Calculated Risk-Taker

By Nicole StormEye

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

Summary: A series of short RoyAi vignettes, each detailing a moment together in their…timeline. All are musings about Riza. All are Roy POV written from third person.

A/N: Roy 29, Riza 26. This takes place in the series, in the climactic (for all Royai fans) episode when Roy kills the Fuhrer...well, okay, time to refer to him as Pride. This is, of course, anime timeline. I will be switching to manga timeline for my story "Ambition"...an alternate version of one of the vignettes to come.

Sorry words without, my long-suffering beta who has heard only silence from me for the past few...months? I want a round of applause for her peeps! This is the person who has to deal with my tenses problem!

And sorry too to all my rapidly diminishing reviewers. I love you loyal peeps! Stay loyal. I'm very sorry I didn't post a holiday edition fic...but I was busy all the CRAPPY HOLIDAYS. So please stay loyal! There's a long-overdue Royai icon in it for those who do! I'm almost done with it I swear! (Ah bribery.)

This chapter is in the style of "Tattoo" for its haunting quality. I'm trying to channel that voice because I think it will be best.


Vignette 7: Traitor

Could you risk everything...everything that we've worked for just to chase after what can be considered speculation?

He asked her this silently with his eyes as he made his quick, cold statement: "I'm going after the Fuhrer." They had known for several days about FullMetal's nauseating discovery, that the ruler of their nation was nothing more than a vile science experiment, albeit one with a mind of its own. A mind which had caused innocent people to perish all for the want of something forbidden.

Desperate people tend to seek refuge in the stone...he had rehearsed those lines to himself as he sat in thought. His brigade...his friends were creating a distraction near North on the battle lines. Havoc would masquerade as him until they got word that the strange suicide mission had been a success. They would follow him blindly, without error. They trusted him.

But he did not trust himself.

Years before he had stood on a battlefield. It wasn't that long ago...the sand whipping around his legs as he sat in a dingy tent, blanket covering his face. Hughes urging him to get up, bearing the storm of his cynical comments. Hughes…who was gone...probably because of the...the creature who occupied the post he aspired for.

Those aspirations meant nothing now.

They meant nothing as he stood in Havoc's hospital room...what used to be Havoc's room, anyway. Now it was his. The convincing wig looked almost real, copying the spikes and unruliness of the devil-may-care officer's hair. He didn't notice much, not even how the wig itched. He was sitting on the bed, staring at his hands, wondering what the hell he was about to do.

And why wasn't she here yet? He felt...naked without her. It had all started during the Ishvallan war, when they made their pact and she had first decided to stand by his side. They pretended they were children then...how far had they aged now? How far had she aged? He never noticed. In fact, her presence was so commonplace that sometimes he forgot she was there. Only the sharp 'click' of a safety reminded him.

The sharp 'click' that he heard now.

---000---

He turned...a gun was aimed at his head. He stared at the barrel of cold steel and winced slightly. Her voice was hollow...monotonous. Her eyes burned uninterrupted by the swath of golden locks she hid under a brown paperboy hat.

"You once told me to turn this on you if you ever gave up on your dream."

He sighed...he had given up on it, hadn't he? The very nature of what he would do soon would pretty much send his dreams into oblivion. After he was tried on treason, there would be nothing left. Maybe death if he was lucky...but luck was seldom on his side. It would probably be a lifetime of disgrace and...wait, wouldn't she go down with him as an accessory to the crime? Wouldn't she?

Maybe that's why she would turn the gun on him now, to stop him from risking both their lives. After all, she lived in a world of calculated risk…and the odds of this mission were beyond calculable. But still...she wasn't so selfish as to put her own safety above his life. In fact, how many times had he been put above hers? No...that couldn't be the reason. Could it? Could she be turning traitor just as he would be?

"...But sometimes we must sacrifice our dreams for the common good." She returned her gun to her holster and saluted him, "Sir." There was an awful sense of finality to the formal address...as if it would be the last time she would call him that. He brushed the feeling off, not speaking a word. He couldn't say anything to her. The risks were too great and they were far beyond comforting each other with 'Everything will be fine.' This was most likely a suicide mission. They would most likely not return from it alive.

They were far beyond hope now.

"You could still back out..." His voice was a mumble. His reply was a quick click of a safety and a gun aimed at his head. Her voice was quiet, but firm.

"Don't you dare suggest that."

He looked at her red eyes...they stared with all-consuming fire. Funny, he thought he was the only one who could produce that, but apparently a spark hid behind her eyes. Ironic, it was her father who first taught him to wield the deadly weapon he manipulated with pinpoint accuracy. He thought back to the carefree days when his reputation as a living flamethrower was exceeded only by his track record with the women. Women loved to play with fire...to try and tame it.

No one ever succeeded, except her. Now he would let its full power run free to complete a mission that seemed crazy as hell. And she would stand by as he did.

---000---

The Fuhrer's mansion was ominously dark...night was seeping in quickly. The sounds of gunfire had distracted the forces guarding it, allowing him a clean entrance through. He scaled the gate and jumped...landing on his feet even though a sharp pain oozed through him. He itched to snap his fingers and let out a spark...but she was risking her life at the steps of the manor, creating a diversion so carefully plotted.

He was quiet as he crept in through a back entrance illuminated by the blueprints he had been able to acquire under the guise of a still-loyal military lackey. He'd become a mad dog...a traitor. And so was she.

He watched her as she made the tentative steps up the porch stairs and rang the doorbell. When she walked in…he made a break for it.

She'd follow him to the end...

In the gunfire laden sounds of the most chaotic Central City night of his life, Roy Mustang looked up at the stars and let out the first prayer he'd made in years...a prayer that Riza Hawkeye would be safe.


Nicole's Notes: I should be doing Chinese homework because we have a short seatwork tomorrow...but I don't really care. I need a break, partly from discovering that out of 200 people, only 3 voted for me as P.R.O. The ambitious do not always get their dreams rewarded.

Also…I should be wallowing in self-loathing because my Biology teacher is going to give me hell tomorrow for being disrespectful. Or, in military terminology, insubordinate. Sometimes I think my mouth is way too much for my safety…stupid, STUPID me.

Oh well...I think of this as compensation...even though it's not much.