Author's Notes:
Right, okay ... I'm not sure quite how this happened. But after going through a rough period recently, I may have binged the whole of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, and now I can't get Royai out of my stupid brain. And so, this fic idea wouldn't let up bugging me until I got it out of my head and onto my computer - and I needed the headspace to carry on with my long-ass SNK fic.
Truthfully, I'm very new to this fandom (totally missed the boat here, I realise!) So if any of the characters seem particularly OOC over coming chapters, or I get any aspects of the FMA:B universe wrong, please let me know and I will do my best to fix!
Finishing my SNK fic is my priority currently, but this story also has me itching to write, so I'll try and keep this updated regularly, but my life is also kind of crazy at the moment to please do bare with me :)
Finally, some points to be aware of:
+ This fic is set post Manga/ FMA:B events, canon universe.
+ Currently only Royai, although I may dabble in other ships later - we'll see.
+ Slow burn - I LIVE FOR IT. Give me that sexual tension!
Wings on Fire
ARC 1: Division
'The act, process, or an instance of separating or keeping apart."
CHAPTER 1: Birthdays and Burns
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye sat with her legs crossed neatly at the table outside the little coffee shop. It was a pleasant morning, by all accounts; the weather was mild, and only a few early autumn clouds peppered the horizon.
Riza scratched behind Black Hayate's ear with her foot as he sat curled against her leg beneath the table. She poured herself another cup of coffee from the cafetière, before reaching absently for the newspaper that had been left discarded by the table's previous occupant. As usual, she'd been up and out early, and now had plenty of time to kill until she needed to be at the office. Today was a paperwork day, so it was likely to drag.
She flipped open the paper, only half paying attention to the monotone, black print and baiting headlines on each page as she sipped her coffee. Deciding there was nothing worthy of note, she made to fold the paper back up and place it back across from her. But something on the front page stopped her.
How had she missed that?
She frowned down at the side profile of a man wearing the highest-ranking military uniform, hat perched neatly atop his head as strands of wayward, dark hair poked out from underneath. His face was set with a determined glare, and it made him look quite the picture of intimidation; albeit handsome intimidation. Riza found herself tutting at the way his hair was the only aspect of his appearance which was out of place; his presentation otherwise pristine.
He'd hate that photo. She wondered when it had been taken.
Her eyes moved back up above the picture to the headline: 'Fuhrer Mustang Celebrates 3 Golden Years in Office,' and in smaller print, just below: 'A look at how far Amestris has come beneath his leadership.'
Wondering how on earth she'd managed to pass over the article, Riza reached to flip the paper back open in search of the content. Words from the table beside hers made her hesitate, however.
"He looks so much hotter now he's got rid of that stupid moustache!"
"Oh, I don't know; I'd have let him show me the inside of his office with or without the facial hair!"
The giggles from the group of girls sat nearby made Riza grit her teeth. She glanced sideways at them, and realised they were pouring over the same article. They could only be, what? Early twenties at most? She had a feeling they'd be rather disappointed with the bland reality of the inside of Roy Mustang's office - which was more than likely nothing but a mess of paperwork, plagued by the Fuhrer's habit of procrastination.
Or at least; that's how it had been the last time she'd set foot in there, two years ago.
Her hand stilled on the newspaper as she continued to listen.
"He doesn't look a day older than the day he was appointed, does he?"
"No! That's why he's always got some beautiful woman on his arm." The girl sighed wistfully.
Riza pushed the paper away from her, the action measured. Her fingers reached to untie Black Hayate's leash from the arm of her chair.
"I wonder how old he actually is?"
"Thirty-Five this Sunday."
The group of girls looked up to find Riza pausing beside their table, her eyes appearing to focus on something down the street, in the far-off distance.
"Oh …"
She shook her head, before glancing down at the group of girls with a curt, tight-lipped smile. Then she was gone, feet carrying her toward her little apartment to drop Hayate off, before a day of signing off paperwork for the new recruits at West City Military HQ.
"Damn it, Havoc!"
Jean Havoc glanced up from his third coffee of the morning, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. "Eh?" He glanced at the Fuhrer, who was sat behind his desk in the lavish office at Central HQ. "What have I done now?"
Roy Mustang tossed the copy of that morning's newspaper at the Lieutenant, his expression unamused. Jean caught it easily, flipping it over to browse the front page. "Ah … they printed that article about you. Nice. Looking good, Mr. Fuhrer." He winked at Roy as he clicked his fingers in his direction.
"Are you serious? That's the picture you chose to give to the press?"
Jean shrugged, glancing between the picture and Roy's flat features. "What's wrong with it?'
"What's wrong with it? Have you seen my hair? That was taken the day we were running late to that Military Gala, and I didn't get chance to style my hair appropriately. Now I look like I can't even dress myself properly for formal occasions, let alone run a country!"
Jean frowned as he flicked his cigarette into the ash tray on his desk. "Seriously, Sir. Lighten up. You look fine. And how many public appearances have you made the last three years? I'm pretty sure one photograph is not going to erase your perfect appearance from people's minds." He rolled his eyes. "Not that it matters that much, but it's not like you've ever had any issues in that department before."
Roy merely scowled at his subordinate and friend. Deep down, he knew Havoc was right - the picture was perfectly adequate. But Roy had never been happy to settle for adequate. And, more than that, he couldn't help an annoying little thought eating away at the corner of his mind:
She wouldn't have chosen that photo.
It had been two years, and it had been his decision, in the end. The hardest damn decision of his life, if he were being completely candid with himself, but his decision none-the-less.
