A/N: Well. This chapter has smut - just a warning. Big thank you to Alex and Google for the help with actually writing this because I have absolutely no idea how. Or I didn't. Hopefully I've improved. Anyways, this was the hardest and most time consuming chapter yet, so I really do hope I got it right.

If you feel uncomfortable reading it, just skip to the bottom where I'll post a summary of the chapter and you can avoid the sexytimes completely.


Chapter 7: Incandescence

incandescence (n): intense heat; clarity; brilliance.


No. Not again would she be used by an enemy to blackmail her general. This time, she would fight with the strength of a hundred suns and she wouldn't be taken. Neither would he. Riza raised her hand to her neck and slowly ran her fingers along the snarls of scarred tissue, recalling the blurred memory of the underground, alchemy arrayed around her. Her bullets, her friends and her protectors, could only protest – in her limp hands they could not protect. Not again. In her burning eyes, in the grit of her teeth, in her ivory bones lay no fear, only a conviction, and a promise to never leave his side.

Riza wasn't that mirroring sacrifice. She was alive, she would prevail even in the darkest nights when not even a fire could light.

"Harriet, will you please go wake the rest of my team and ask them to assemble in my office?" The general commanded. Beneath the timbre of his level voice Riza detected the smallest of trembles. He was afraid. So was she – for him, for his future and his recklessness, for his past and for his enemies.

Perhaps it was the suddenness, the macabre warning of the dead hawk contaminating the grace with which the reconstruction had begun to gather.

She would not be a victim again.

"Lieutenant, we need to discuss our next course of action with the team. Let's go."

Lieutenant Havoc was wearing his uniform jack over his pajamas, but the other subordinates were properly attired. They looked grim.

"Were you informed of the situation, men?"

"Yes, sir."

"Obviously, the protection of Lieutenant Hawkeye is our first priority-"

"Excuse me! I seem to recall that letter was a threat to you."

He turned to her intently, "There's a dead hawk out there with a neck wound in the exact same place as yours. That doesn't seem to concern you as much as it should."

"I have no intention of letting anyone use me against you again. You should worry about yourself."

Fuery piped in, "Sir, maybe it would be better if you went back to Central . . ."

"Absolutely not! There is no way I'm abandoning my duties here because of some crazy individual who thinks he can threaten me and my lieutenant without repercussions."

His lieutenant. Riza fought the urge to smile at that, because nothing was more true. His lieutenant, his lionheart, his chess-piece queen. Always had been, since she opened the door and he lifted a small smile where no one did before. The wave of nausea that hit her when she imagined this threat becoming real, of losing her king, was nearly crippling. She kept all the horrors shoved in the cracks between her thoughts, unthinkable.

"But sir . . ." Breda questioned, not meeting his eyes, "You can't just keep going like everything's fine. That note and that bird. . ." he trailed off.

"He's right, sir," Riza told him. "As your bodyguard it's my job to make sure you stay safe, and that means not letting you carry on like normal right now. For god's sake, you don't even have any means of self-defense! Unless, of course, you'll take your gloves back."

"I can't risk losing Ishval over something stupid like this. I won't use flame alchemy!"

Riza shook her head at his stubbornness.

Fuery said quietly, "Sir, maybe it would be best if you went into hiding for a few days. Just until we figure out who's doing this and deal with them!"

At the pained look on Roy's face, Riza told him softly, "Sir, we might not be enough to protect you this time."

"And what about you? Am I supposed to just let you go when the threat's as serious for you as it is for me? No. You're coming too."

"How am I supposed to protect you if-"

"Think of it this way. We'll be in the same place, you'll obviously be able to protect me better there than anywhere else."

She saw the logic in that. If she couldn't watch like a hawk from the blue skies, she would have to land and fight through the dust of the earth. If she had to, she would.

Havoc, who hadn't said a word the whole time - his eyelids would sink every now and again and huge yawns looked as if they would dislocate his jaw - brightened and straightened up as he informed them, "We found this house while we were scouting today; no one lives there and there's a basement, it's at the end of a an alley so it's easy to defend. You guys would be much safer there than here. There are too many windows and almost no way to protect the perimeter. The house is in the East Tower sector, so it's not too far away, either."

Riza knew the general felt an electric shock like hers at the mention of the Eastern Tower, she saw him shiver. The story of his ruthless cremation of the stones and populace was infamous, as was her aim from the crumbling heights. It was their first battlefield coming round again, the ghosts of the war clinging to their backs in a neverending dance.

