AN-- Might go back and re-edit this some more later, since it doesn't seem quite finished. At the moment I'm sick of looking at it.
The idea is from a friend; the quote, from chapter 61 in the manga. (I mixed the translations from my copy of the manga with the online translations...I like 'let's change this country together' better then what my copy says instead, but the rest of that page was very choppy online, so I used the offical book translation for that.)
Please let me know what you like/don't like...like I said, I feel another editing job is gonna be needed, and I don't wanna miss anything. This might get confusing, but follow it through and it should hopefully make sense by the end. I'll have more notes on it after the end as well. Thanks!
The Choice
(85. surprise attack.)
"As an individual, I am powerless. That's why I need all of you…I will protect you.
Live, and let's change this country together."
Roy comes to groggily, feeling dizzy and sick. His head is throbbing, bruises are forming everywhere he can think of, and his left arm is hurting so badly it has to be broken. Considering his arms are currently tied tightly behind his back, that last bit of discomfort is shaping up to be a real problem.
It takes the repeated blinking of his eyes for his current surroundings to come into some sort of focus. Everything is grey: the dirty walls, the concrete floor, the cracked ceiling above. As far as Roy can tell, the small, dim room he's lying half-conscious in has no furniture, no windows, and just one heavy-looking door. He has a nasty little suspicion that if he tried to turn the doorknob, he'd find it locked.
Not that he could turn the knob at the moment, even if the door was open. Not that he could get himself over to that door in the first place! Sitting up is proving to be a grim difficulty as it is—his head complains sorely with every attempt at movement, and his nausea isn't exactly responding well either.
Finally, though, Roy manages to get himself sitting upright…well, almost upright. (The wall he's leaning against is doing a lot of the work.) Dazed, he glances around once more, and then looks down at himself to see how bad the damage is.
It's pretty bad.
He isn't wearing his gloves (of course…they were the first things his attackers must've dealt with), and his hands are tied together with the palms facing inwards, so he couldn't draw a makeshift array if he wanted to. To make matters even worse for his broken arm, his arms are tied at both the wrists and a bit above the elbows—it hurts like utter hell, and makes any serious thinking next to impossible, since every thought has to fend its way through a dull haze of pain.
Plus, he's loosing circulation pretty damn quickly. Roy isn't sure how long he's been here, but the ropes have already cut deep into his skin, and he can feel warm blood trickling from the wounds.
The rest of him isn't that much better. His legs are tied in a similar, just as excruciating, fashion at the ankles and knees…and since his right leg feels like it's about to fall off, while the left is merely very uncomfortable, it seems safe to assume that the former is broken as well.
Which is just fucking perfect.
Wearily, Roy rests his head against the wall and tries to think. Today is…Tuesday…isn't it? How long was he unconscious? How did he get here? Where the hell is here?
As far as he can recall, he was in his office…it was a typical day, nothing special, and—damn, he can't remember! He's been awake for a good ten or fifteen minutes now, but the confused fog in his brain still isn't lifting. Hell, if anything, it's just getting worse…
He groans, struggles to focus. It's like his thoughts just aren't sticking around long enough for him to understand them…
Ok, he winces. Ok. Just gotta focus so I can figure out where I am and get outta here.
But the last clear memory he has is of being back in his office. For some reason—it annoys Roy that he can't actually remember the reason—the only subordinate in the room with him was Lieutenant Hawkeye. It was just the two of them…and then…there was an attack…?
Roy has a dim recollection of someone bursting into the office, yelling…he's pretty sure he stood up, pretty sure that someone pulled out a gun—or were they using alchemy? —and took a step towards him, pretty sure there was someone else behind him who hit him over the head with…something…
But that doesn't make sense. How could someone have managed to get past both Roy and Hawkeye without either one of them noticing? Why doesn't he remember Hawkeye—
Shit!
Roy's stomach clenches. Where is his lieutenant?
Whoever his attackers were, obviously they managed to drag him here…but what about Hawkeye? Had she escaped? Been injured? Been…oh, shit…had she even survived at all?
Frantic now, Mustang struggles to focus on the incident, fights to recollect. It's useless. No matter how hard he thinks back, the entire event remains blurry, uncertain…he can't picture the faces of his assailants, can't even bring to mind what time of day it was that they attacked, or where he was when—
No, that's not true. He was in his office. Wasn't he?
This is fucking ridiculous! Why can't I remember? I knew where it happened three seconds ago!
Roy doesn't understand this at all. His headache's getting worse, not better, and he has to struggle to remember anything! It shouldn't be this hard…he's a colonel, a state alchemist, he…is that right? Did he pass the state entrance exams yet? Wasn't he still training for—no, that's insane…he's been stuck to the government for years!
