this world that she trusts more than you."

Edward looked at the clock on the wall in Mustang's living room. It was midnight. The General had rushed out around 10p.m., so two hours had passed. He wrinkled his brow in concern. Had something happened?

Deciding that he couldn't idly sit around (he was much too awake for that now), Edward stood and threw on his brown trench coat. Limping over to the coffee table, he grabbed the vase filled with lilies and began making his way toward the door.

Before he opened it, however, he stopped; his eyes again gravitating toward the picture frames on the dusty bookcase. He narrowed his eyes and studied them.

The first was a picture of Roy, dressed in civilian attire, standing next to a larger, black-haired woman, adorned with various jeweled trinkets and a red dress. She looked very similar to Mustang, but not as much as a mother would. An aunt, maybe?

The next picture caused Edward's heart to drop slightly. It was a picture of Maes Hughes and Roy in partial uniform, their arms around each other in a silly embrace. Both of their eyes were closed and they were smiling widely. Roy's arm was loosely hanging around the other man's neck, while Hughes had his arm behind Roy, flashing a "thumbs up" to the camera.

Not wanting to dwell too long on the memory of the late Brigadier General, Edward slowly turned his gaze toward the third picture. He felt a small smile creep across his face. All of Mustang's team members, plus Edward and Al, were seated or standing around a wooden table. He remembered that day: the team had thrown together a small cookout to welcome the two boys to Eastern City. Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda were standing next to the grill chatting casually, a spatula in Havoc's right hand and a cigarette in his left. Vato Falman was standing at the end of the table, a drink in hand and a small smile on his face, staring directly into the camera. On his left, seated at the table, was Alphonse. The suit of armor was holding an empty glass up in a toast. Across from him was Lieutenant Hawkeye, her arm raised, glass in hand, returning the toast to Al. Edward casually noted that her hair was grown out enough to just reach her shoulders. He found himself wondering why she had chosen to grow it out in the first place.

Tearing his eyes away from the Lieutenant, in an effort to stop the growing pain in his chest, he looked down the table. He saw himself seated next to Al, across from the then Colonel Mustang. He had been caught mid-yell, his finger pointed accusingly at the older man, most likely barraging the Colonel with a variety of insults. The Colonel, nearly his polar opposite, was leaning back, his eyes closed and his arms folded in front of him, his mouth open in a gleeful laugh. Finally, Edward saw Kain Fuery in the corner of the picture, glancing over his shoulder, caught mid-sprint. Most likely, Edward deduced, the camera had a timer and the Sargent had set it.

With the small smile still on his face, Edward turned his attention to the fourth picture. It was a picture of Mustang and Hawkeye wearing their military garb. Mustang was seated at his desk, elbows resting on it, and his chin resting on his interlaced hands. A small smile graced his lips. On the other hand, Lieutenant Hawkeye was standing just behind him and to his left, her hair in its typical updo and her arms crossed behind her back. Unlike Mustang's, her expression was a stoic one; though Edward noted, her eyes were soft. This picture looked recent.

He turned away from the picture, pushing the word recent out of his head. He didn't want to think about anything recent.

Finally, his eyes rested on the fifth picture. This was an older one, with its edges slightly boxed and the gloss having faded long ago. In it were two children. Edward squinted, identifying the first as a younger Roy, no older than fifteen. He was grinning, his smiling eyes focused on the person next to him. Edward's eyes darted over to the second child. She was a head shorter than Roy and a few years younger. Her light hair was cut short with a tomboyish appearance and her large, dark eyes were fixed on the camera, seemingly oblivious to the charmed boy next to her. Her hand was outstretched, a small, undistinguishable figurine resting on her palm. A small smile was painted on her face. Edward's eyes narrowed. She had an uncanny resemblance to… Hawkeye?

Suddenly, everything made sense. Mustang's reactions, his almost obsessive concern, and his unwavering loyalty to his subordinate. His passion, his drive, and… his love.

Edward had always known that they loved each other. He knew the moment he had first seen them interact. From the way they looked at each other to the way their hands brushing past each other's when they exchanged paperwork; it was almost painstakingly obvious. But now it made sense.

His eyes scanned back to the younger Mustang. Edward recognized the look that he was giving her. It was one of love. The General hadn't fallen in love with her in Ishval or while serving the military. He had fallen in love with her much earlier than that.

Edward slowly became aware that he was still standing, clutching the vase and flowers in his hands. He looked down at them, suddenly seeing their significance.

Casting one last glance at the fifth picture, Edward turned, the flowers in hand, and made his way to the door; opened it, and closed it behind him.

Roy was terrified. He didn't know how he was going to do this; to make the Lieutenant trust him without panicking again. But he knew that he had to try. At least, he thought to himself, I have one trick up my sleeve.