"Very well."

"What's the plan for us, then?" Fuery asked.

"Fuery, I want you to stay here at Command with Havoc and try to figure out who sent that message. Breda, you can accompany me and Lieutenant Hawkeye. One of these two will relieve you in the morning."

"Sir, don't you think we should call Central and notify them of what happened? Some back up might help . . ."

"No, lieutenant. I don't want to go running back to the Fuhrer every time there's a problem. Besides, I'm not sure whoever sent that message would like that very much. I trust that you can handle this, men. "

"Yes, sir!" was the collective exclamation, accompanied by salutes.

Riza tugged her jacket tighter around her as a cold wind cut through the city of Ishval. Whitewashed by the light of the moon, strange shadows underscored toppled bricks that had lay asleep for a decade. It was eerie to hide among the ruins of her battleground and find small daisies pushing up through the bullet holes. She was armed with a rifle, like the general (not much help he would be), and four handguns in her halter. Ready to shoot. They kept to the shadows, eyes watchful and steps quick, hushed. Anyone could lurk in the darkness of the night.

The leering Eastern Tower lay ahead, their compass in the convoluted streets. In the days of the war, this was her kingdom.

She had come to find Roy Mustang. He used to smile. Now his mouth was a grim line, matched with his killer's eyes. But orders were orders, and she couldn't kiss him and begin what they'd ended on the alarm bell almost two years before. She could, however, protect him and his admirable ambitions with all the strength in her body and all the power of her will. She could fire bullets so straight that they'd swear it was divin intervention, but it was only strength and will, conviction and and a pure knowledge of what she was bound by love and duty to do.

They'd shared their words and walked away in opposite directions, her to the sentry's post she'd inhabit from this day forward. When she arrived, ash still flurried in the tiny breeze. Corpses littered the streets. Enveloped by heat, the smell of charred flesh brought bile rising into her throat and she fought the urge to vomit. If she gave in, broke down, she would remember all her kills. Clinical targets, her calculated murders and the way she had to had to watch as their knees crumpled and their chins hit the dirt.

Fighting the barrage of smells and heat and memories, she trudged through the streets. Opened her mouth to take a deep breath. Inhaled ash, the burned bodies of the innocents. Bile rose, left her heaving with the contents of her stomach on the cobblestones. She would climb the steps with the knowledge of her manslaughter not excused or justified, but commanded by the puppeteers and how could she fight the strings when they were all that held her together? She was strong enough to know that this was not right, but holding that thought steady in the midst of the blood was as strong as she could be.

As she wound swiftly through the alleys, she heard the thin wails of a child calling for their mother, as she'd done so many times in her childhood. Before she learned resilience through bruises and curse words replacing her name. Her mother had met the same fate as the parent of that pitiful child – burned. Her mother was the accidental victim of a failed experiment. She was picking rosy apples in the garden, from a healthy green tree. Father put a lighter to a circle of gunpowder. The blast blew out the windows; a spark caught in the branches like a fallen star. The smell of roasting fruit had reminded Riza of apple pies in autumn, before she heard the screams. Her mother with fire in her hair, she looked like a god. Riza watched her mother's body burn to ash, heard the cracking bones and screamed too. She watched the flesh melt away, revealing sinew and blood. A nightmare that smelled like apple pie and the piercing wails that would never stop ringing in her ears, her mother's blackened corpse arrayed on the ground.

Why was it that fire seemed to chase her everywhere she ran? Why did she choose to flee to the heart of the inferno? It had consumed everyone she loved, but addicted to the burn she marched with the knowledge that she could not be beaten by the flames that had become her home.

She came upon the child, ash-smeared in a pink dress, burned away. The little girl's skin blistered raw.

"Come here, little one," Riza knelt and called.

Orders demanded her murder. Riza demanded mercy from the the jaws of the dogs for this innocent. "It's alright, I won't hurt you."

"Where's my mama?"

"I'm sorry. She's gone."

The child's eyes widened in comprehension. She understood Riza's light skin and the wrapped gun slung across her back. She ran.

Determined to hold on to the possibility of a future where everyone could live in happiness, Riza ventured on, up to the top of the tower. Search, aim, and fire. Watch them crumple. She made a resolution not to hesitate - she couldn't fall with them. There was someone she had to protect.

"Here's the house," Breda announced as they slipped into an alley and made their way towards the end. A small and crooked thing, with bulging bricks and decaying door, the house was an example of just how inconspicuous a thing could be.