Right?
After a while (or maybe not…time doesn't seem to be passing right, here, and he has no idea how long it's been), Roy has to give up. Nothing's sticking, and anyway, it's so much easier to just lie back against the wall and wait for something to happen…
Hawkeye!
He straightens up with a jerk, which is agony on his broken arm; horror and fury flood through him, and he feels sick all over again. How the hell could I forget about her? Even for just a few minutes! Something…something has to be wrong here…!
There are footsteps outside, coming towards him. Roy stares, sluggishly, at the door; he would come up with some creative plan for slipping free when the door opens if everything didn't hurt so much…
Hours, or maybe only a few seconds, go by. Roy waits, although he doesn't remember what it is he's waiting for—someone to walk in? Someone to rescue him? Hawkeye to show up?
Damn! Worry returns, cold and shrill. Where is she? What happened to her?
Footsteps again—this time the door opens. Roy squints and tries to see if he recognizes the man who's staring at him now, but it's hard considering the stranger's features are buried in shadow.
(Which really shouldn't make sense…the room isn't that dark.)
But Roy accepts this, as he's accepted that he's trapped in this claustrophobic room, as he's accepted that he has at least two broken limbs and any minute now he might pass out from the pain they're spurting. As he's accepted that he has no fucking idea where his first lieutenant is, or what's happened to her, or what condition she is in.
No idea. Not a clue.
Come to think of it, Hawkeye's being M.I.A. isn't the sort of thing he'd normally accept, but for some reason Mustang doesn't understand, the first words out of his mouth are not, 'I'll rip your throat out if you've hurt her.'
He doesn't actually have any first words: he opens his mouth to talk and only a muted rasp comes out. Another thing that doesn't connect…Roy's throat is pretty much the only part of him that doesn't hurt at the moment, so there's no reason why his voice should be gone. But it is, and so Roy merely watches the stranger and wonders if it's his headache that's making things not add up.
The other man is smirking; at least, Roy thinks he would be if he could see him more clearly. What he can see is that the stranger is lean, with a strangely graceful feel to the way he moves. His hair is a nondescript shade of brown (although wasn't it blond when he first showed up?), and so is the clothing he's wearing. Most noticeable is the strip of fabric he's got wrapped on his upper right arm: it's black, and there's an insignia on it that Roy knows he's seen before…he knows he has…but he just can't figure out where. It feels as though he's dealt with the wearers of that insignia a hundred, a thousand times…but now…he just doesn't remember…
"So you're up, eh, asshole?" The man's voice is rough, as if he's spent his short-or-long life smoking more cigarettes in a day then even Havoc can manage. "About damn time. Who the hell you think you are, keeping us waiting?"
Roy tries talking again, with no luck, which only seems to piss the other man off further.
"What, you too scared shitless to speak? Hnn…little maggot. Acting like you don't know who I am. You wanna stay alive, you better start working on your manners." He chuckles. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?"
"You…I…know you…?" Roy manages to gasp out. Talking hurts as much as the rest of his throbbing body does.
The stranger's features are still blurred, but the way his fists begin to clench and unclench show how angry he's getting. "Huh? You gonna act like you don't remember? Bastard!"
Roy tries to focus. Does he know this person? Does he? The voice doesn't sound like anything he knows! It would be so much easier if Mustang could just see his face…!
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised, you cocky piece of dirt." The man starts walking closer, but his features remain illogically undefined and fuzzy. "Just like everyone says…you think you're too damn good to bother with rebels like us. Isn't that right?"
"Mmh…" Roy feels dizzy again. His head starts pounding with even more intensity then before.
"Nothing to say, huh? Is the Flame Alchemist still too important to waste his time with scum of the earth like me? I bet that's what you're thinking even now! Bastard! You should be begging for your life!"
His foot swings out and connects with Roy's ribcage, and for the next few minutes all the Flame Alchemist can do is hunch over and gasp as he tries desperately not to vomit. Fire of a different nature eats at his insides, and he wonders half-crazily if this is what it feels like to burn…
"Ooh. Does that hurt?" Again, the man kicks him, this time in the side. "How about that? Feel nice? Huh?" Another kick. Another.
Roy curls up as best he can, considering the way he's tied up, but each kick still hurts worse then the last one.White-hot pain slices through muscle and bone, and he realizes numbly that this is it, this is all he has left…he is going to die here…
"Hah! That's right, dipshit, keep squirming!" the man gloats. He reaches down and grabs Roy by his hair, yanking his head back painfully; Roy has nowhere to look but right at his attacker's face, and still it remains a blur! "You wouldn't talk to us when we tried doing things nicely, but maybe now you'll listen. Now that your waste of a life depends on you doing what we say."