And still, even after all this time, he couldn't shake her presence, even if it was no longer physical.
Roy grit his teeth, standing suddenly. "Come on."
Havoc raised a brow. "Where're we going?"
"A walk. I need the fresh air," was all Roy replied.
At 5:33pm, Riza's pen left the last looped signature on the final report of the day, and she filed it under 'Complete.'
Her walk back to the small apartment she called home in West City was lengthened by a detour to one of the little card shops in the centre of town. She took her time browsing over the selection of birthday cards, before settling on something fairly simple with the message 'Happy Birthday - enjoy your day!'
She'd sent him one last year, and in the interests of politeness, she felt it only appropriate that she do the same this year. She stopped by at the same coffee shop where she'd listened to the group of young girls fawning over his picture in the paper, and ordered a fruit tea to go while she quickly scribbled down her message. Once the envelope was sealed, she collected her drink and headed to post the card.
As it slipped from her fingers into the post box, Riza found herself wondering what the Fuhrer would be doing to celebrate his birthday this year. The last birthday she'd celebrated with him had been his thirty-third, and by all accounts, it had been quite the memorable occasion - for many reasons.
"Come on, Lieutenant. Just come for one drink with us. When was the last time we all let our hair down? Are you really going to turn a man down on his birthday?"
"Well, alright then, Sir. But only because Lieutenant Havoc has gone to the trouble of organising this get together."
"Oh? So it's just Havoc you don't want to disappoint? I see."
He'd smiled knowingly at her, and they both knew full well what the real answer to his question was.
Riza frowned at the memory as her eyes stayed fixed on the post box. How funny … it had been two years, and yet … that night seemed like a life-time ago.
"Are you alright, dear?"
She started, turning to find an older lady waiting with a letter in her hands behind her. "Oh - yes - sorry; I was in a world of my own."
The lady smiled and nodded knowingly. "He must be a handsome chap to have you looking like that."
Riza merely blinked; her breath caught in her throat uncomfortably as the old woman's words echoed in her ears. Eventually, she blurted out another apology, before turning and quickly heading off down the street, back to Black Hayate and her lonely little apartment.
Roy groaned as Havoc began unceremoniously dumping the correspondence for the day on his desk.
"That one's the request for a report you said you'd put together on the success of the Ishbal project from last year, that one's info on a court-martial for that officer who's being tried for bribery, that one's a request for leave -"
"Leave? Who for?" Roy glanced up at his subordinate from behind the hand rubbing his brow.
"Oh - me."
"Declined."
"But you haven't even looked when it's for!?"
"We're imminently about to tackle moving this country from a military state to a democracy. Now is not the time for leave."
Havoc appeared as though he were about to argue the case, but apparently he changed his mind and settled for a groan of protest instead as he swiped the paperwork back off the desk. "Fine."
Roy ignored his crestfallen appearance as he stared at the pile of work in front of him. "Come on - you'd think even the Fuhrer would get cut a little slack on his birthday - right?" He sighed, reaching for the first bit of paperwork. "Never mind. I'll just resign myself to this miserable fate of paperwork and" -
"Oh yeah!" Havoc cut in. "That reminds me - this also came for you.' He tossed over a small envelope to Roy. "Bet I know who it's from."
Roy frowned down at the elegant, cursive writing on the back. Yeah, he bet he knew who it was from, too.
"Thanks," he said simply, dropping the card into his desk drawer without another glance.
Havoc raised a brow as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. "You not going to open it, then?"
"Later." Roy didn't meet his gaze as he began sorting through paperwork.
His cigarette now lit, Havoc crossed his arms, his brow still crinkled. Roy could feel his gaze boring into him, but he refused to look up. "Is there a problem, Havoc?"
He rolled the cigarette around in his mouth a few times, before muttering his response. "No…'
"Good."
He turned to head back to his desk, but something made him hesitate. Roy grimaced inwardly.
"Sir … two years ago, when we all went out for those birthday drinks" -
"I believe it's your round for coffee." Roy held an empty cup out to his subordinate, still not meeting his eye.
Havoc hesitated, before swiping the cup. "Yeah. Fine." Roy was relieved he didn't press the matter.
As soon as the door to the office was closed, he found himself wrestling with the urge to take the card from his drawer and tear it open. He placed his palms flat on the mahogany wood of the desk, fingers splayed, and tried to concentrate on reading the documents in front of him. But it was as though the card was literally burning a hole through the desk and scorching his palm; his fingers itched and tingled until he could bare it no more. He yanked open the desk drawer roughly and pulled out the offending item. The envelope was sliced open neatly with a silver letter-opener - a gift from his Aunt when he was made Fuhrer - and the card slipped out into his hand.
It was simple and straightforward - nothing fancy, as expected of Riza Hawkeye. He found himself smiling bitterly. He flipped it open to read the message inside.
Sir,
Have an enjoyable birthday.
Best,
Lieutenant Hawkeye
So professional. So distant. He ran a gloved hand over the writing. Even now, after these years apart, she still followed his orders to the letter. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift for a moment. It wandered back to the eve of his birthday, two years ago.
"That is a stunning dress, Lieutenant."
"Oh - ah, thank you, Sir."
The faint blush on her cheeks had been so endearing.
He opened his eyes again, using the sight of his office to ground him back in the present. It was dangerous to linger too long in matters that were no longer of importance or use.
You play with fire, and you get burned.
Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, of all people, should have known that better than anyone.
... it's short one to start us off! Please let me know what you think - totally new to writing these guys so any feedback is so very much appreciated! SR x