She was awake now. Dr. Marcoh had adjusted the bed she was in so that she was sitting upright. Her brown eyes were cautiously scanning the room.

When Roy had asked why she was bothering to look around, the doctor had replied by telling him that she was most likely acting defensively, trying to make them think she saw them. The thought broke his heart.

He knew that it was now or never. Slowly, cautiously, he reached forward, taking her hand in his.

She gasped and flinched away, turning her brown-eyed gaze toward him, silently warning him.

He decided to continue, this time gingerly taking her wrist in his right hand, his other hand gently grasping her elbow, pulling her arm closer.

She tried in vain to pull her arm away, but quickly gave up, realizing that she couldn't pull away from his firm grip. Her cold gaze gave way to one that was filled with fear.

Keeping his tight grip on her wrist, he released his other hand and quickly dug into his pocket, pulling out a small, tan-colored object. Before she could attempt at pulling away again, the General gently placed it in her palm, and then released his hold on her wrist.

She swiftly withdrew her arm, curling her fingers around the object.

He watched as she methodically ran her thumb over it, feeling every imperfection and flaw on the piece. She moved her eyes downward, as if scanning it.

Dr. Marcoh, who was standing behind Roy's chair, finally spoke. "What is that," he breathed.

Roy smiled weakly, never taking his eyes off his Lieutenant. "A toy dog."

"A toy what?"

Roy sighed slowly. "Long story short; when we were just kids, one of the first things I transmuted from stone was this small dog figurine. She loved it, but I hated it. I immediately found so many flaws with it that I tried taking it from her. I wanted to make something better for her. Of course, she refused, saying it was perfect the way it was. One thing led to another, and before we could react, she dropped it, breaking its left ear off." His lips drew into a thin smile at the memory. "She was so upset with me; even though I made a new one, she wanted the original, still claiming that it was perfect the way it was.

"Of course, I lied and told her that I had gotten rid of it." He chuckled lightly, "She didn't speak to me for a week." He looked up at Riza, who was still running her thumb along the figurine, turning it in her hand. "I kept it, though, as a reminder of our childhood; our innocence. I've carried it with me these past few weeks, too; kind of like a good luck charm."

Dr. Marcoh opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he saw Roy tense.

Riza had turned the dog over and had run her thumb over the spot where it was missing its ear. She stopped, eyes slowly widening in recognition. She ran her thumb over the spot again and again until, Roy assumed, she was sure about what she was feeling.

Her face slowly changed, first to an expression of disbelief, then to one of relief. Slowly looking up, she trained her gaze on where she determined his face would be. Her glistening eyes stared into his own.

"Roy…" Her voice came out as a hoarse, weak whisper, as if she hadn't spoken in weeks.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached forward, wrapping his hand around her right forearm. He lifted his thumb and began quickly tapping rhythmically on her arm. "I'm here."

She drew in a ragged breath, desperately trying to choke back a sob.

Roy gently released her arm and tucked his arm behind her, his hand between her shoulder blades, supporting her as she lifted herself up.

Leaning forward, Riza reached beneath Roy's arm and wrapped her arm around and up, gripping his shoulder tightly. She buried her head into his chest, this time letting a quiet sob escape her lips.

He wrapped his other arm around her and drew her close, taking care to avoid her injuries. He felt the lump in his throat forming again, but he didn't try to push it back. Instead, he embraced it, letting his emotions flow out. Emotions that had built up for the past few months: rage, terror, despair; he let them all go… and he wept.

He wept to rid himself of his negative emotions, to replace them with feelings of hope and happiness and love.

Roy knew that the coming weeks and months would be difficult, and they sometimes would seem impossible, but right here and right now, that didn't matter.

Because right now, the only thing that mattered was that they were reunited, together at last.

And that concludes Chapter 6, "Toy Dog."

I had trouble naming this chapter, to be honest (which is funny, because I already have the next two chapters named, and I haven't even written them yet!). I was stuck between "Photographs," "Together," and "Toy Dog." I ended up on "Toy Dog" because I like the significance (and I also like to imagine that readers who read the chapter title before reading the chapter will see the title and think 'What…?'). "Together" was a close second though, since a previous chapter was named "Separated."

I hope I conveyed their emotions well in this chapter. So hopefully I translated what I saw eloquently, and didn't make anything too cheesy sounding or unclear.

And the whole tapping on Riza's arm thing; I will explain it more clearly next chapter, but it's pretty much Morse code (in case anyone was wondering). So when you see text in italics and quotes, that is what Roy is saying via the code.

Also, if you have time, check out "conversion disorder" online. It's pretty interesting (and it's real; not something I made up). The reason why that and those particular symptoms were written into the story will be explained in time (but it is significant, like everything else). Because someone rarely comes out of a situation like that without psychological damage.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will probably be out early-mid week next week.