Acknowledgement: Thank you, thank you, thank you, bookwrm389 for not just the beta work but for actually understanding what I tried to show here. If three people see this chapter with the same eyes and understand the emotions that went in it, I will consider myself extremely lucky.
There are times in Roy Mustang's life when he swears that Hawkeye and himself share one mind. Perhaps it was a result of growing up under the guardianship of an alchemist whose moods swung from neglectful to outright abusive, an instinct that taught them both to keep quiet when Master Hawkeye walked into the room. Perhaps it was Ishval that forced them to hide their guilty expressions after a kill, to make their faces into impassive masks so as not to break down right there. And then, perhaps it was from working under a supernatural army that encouraged them to communicate with glances in place of words.
Whether it was one of those or all, it couldn't be denied that Mustang and Hawkeye knew each other like no one else. And yet now, as the General stands in front of the woman he has loved for as long as he can remember, he can't even begin to guess what's going through her head.
"W-what do you mean?"
"The abortion. Why did you-?"
"I heard you the first time, Captain," the alchemist replies curtly. Clearly she isn't going to let it go. "My reasons are still the same as they were all those years ago. I assure you I've not gone back and made amendments to them. Had I known I had a son to answer for, I might have given it consideration."
"If we're really going to go down that road, Sir, then I think it's best you take your leave now. I have a son to look after." Her voice is as smooth as ice, and to anyone else, it would seem unflinching. Only he knows it means she's on the verge of breaking down.
But that doesn't mean she's faultless. In fact, if anyone should be made to feel bad about the decisions they've made, the things they've said or left unsaid, it should be her. He struggles for a moment, trying to come up with a retort, but she's already turning away from him, and he can't take that. Not again. He walked away from her life once and as a result, left his own behind. He will not let her do the same again.
"Do you remember how many people in Ishval we killed Captain?" he says to the floor.
A soft gasp escapes her at the mention of Ishval as it was back then. Of the blood soaked sands and scorching hot sun that bore witness to the countless human lives they took.
"That's okay," the General continues softly. "I don't either. There were too many, too far away to count… But I remember the children. At least the ones I killed in close range. Sixty-nine of them. I don't know if that's how many I killed or if I just stopped counting after that point." He looks up at her, and is it his imagination or has her shadow moved a little bit closer to his?
"Don't you think that if anyone in the world doesn't deserve parenthood, it's me?" he finishes, finally looking up to her tired eyes. "How could I… Of course it was unfair for you to go through the same. But if you wanted a child, we could have talked. We, someone else…" he stops, the thought even more painful than the confession on his lips. He knows he's lying. He would never have been happy with the notion of Hawkeye raising a family with someone else. But she wouldn't have either so it was a moot point.
Instead of reflecting on that pain, the General turned on Hawkeye instead. "And you know all this. Don't pretend you don't. Just because I never said it out loud doesn't mean you didn't understand. So I don't see what you hope to gain from making me say it out loud. Because you always understood that, didn't you?"
"Yes," she admits after a long pause. "I understand perfectly."
You do, you understand better than he will ever know. He has always thought he is the only one who feels undeserving of love, happiness, a simple life. As usual, he's self-centered and wrong. Had he looked at you that day in his apartment properly, he would have seen his own fears and insecurities reflected in your eyes. The one time you really needed him to understand you, he was busy stammering on about some distant future and duties and plans.
And you understood. You knew the child could never see the world, not with two parents as inadequate as yourself and the General. Two people who absolutely hated themselves for their past crimes and lived their life seeking a redemption they would never truly find. You were in agreement of the abortion, you were in the car, you even made it all the way to the clinic.
"When I was ushered into the doctor's office…" you begin slowly, trying to make him understand how it was for you. "It felt like Ishval all over again. You mentioned sixty-nine children…. My count was thirty-four. And all I could think about was how, after the procedure was done, it would be thirty-five.
"I was shaken up, but I didn't balk," you confirm. You have always been too loyal for that, doing anything he asks of you. "Not right then at least. The surgeon noticed how uneasy I was and told me the procedure would not be as terrifying as most woman think. She… when she saw her words weren't helping, she said she had another opening three days later and if I needed time to think… And that's all I intended to do. To think. Yet somehow when I reached you, my mind was made up. I couldn't, not a thirty-fifth.
"When you came in later that day with dinner, I almost told you," she confessed. "And then I realized I couldn't. Not if this child was to grow up in a somewhat normal environment and you were to keep your dreams of Fuhrership. Don't think your ambition was the deciding factor though. I just couldn't live with myself if we failed as parents, not after everything else we've failed at."