"Nnh…" Roy squints up at this faceless creature. "F-Fuck you," he half-sighs, without really knowing why.
"Stubborn brat!" His attacker hits him across the face, hard. "You can't bullshit your way out of this one, you know. Roy Mustang…hah! You always manage to get what you want." He drops Roy, who collapses with a low moan. "Not this time. Not when we've got what's most important to you. This time you'll do what we want, or you'll fucking regret it!"
As if to prove his point, he stomps down hard—on Roy's broken leg. Even Mustang, stubborn as he is, can't keep from screaming.
"That's enough." Over his groans, Roy hears another unfamiliar voice…someone else, also male, also tall and lean, also faceless, enters the room. This new stranger shakes his head, and his tone is nothing if not amused: "You don't want to kill him. Not yet, anyway. Not till he makes his choice."
Choice? Roy struggles to lift his head as his attacker moves back to join the newcomer. For a minute, red flashes of pain hover before his eyes, and it is only after they fade that he really gets a good look at this new man.
This new man, who did not enter the room alone.
Hawkeye is with him. He has a strong grip on her left arm, and there is an air of condescending tolerance about him as he pulls her forcefully into the room. Roy can tell even in his dazed state that something is wrong with his lieutenant—neither her hands nor her legs are bound, and in any normal situation she could easily have beaten the shit out of her captor by now. But this is obviously not a normal situation, because she allows herself to be dragged into the center of the room, where she stands, wavering slightly. The man stays beside her, his hand still holding tightly to her arm.
Roy stares into her amber eyes and realizes how unfocused they are. Panic hacks at his insides, hurting worse then even the most severe of his wounds, and he tries desperately to pull his hands free. He has to help her…
"Stop squirming." Mystery Man Number One is clearly longing to stomp on Roy's fucked-up leg again. "You've got a little choice to make. And you'd better make the right one, or else you'll—"
"Calm down," Mystery Man Number Two interjects, pleasantly enough. "There's no need to get so riled up. We'll simply explain to Colonel Mustang his options, and then he'll decide between them. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"
Hawkeye doesn't answer. She just continues to look at her commanding officer, watching him with that strange, distant gaze.
Confusion attacks the colonel afresh. The room—the world—everything—everything spins, everything twists—nothing is right—
It has been a day or it has been a year, and the men are still talking to him. The calm one is discussing choices—unknown choices—and the angry one is leering at Roy's lieutenant and cracking his knuckles. Mustang's limbs burn with discomfort from being tied together for so long, but there are moments when his two broken limbs don't seem to hurt as much as they should…and then they are seized with fury again as acid seems to swirl up and down his spine…
"Make your choice, Flame Alchemist."
But no choices have been given, and which Mystery Man was the one to speak? Why won't Hawkeye defend herself? Why won't anything start to add up?
"See? Didn't I tell ya?" demands Mystery Man Number one. "Didn't I say? He won't talk. Just sits there, just gawks. Acts like he's got no fucking clue who we are or what we want! Bastard!" Furious, he kicks at his victim again.
Roy cries out, and Hawkeye flinches openly. (Which she doesn't do. Which she never does.) "No," she says, faintly. "No."
The second man speaks softly now, his eyes fixed on Roy's pale face. There is a new flatness to his voice, a new irritation that suggests the colonel's time is running low. "You know who we are. You have 'dealt with us'…yes, I suppose that's how you'd put it. You have dealt with us many times before. And now we will deal with you."
"Deal with you," Mystery Man Number One repeats. "Oh yeah we will." He sounds gleeful, and it's all so very strange…
"I have explained the choices many times," continues the second man in that same flat, annoyed tone. "I will even be so kind as to explain them again. As you can see—"
"No," Hawkeye says again, this time with more force. "Don't listen to them, Colonel. Don't listen…!"
"Riza…" he tries to choke out, struck by her insistent, piercing eyes.
"You can't listen to them, sir! Colonel, you can't—"
"Enough," snaps the second man, and tightens his grip on her arm. His hand twists painfully into her skin, and his other arm rises slightly as if to strike her should she dare say another word. "Colonel Mustang, you know your choices. You will give up, or we will kill her. Those are the only options you have."
"Give up…?" Roy breathes, bewildered. "What…"
"You will give up on your goal to change this country. You will allow yourself to fail. Roy Mustang's great legacy will end here and now. Or else…"
Or else they'll kill her! Or else they'll kill my first lieutenant!