"There's a ladder to the basement in the pantry, you can't see it unless you're looking for it."

"Breda, I want you stationed at the end of alley. Keep watch and fire a warning shot if you notice anything suspicious."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant, we need to search and inspect the house. Make sure it's safe."

Riza nodded. Standard military procedure.

"Hand me a gun, will you?" he asked as they pushed quickly through the front door. Weapons held high in front of them, they began the search.

The house was old and decaying, the walls bowing under the weight of the roof and the burden of time. Riza hated it. Her childhood was filth and rubble, and she never wanted to return to those days of dust.

Her only comfort then had been the raven-haired boy, the cocky one who smiled at her like no one ever had before. She was grateful to be his protector, to stay close to his side and save him from himself.

After completing a thorough clearing of the house, Riza led the way to the basement. Down a rickety ladder, into a brick walled room with a tiny window with yet more dust piled on the sill.

The general sat down on the couch with his brow creased. His eyes stared at nothing, or so she assumed. Riza didn't know how interesting the floorboards could actually be.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"Obviously not, lieutenant. I've been forced out of my own office by death threats and I'm completely useless here. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Riza sighed. "It's better than risking it, sir. We don't exactly know what we're dealing with and until we do it's my job to make sure you're safe and don't do anything stupid."

"I guess it's a good thing, though. I can make sure you're safe this way, too."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. That doesn't change the fact that, and I quote, 'we don't exactly know what we're dealing with.'"

She smiled at that, bowing her head. The general returned it, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

She was happy to be here with him, despite the circumstances, despite the fear, despite the claustrophobia and helplessness. Her heart was here with her, and she would let nothing put him in jeopardy. Armed with four handguns and rifle, armed with desperation.

Glancing back up, she saw him looking at her, face contorted with agony.

"Sir . . ."

"That hawk. I can't stop thinking about it. Promise me you won't die. Promise me."

"I can't promise you anything. You'll just have to trust me."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

Burying his face in his hands, he murmured, "I can't lose you. Not again. This can't be happening again."

Riza took a seat next to him on the couch, instinctively placing a hand on his shoulder before realising what she'd done. "You almost died, because of me. You . . . when you were lying in that hospital bed, I couldn't even see you. I couldn't even tell if you were alive or not."

Slowly, brought his hand up to her neck, pushed away her collar and ran his fingers along the knotted tissue of her scar. He traced the scar she bore for him like a whisper across her skin. He'd never touched her like this before, and she was thrilled and terrified at the rough warmth of the fingers that rested there.

She hated when people touched her, the self-contained entity of Riza Hawkeye – the solitary sentinel.

But his hands were different. His hands held their history of fire, and spread it across her skin. He broke her and he healed her, a cyclical torment of lonely stoicism.

"But I am alive. I have no intention of dying before you do. And I have no intention of letting you die," she managed to get out coherently, preoccupied with the pulse of his fingers matching hers.

"I'm useless. I can't use flame alchemy to protect us, or I risk losing Ishval, which is the reason we're in this mess in the first place."

Riza was saddened by the ache in his voice. She met his eyes, trying to tell him the story of his name, the Flame Alchemist not just in duty but in spirit as well. She hoped he could understand, somewhere behind his dark eyes that he was vital to this country, vital to her. Their eyes locked, heads bowed close together, and then the general's lips were on hers.

After less than a second, he jerked back and stood up. "Oh my god. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

But without thought, Riza had already risen to her feet and taken a step towards him, all the walls crumbling under the pressure of years and years and holding back the flood. He had kissed, after so long he had kissed her again. The rules and the fears, the vanished as electricity crackled, like a thunderstorm in her ribcage. She cupped the back of his head with her hand and kissed him, aggressive with deprivation and finally the breaking free.

He tensed in shock, but after a moment wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him, striving for touch under the thick layer of his uniform, striving for proximity they'd denied themselves for all this time.

Lips and teeth, a small nip on her lower lip, a kiss at the corner of her jaw. His hands found a resting place in the hollows of her lower back, her arms a home around his neck. Bodies pressed together like the pages of a book, how perfectly they fit.

"Riza," he said softly, "Is this really what you want?"

She nodded. "Do you even have to ask?"

He tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Riza shivered as his lips trailed over her cheek and down her neck, across her shoulder before meeting hers again. She tangled her fingers in his hair like black ink, greedy, to press his mouth harder against hers. His lips pried hers open, met them with a melting softness that trembled at the backs of her knees. She stiffened at the fear of helplessness, vulnerable, but as he nuzzled the crook of her neck he soothed her terror. In the tumult of bird corpses and heavy threats, she could trust him.

