Brilliancy

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Hello and welcome to a chapter that has next to no bearing on the plot whatsoever. This particular chapter was not planned when I outlined the story (to the extent that I did such a thing), and I never really intended to write it. But while I was driving to work, Roy and Winry started having this conversation in my mind, and I decided that it needed to go into the story because...well, I'm an incurable sentimentalist. And I believe that Roy, in his most secret heart, is one too.

I'm sorry this took so long to post - it was ready more than twelve hours ago, but FFN was in some kind of weird read-only mode. My thanks to "jellyjay," who took a look at it in the meantime and assures me that no, you guys really do want to read more of my headcanon.

Chapter Ten: Kingside

Kingside: The side of the board where the kings are at the start of a game, as opposed to the queenside.

"No more," the General pleads, with a puppyish expression he almost certainly learned from Black Hayate.

Winry chuckles. "All right. You ate a whole piece and a half; I'm satisfied."

"It is very good, Winry."

"Thank you." She smiles at him and closes the box, then refills his water cup. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Not...not really, no." He's propped up against the pillows in a mostly-reclining position, and his skin is flushed from the fever; his hair is mussed and slightly damp. The hands that rest atop the sheets do not tremble, but they seem pale and lifeless, even though they have the power to summon fire in an instant. His eyes no longer sparkle the way she remembers, and for some reason Winry finds that the saddest of all. She picks up a soft cloth and rinses it in a basin, then sponges his face. "Thanks."

"Here, drink." She angles the straw at his mouth and he takes a reluctant sip.

"I'm getting tired of being coddled," he mutters.

"Funny, I would have taken you for someone who likes being fussed over when he's sick."

"Usually," he admits. "Not this time."

Winry thinks she understands what he means. He doesn't want to be coddled because he doesn't want to be in here. He wants to be out in the streets, searching, interrogating, solving. This is a task he does not want to delegate to his subordinates, however much he trusts them. He wants to be the one to find his wife, the first one to see her and hold her and know that she's alive.

She needs to divert him, somehow. And she knows that she can't get him to think about anything but Riza - to her mind, it would seem almost cruel to even try. So after a moment or two of silence, she comes up with a different plan.

"General..."

"Roy, Winry. You can call me Roy."

"Roy." She smiles. "Would you do something for me?"

"Gladly, but I'm not up to much more than talking right now, so I hope it's nothing too strenuous."

"But talking is all right?"

"Sure."

"Well, I've just been wondering," she says carefully. "Would you mind telling me how you and Riza met? I don't actually know. All Ed ever said was that it's something like us, that you sort of grew up together, but not quite the same thing."

"That's about as much as he knows. Hmm." A smile curls the corners of his mouth, and the faraway expression that settles over his features makes him look much younger. It's kind of adorable, really, Winry thinks. He speaks slowly, a little hesitantly, his voice not quite hoarse but very soft and tired-sounding. "Well, you know that I'm the Flame Alchemist...I'm the second one. The first was Riza's father."

"Riza's father was an alchemist?"

He nods. "I was his apprentice. He was a great alchemist, a great teacher... not such a great father, unfortunately. But that's how we met. I was fourteen, and she was... not quite thirteen."

"Was she pretty?"

"Yes, but... I didn't know it, then." He chuckles. "She was just a kid, to me, and I was more interested in alchemy than girls at that point."

Winry laughs. "Ed really is a younger version of you."

"In some respects," Roy admits grudgingly.

"So when did you notice?"

"About a year or so later... no, two. I lived with them, off and on, for about six years, and I had gone home for a few weeks. I came back... and it was like I'd never seen her before. I was sixteen and she had just turned fifteen and..." His face scrunches up in mild confusion. "I don't know how to describe it. The light was hitting her differently, or something... she was just... she..."

Winry realizes that he's abruptly gotten lost in the haze of memory and fever. But he looks happy, for the first time, so she lets him wander in his thoughts for a few minutes before clearing her throat. "Go on."

"I couldn't say anything... her father didn't let her... date. So I'd... sit in the kitchen and watch her cook. Or help her with her homework - well, I'd try, she didn't usually let me help. I just liked to be near her."

"I know what you mean."

"She had short hair, then, like she did when we first met you. Actually, it was meeting you that made her decide to grow it... she liked your hair."

"Really?" Winry smiles. "I got my ears pierced because I liked how hers looked."

"Never did understand how she got that done... her father was so strict. Then again, maybe he never noticed... sometimes he seemed to look right through her. She was so... lonely."

"She had you."

"Yes." He turns his head slightly, a faint smile playing about his lips again. "We'd... go for walks sometimes, things like that. She lived in a remote area, like your house, so I'd go into town with her and carry home the groceries. She let me do that much... she was so... independent. But I loved that about her. So strong... she's always been strong." He laughs quietly. "It was kind of pathetic, maybe. Since I was sixteen years old, I've been ruined for other women... my carefully cultivated reputation as a womanizer notwithstanding."

"Ed says that a lot of that was subterfuge."

"He's right. I did take a few women out on real dates, but never more than once. Most of the women... the ones I saw multiple times... they were informants. I wanted people to think... I was just after one thing. So they'd underestimate me. But Riza... always knew the truth... so please don't think I lied to her. I wouldn't... hurt her that way." He pauses often in his sentences to take a breath. His lungs don't seem to be taxed, however; it seems to be more about finding the strength to do justice to his words, to give them proper vehemence.

