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Theme 12 :: Proof
They'd made a mistake.
They hadn't been careful enough.
No, it wasn't some life-threatening error that they would regret forever, but it was still a mistake.
She'd gotten pregnant.
It was easy to hide at first, and then they'd finally announced to their team exactly what was between them. Of course, none of the men would dare do anything that could possibly get either their beloved colonel or first lieutenant court-martialed, and the military was not concerned with who the father of her child was, only that she should not be sent into battle.
That had been all fine and well for awhile – after all, they were paper-pushers – but then the rebellion started.
It was much like Ishbal, only this time in the north. At first, they were lucky, and no-one from their team was called to battle.
Then went Falman.
Then Breda.
Then Fuery.
It was only a matter of time before Mustang, too, was called into action.
When the day finally came, she saw him off at the train station, giving him a firm salute before subtly laying a hand on his cheek as his own rested on her now slightly rounded belly.
That was the last time she ever saw him – waving from a train window, a promise to return still on his lips.
They wrote as often as possible over the next couple months, and he insisted she stay with Havoc until he returned. Though the man was now bound to a wheelchair, in case anything happened, it was better than being alone.
She learned which days to expect his letters, and when the time came, and no letter arrived, she began to worry.
It was two weeks later they received news that Colonel Roy Mustang was missing in action.
Havoc worried for her, but she said she was fine, insistent in her belief that her beloved colonel was alive somewhere. "There's no proof," she'd say.
It was almost her eighth month of pregnancy when they received a small package; encased were Mustang's dog tags as well as a letter saying he was assumed to be dead. The news caused her such grief and shock, she went into premature labor soon after.
Months later, holding her healthy baby boy – named Maes Hawkeye-Mustang – she listened as they finally gave a memorial service for the man who had aspired to change so many lives.
Afterwards, Havoc rolled towards her as she stood at the marker. "Riza . . ." he said.
"It's not a grave," she told him. "There's no body."
"I know."
The baby whimpered and Riza bounced him soothingly, rubbing his little back.
"Riza, you're going to have to let go someday."
She glanced down to where Maes was playing with his parents' dog tags, both sets now dangling from her neck. "Not yet," she said quietly.
"He's gone," Havoc whispered. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Denying it like this isn't healthy."
She turned to look at him, tears glistering in her eyes, her lower lip sucked between her teeth in an attempt to hold it all in. "No," she hissed. "He's not dead." She looked down to her son. "There's no proof."
532 words.