His hands drifted up her back to her shoulders, down across her breasts.

"Can I . . ."

"Please."

And he gently lifted the hem of her shirt, but he was too slow. She pulled it off in one smooth motion and tossed it on the floor. He brushed his fingers over the thin fabric of her bra, sending a shiver to the snarled nerves of her core. He fumbled with the clasp, eliciting a laugh from Riza as she reached around and deftly undid the hooks.

A quick capture of her lips by his, then a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck and across her breasts before running his tongue over the peaks.

"Sir . . ." she sighed, voice low.

"I think, under the circumstances, you can call me Roy."

"Yes, sir."

He nipped at her jaw again. She realised what she'd just said.

"Sorry. Old habits die hard."

And after all this time, the fierce intensity building inbetween their gaze as he stopped to rest his forehead on hers, just for a moment – it had always been there, something she'd wanted but had unfailingly repressed. Tension and flux, bullets and flames.

He brought his lips to her ear and whispered, so close that she could feel his breath, "I love you, you know."

That was the breaking point, the words that lingered like a ghost in her head. And there was no hesitation as he tugged down her trousers, as she unbuttoned his crisp collar and placed her palm flat on his chest, to feel the heartbeat. She let out a soft cry as she felt his fingers brush the thin cotton barrier between her legs, agonisingly light. The brushstrokes of his hand lingered, and Roy wrapped a hand around her waist to steady her. Burying her face in his neck, he abruptly pushed aside the fabric and ran his fingers across, thumb circling her clitoris. All she knew was blinding light, all she knew was a white-hot pulse coursing through her veins as his fingers gently stroked along her opening, barely skimmed her clitoris with a raw intensity.

He spun her around and pulled her to the floor. Kissed her shoulders, down her back until he reached the scars. He traced the lines of her tattoo with the lightest touch. Dragged his tongue across the blurred contours, the sensitive skin sending a pulse to her core. She felt the star of nerves ache, tingling at the flat of his tongue teasing the flesh of her back. He licked down to the grooves in the curve of her spine, lapped at the destruction between her shoulderblades. This was an apology, a remedy for all that he'd done. He didn't know she had nothing to forgive.

A hand reached between her thighs again, circled her clitoris before dragging along her slit. He slipped a finger inside, then another as he kissed her burns. She began to rock unsteadily against his hand, and he mirrored her movements, sliding his fingers in and then slowly removing them. The intensity between the two soldiers gathered, pooling at Riza's centre and building with snarled ribbons of anguished joy. The faster she moved, the slower he licked at the delicate skin of her scars. She crumbled as he curled his fingers inward, pressing at a spot she didn't even know existed but rendered her immobile in his arms. Wracked with tremors, writhing with the gentle strokes of his fingers, the soft laps of his tongue. The quiet storm broke, and whatever barriers were left between them collapsed.

Riza needed him so much closer.

She turned, and her lips crashed against his, desperate and frenzied. She could feel his erection pressed up against her, and began to rock back and forth against him as they kissed, closer, closer. Sliding to the floor. Towering over her, almost protecting her from the darkness pervasively haunting their lives. Pulling off the last bits of closing and kissing lips and bodies in between. And as he spread her legs apart, as he entered her, he was as desperate as she was; she saw it in his face, in the shadows of his eyes, the set of his jaw. He filled her completely, and she noticed his gentleness even in his dominating need, as if unable to hurt her. She wouldn't do this with a cloistered heart. Not with her general. Slowly and then all at once he thrust into her, letting out a noise between a whisper and a growl that hummed against her skin. She wanted him closer, closer, to be this close to him forever; holding on and never letting go, defending. Protecting. As they moved together, Riza was consumed by a brilliant agony, never close enough or close at all until the pressure shattered and she spasmed uncontrollably, blindly crying out Roy's name. Out of control, for what may have been the first time in her life. And he was there, steady and strong, still moving until he came as well, racked with shudders as he held her body against his.

"I love you. I always have," Riza said as she curled into him, "Roy."

Roy. It had been a long time since his name had fallen from her lips, since her lips had fallen to kiss his. A decade. They could never atone, they could never escape. But at least today they had each other and that would never change.


SO. A summary for people who don't like smut - Roy and Riza go into hiding at a safe house, confess their undying love, and get it on. Yep. That's it.