And it shouldn't make sense, it shouldn't ring so true, there shouldn't be a way for these men to actually be able to carry out their threats—shouldn't be a way for them to so easily ruin his plans—they shouldn't even know about his plans…
But they do, and it does make sense, and there is a way, even if Roy Mustang could never explain it in words. He isn't wondering why or if, he isn't trying to figure it all out. He…just…knows…
These men will make good on their promise. They will kill her if he decides to try and carry on. They will not kill him (they won't, he knows they won't); the Flame Alchemist will be allowed to continue his path to the top.
But they will steal his first lieutenant away…if he does continue to climb, he will have to do so all alone…
"Why…?" he tries to protest, "Why do you want to…"
"Hah, listen to him. Acting all innocent—hmph! You know why, dipshit, so stop screwing around!"
"Sir!" Hawkeye pleads. "Sir, you can't just quit and walk away. You have to do what you said you would do, you have to change the country! That is the most important thing, not what happens to me. I know you! I know how important this dream has been for you!"
Yes, the colonel murmurs, yes, you do know. Only you…only you have ever really known…
"It's important to me, too! It's important to all your subordinates. You can't give up on them. Colonel…you can't just brush everything you've ever dreamt of having aside…"
But I have dreamt of having you, as well. I have dreamt of far too much.
"Make your choice!" shouts the first man. "Goddamn it, open your mouth!"
"Think reasonably," soothes the second. "You wouldn't want anything to happen to your lovely lieutenant. You wouldn't want her to die because of you as well. You've already killed your best friend. You wouldn't want another corpse at your feet."
I don't want Riza to die. Why can't they threaten my life instead?
"Colonel Mustang!"
"Hurry up, maggot! Tell us what you've decided!"
"Surely you wouldn't want to put your selfish aims above the lives of your subordinates. Surely you don't want them to have to sacrifice themselves for your silly little dreams. It's your mission or your lieutenant, and you have to let one die."
What the hell am I supposed to do?!
"Choose!" the first man shrieks—
Roy Mustang jerks awake with a start. His stomach is heaving, cold sweat is trickling down his spine, and he knows without question that he was shouting in his sleep just now.
It was the thunder that crashed into the dream and scattered it, he thinks in a daze. It was thunder that kept him from having to make a choice. It was all just a bad vision, just his usual night-ghosts come to play with him again. Roy is used to them, and to nightmares, and this one shouldn't feel like anything more.
But it does. Because usually his delusions involve only him…usually, he is being murdered, or tortured, or something else equally cheerful and lighthearted.
He's never dreamt about this, before. Never about having to choose between his desire and his need. He wants to fix his mistakes so badly…he wants to have his first lieutenant in his arms so very much…
(Desire and need: which is which? Roy desires his lieutenant but he needs to accomplish his plans because he desires to save the people but he needs Riza by his side…)
Roy is certainly more clear-headed now that he's awake. He tells himself quite sternly that is was just a dream; there's certainly no need to worry over it. No need at all.
(But he hasn't made his choice yet, and he doesn't know which to pick. If the situation should somehow ever arise…)
The Flame Alchemist looks through his window at the rain and lashing winds, noting how garish the city looks when bathed in wild lightning's glare. The sky is tarnished red-orange-yellow-red from the angry flashes lighting up against the clouds. Knowing that he's expected in the office early the next morning, he lies back down and closes his eyes.
(It takes a long time for him to finally chase sleep down. It takes a long time for him to forget that dream.)
Outside, the storm rages on, and it strikes Roy as he falls asleep that, colored as it is, the world almost looks as if it's been set on fire and destroyed…
AN- Some comments:
1) I know, I know, using 'it was all a dream' is the worst ending in the world to go for, but I had my reasons for heading that route. First off, there's the simple truth that there was no way in hell I was gonna be able to come up with a plausible situation, with bad guys who could actually carry out what they threatened and who actually had an interesting motive/backstory, in a single one-shot. That's, like, multi-chapter fic worthy in of itself. So I went for the dream idea because it allowed me to focus more on how Roy would react in such a situation, without worrying over every tiny detail.
Also, I'm really not sure what Roy would choose! I think a good case can be made for either side, so leaving it as a dream allowed me to have a more open-ended ending. (I'd be interested to hear what you think he'd do, reviewers.)
2) Like I said...I don't know what Roy's choice would actually be if such a situation showed up in the anime/manga. But. I know what I'd like it to be...and I do have my suspicions. So, if I had to say...between Hawkeye and his mission...actually, my idea of which choice he'd pick is implied--very, very vaguely--in this one-shot...if you didn't catch it, reread the last few sentences again.
3) I enjoy abusing Roy. Way too much. (It's kinda weird.)
Whoo for way-too-long author's notes.