"I know you wouldn't. But you never told her, back then, how you felt about her?"

"I tried. Well, sort of tried. We did have one date."

"You did?"

He nods, looking a touch drowsy, or maybe just dreamy. "Her final year of school... she wanted to go to the winter formal. There was this group of girls... they teased her a lot, and she just... wanted to do something like a normal girl. So she begged Teacher to let her go. He said only if I took her... he trusted me slightly more than other boys, I guess because he knew how to threaten my life. She hated asking me, but I... I was happy to go..."

"Somehow I don't doubt that. What happened?"

His smile is crooked. "She wore this... burgundy velvet dress that was her mother's. I remember it took three days for her to scrub out the smell of moth balls. There was... no money, you see, for something new. But I sneaked off to town... and bought her a pair of earrings. They weren't... fancy, but it was all I could afford. I was trying to show her... how I felt." He glances at Winry, and she imagines she can still see in his expression the lovestruck teenager he had been. "I think she got the message... she still wears them every day."

"The silver studs?"

"Mmhmm. And when she opened the box... I'll never forget the way she smiled at me..."

"That was so sweet of you!"

"I was happy to take her, you know? She kept... apologizing... for the inconvenience. But I was happy. She was so... so pretty, and I got to pretend, for a whole night, that she was... mine."

"What about the mean girls?"

"They were shocked. I don't blame them... I'm a pretty good-looking guy, you know." He grins, weakly, a flash of his old self evident just for a moment.

Winry can't help a small giggle. "Did you kiss her?"

"On the cheek. I was scared to do more than that, thought her father would kill me... but I wanted to... very badly." He smiles.

"She probably felt the same way."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that until later. Sometimes... I still feel like that same kid, like I'm still just... pretending she's mine. But then the day ends and I don't have to let go of her. I waited... so many years for that."

He looks so sad now, and almost lost. Winry's heart breaks for him.

"You two fit together beautifully," she says. "You know, back when I first met you both, Riza told me that she didn't like being in the military. But she had to be in it because there was someone that she needed to protect. Even back then I knew she meant you."

Roy gives her a small, grateful smile. "Fullmetal's a lucky man, Winry."

"So are you."

"I know... but I'm afraid my luck's run out now." He sighs, and shakes his head. "Ishval is taking its revenge on me at last. I did so many terrible things here... and now I'm paying for it. Divine retribution."

"You're very sick, Ge-Roy," she amends, reaching out to feel his forehead. He's still extremely warm. "Don't think about such things. You need to get better."

"Am I sick?" he murmurs. "I'm not surprised... I've been left out in the rain for the last day at least."

"Rain? It hasn't been raining."

"Oh, yes... it's raining." He turns over, then, curling himself around the spare pillow and pressing his hot face into its comparitive coolness. A pillow is a poor substitute for a Riza, Winry knows, but it's all he has right now.

After a few minutes of worrisome silence, Roy lets out a faint snore, and Winry sighs with relief. He's gone to sleep; it can only help with the healing. She sees that the men have concluded their meeting. Major Miles and Breda have left the area, though where they've gone she doesn't know, and only Havoc and Ed are still there. She pulls the covers up more securely around Roy's shoulders and walks quietly over to join them.

"Hey, Winry... how's the Chief?" asks Havoc.

"He's sleeping. Um, before he fell asleep, though?"

"What? Did he say something?"

"We were having a nice talk, actually." She smiles. "I got to hear how he and Riza met. But then he got... really sad. He says Ishval's having its revenge on him."

Ed looks pale. "He couldn't have heard what Miles said, could he?" he hisses, looking at Havoc.

"Not a chance."

"I think he was speaking metaphorically," Winry clarifies, wondering what in the world Major Miles could possibly have said. "I told him he shouldn't let himself get upset, because he's very sick and he needs to get better. And he said..." She hesitates.

"Said what?"

"I don't get it at all, to be honest. He said he's not surprised that he's sick, because he's been out in the rain. When I told him it hasn't rained, he insisted that it's raining now."

Havoc and Ed exchange glances. "Yeah, I guess to the Chief, it must be pouring right about now," says Havoc grimly.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it doesn't apply now so much, since he can do the flame alchemy by clapping his hands," Ed explains. "But before the Promised Day, he usually did his thing by putting on a pair of special ignition gloves that would help him start the fire. If the gloves got wet, though, they wouldn't work."

"So Ladyhawk always teased him by telling him he was useless in the rain," says Havoc quietly, scratching a hand errantly in his hair. "I guess... that's how he's feeling now. Useless."

"More like helpless," says Ed.

"He's just... so sad." Winry has tears in her eyes, and Ed wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Isn't there any news about Riza?"

"Nothing definite. We're chasing down a couple possible leads, but we don't want to get his hopes up until we have better information," Havoc says, glancing uneasily at his beloved commander.

"He misses her so badly," she says softly. "What does Dr. Marcoh say about his condition?"

"Right now? It could really go either way. He could get better or he could... not."

She notes his refusal to identify death by name.