Silence greets your monologue, and your eyes fix firmly to the marble floor beneath you. You don't want to look at him because he won't understand. Just like he didn't that day. He didn't see how scared you were then, and he doesn't see how terrified you are now at speaking the words that have been haunting your dreams since the day he walked out of your life.
"So your idea of good parenting is to keep one half of the parent duo uninformed?"
You expected a statement like that. What you didn't expect is the sting it brings with it, like someone has physically struck you.
"You say you worry about him right?" you try to explain from another angle. "You've only known of him for a few days, and yet you claim to worry about him all the time. Imagine how much worrying I have been through. Every day, every night, every moment I'm with him, knowing I don't deserve him, knowing I must do anything and everything to keep him safe. If I had… another parent, there would always be someone to rely on, someone I would hope to make up for what I was doing wrong, I would slip up, knowing that someone else would compensate. The same would be for the… other parent. And between the two of us, Maes would be the one to suffer. But if I was alone, if I was the only one he could rely on, I would live up to his expectations. I wouldn't have a choice. My son would give me the strength I never otherwise had because he needs me like no one else has needed me before."
You can feel the tears forming on your eyelashes, but you refuse to let them fall. It's imperative that you make him understand that you wanted to be a good mother. You had to force yourself to be a good mother because Maes needed one. In an ideal world he would have been born to two people who loved him more than they hated themselves, but an ideal world does not exist. You have both known that for a long time now.
"Maes can't know what his parents are like. He can't, about Ishval… not him, he'll be the thirty-fifth. My Maes…" You know you aren't making sense but you're beyond caring. "It would only be fair, equivalent exchange perhaps, to have thirty-four children taken away from me in return for all the ones I killed. But I don't have that many, just one and I don't want to give him up, I can't…"
There's a solid arm around your shoulders before you realize you're unsteady on your feet. You feel yourself being guided to the sofa, and all you can do is try to blink away the tears running down your face, insisting brokenly that Maes will not be the next child you kill.
Her confession leaves Roy speechless. Not her reasoning as much as her guilt.
What have I done? The alchemist realizes as he guides her to the sofa because she's barely able to support her own weight. All this time, when I was ridden with guilt and she was strong for me, I failed to see how her own guilt was eating her alive.
Hawkeye had always been his pillar. She withstood everything life hurled at him. It was Hawkeye who gave him the courage to go on when the next step seemed more impossible than the last. And all that at her own expense, he reflects as the woman curls in on herself and buries her head in her knees, occasionally muttering things like "Maes", "thirty-five" and "going to be fine".
How had it come to this? How did his solid, dependable, reliable Captain become reduced to someone who feared and loathed herself so much? Was she always like this or was it the after effects of childbirth?
No, a part of it has always been within her. He recalls the day she asked him to burn the array on her back. He told her he couldn't control the flames that precisely, that she might die if he couldn't pinpoint accurately enough. She graced him with a bitter laugh and said "be sure to incinerate my body properly then, Sir", which led him to make the decision of appointing her as his aide. Maybe if she was charged with keeping his life safe, she would forget all about wanting to end her own. It worked well…or at least, I thought it did, the General admitted to himself, watching Hawkeye curled unto herself in a combination of guilt and grief beside him.
He didn't want to lie to her, to tell her he would have made a good father, to tell her they would have been a normal family. Because she was right in that at least. The shadow of their past would always haunt them, and Maes deserves better than that. Maybe Madam Christmas knew as much? He wants to ask, but again, the words don't come. In the end, he simply folds her into his arms and buries his own head against her shoulders. She doesn't resist, and they stay that way for a long time.
Much later, a nurse's quiet cough interrupts the silence in the room, and he gently lets her go. Her face is free of tears, but her eyes are red and swollen like they often were when she was a little girl. In a gesture as old as memory, he brushes his lips to her eyelids, and it awakens her further to the reality of the hospital they're in.
"Um, you can see your son now," the nurse informs them awkwardly before taking her leave. No sooner are the words are out of her mouth than they're both on their feet and heading towards the glass door of their son's room. A look of understanding passes between the two of them as he pushes the glasssmooth barrier aside and walks to the boy who looks so much like a younger, still version of himself lying between the sheets. All isn't forgiven, the look says plainly. But it's a start.
It is only after Hawkeye has claimed her chair beside Maes' bed and the General is standing on the other side, holding his son's hand that another thought occurs to him. Amid all the accusations, confessions and insults that were flung previously, neither of them bothered to mention their feelings for each other.
Just as well. Because things may have changed, but both Mustang and Hawkeye still love each other as much as they always have, as much as they always will. And that did not merit saying out loud. It was perfectly understood.
End Note: I am really, REALLY unsure about this chapter so please let me know your thoughts. Also in other news, I have officially graduated!
