Disclaimer: I don't know Japanese, so the thought that I own or in any way created this series is rather amusing.

AN: Well, I'm not quite caught up with the series, but already a fic idea is eating at me. This will be AU, simply because otherwise the timing won't work out. It will eventually hold spoilers for Episode 25, as well as for times in Ishbal. The story will probably not have much romance, but what there is will be Roy/Riza. Ed and Al will come in next chapter. Please give constructive criticism, especially if you think characterization ends up off.

Flames of Ice

Part 1

For a moment Roy lay winded on the rough scrub that was all he could call a lawn, rain drops pattering gently, ever so gently, onto his face, unaware and uncaring of the havoc they were partly responsible for. Staggering back to shaky feet, pointedly keeping his eyes from the blood-dripping liabilities that had once been his gloved hands, Mustang turned to face the flickering conflagration that had once been his house—his sanctuary, the one place where he was not a dog of the military, or the man who would be Fuhrer, or even the playboy-colonel. A snarl of pure hate replaced his usual self-assured smirk as a figure stepped out of the smoke.

"Still on your feet?" The man smiled broadly at the fact. "Ah, Flame. Burning all your power without a thought to what will happen next. You're just making this all the more enjoyable."

Mustang didn't answer, merely planting his feet more firmly in the sodden ground, shaking stray locks of rain-and-blood-plastered hair away from his eyes. Not for the first time that night, Roy bitterly wished he could simply snap his fingers and turn the man before him into a human torch.

His opponent's smirk widened at the defiant gesture. "I'm sure you'll feel right at home where I'm going to send you, Roy-boy. Plenty of flames to play with there."

The brief crimson glow that followed the words gave Mustang just enough time to roll out of the way of the alchemical blast, only the edge of the attack striking home. Yet even a glancing blow caused more damage than he could afford, pain lancing through his side and down his left leg as shards of ice and earth embedded themselves deep into his skin.

Between the fatigue, the blood loss, and the added pain, it really didn't surprise him when the next attack caught him full-on. He couldn't help a short scream and a low whimper as the cold enveloped his body, encapsulating him, every inch of his skin alternating between bitter pain and numbness, the air in his lungs seeming to turn to an impossibly dense miasma. God, how he hated cold…

Biting back more cries of pain, Mustang forced the darkness that had encompassed his vision to inch back, allowing him a hazy view of black boots. Mustering his last reserves of strength, Roy forced his head off the ground. Dark eyes locked with ice blue ones. Mustang fought the urge to flinch as his attacker extended his hand, rough fingers reaching under his chin and forcing his head up still farther.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you, Flame? No, you've never known that."

There was a dark hatred in the other's eyes that Roy recognized, one that had been directed toward him far too often during the war in Ishbal from friend and foe alike. Any hope that he would be allowed to live died under that dark gaze.

"You don't like the cold, do you, Roy? You've never liked the cold." The man rocked forward, his white-blonde hair nearly at Mustang's ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't worry, though. You won't be cold for long. You're going to burn, Flame. You're going to burn for everything you've done, and no one will be able to help you."

Roy couldn't suppress a scream as a booted heel slammed down onto his injured right hand, the blackness that had continued to lurk at the edge of his vision swelling, swarming over all his senses despite his efforts to retain his tenuous hold on consciousness.

The last thing he was aware of was the glint of reflected fire off a metal blade.

XXX

Wrong. Something's wrong.

Even before the thought had finished flashing across her mind, Hawkeye was awake and crouched beside the bed, her pistol clutched tightly in both hands.

She took a few seconds to allow her conscious mind to catch up to her instincts, straining her senses to the limit. What was it that had woken her, kicking all her survival instincts into high gear? Anyone fool enough to break into her apartment would soon find themselves regretting the action.

It took her only a minute and a half to do a thorough sweep of her apartment, checking every possible hiding place, even the ones that would only hide a child as small as Edward. Given some of the stunts the young alchemist had pulled, it was distinctly possible, if not exactly probable, that he and his brother would break into her apartment thinking she had access to information they needed.

Finding no possible threat to herself, it only took Hawkeye four seconds to dial the Colonel's number. Her job was to guard him; if her instincts called out a warning that was not meant for her, it was meant for him.

Less than fifty seconds after calling the Colonel's house, Hawkeye was out the door of her house and in her car, shrugging a jacket on to accompany the pants and white undershirt from her uniform that normally served her as pajamas. She had no doubt that the task force she had ordered would be on their way within minutes, but the sound of an emotionless mechanical voice informing her that the Colonel's number was unavailable had made her doubt whether Roy could afford minutes.

XXX

Ice blue eyes coldly studied their handiwork, brushing away excess blood with a deft swipe. Running over the pattern in his mind, he traced each line and sweep of the symbol with his hand, ensuring that everything was as it should be. Two hands gently came to rest on a bloody chest, setting the forces in motion that would complete the task.

Dark eyes opened for a moment as the circle caught and held the power, directing it inward, a low whimper the only response to what was happening.

A faint smile flashed across the man's face as he studied the prostrate figure before him, one hand reaching out idly to brush dark hair away from glazed eyes.

When he spoke his words were a hoarse whisper, the emotions behind them so mixed as to be barely identifiable.

"You're gonna burn, Flame. Gonna burn."

XXX

Hawkeye saw the light of the fire well before she reached the house, a sinking sensation settling in her stomach for a moment before the rigid training she relied on reasserted control. Only Mustang had enough power to cause that kind of blaze on a night like tonight, with rain pouring from the sky in ever-increasing streams. If he was conscious enough to be starting fires, though, then there was a distinct possibility that she would be unneeded.

Skidding the car to a jarring stop less than a minute from his house, Hawkeye approached the scene cautiously, every sense alert for signs of enemies. Other than the sound of wood cracking and breaking, the hiss of rain and water meeting, everything seemed quiet.

Too quiet. Where were the guards? The colonel's house was to be protected, though surreptitiously, at all times.

Keeping her pistol at the ready, Hawkeye moved cautiously around the burning building and into the front yard. It took her rain-clouded vision a moment to spot the mud-drenched figure face-down on the ground, though once spotted it took only a moment's study to match the form to an identity.

"Colonel Mustang!" Hawkeye shouted his name, hoping that the sound would at least illicit a twitch from the still form. There was no response, though, and Hawkeye had to force herself to scan the yard as she moved slowly toward him, wary of traps yet eager to ensure that life still lingered within the man she was charged to protect.

The first faint sounds of sirens were just audible in the distance when she finally reached her goal, setting down her pistol and swiftly turning the still figure before her over, a slight hitch in her breathing the only outward reaction she allowed at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Blood trickled from small cuts along the left side of his face and neck. His gloved hands, that could control the most unstable element with a simple snap, had been slit clean through to the bone. His blue military uniform had been slit open from top to bottom, and blood poured across his chest in wavering sheets, the angry outlines of an alchemical symbol carved into the skin just visible through it. If not for the mass murders she had seen in Ishbal, some of them caused by Roy's power, she might have been forced to leave his side for a moment and empty her stomach of dinner.

"Colonel Mustang." Still there was no response from the man in her arms… a man that looked much younger, bloody and obviously beaten, than his self-assured air and power politics would allow many people to believe.

"Colonel Mustang." A gentle shake was all Hawkeye dared to give the man in her arms, wary of causing any exacerbation to his injuries. She could already feel the heat of a fever pouring off him in waves.

"Roy." A low moan followed by a slight whimper was the only response she was able to wrest from the dark-haired man, and Hawkeye swallowed dryly, a cold fury building in her heart. It was not right that this should have happened, but especially not right that his attacker—attackers?—should have chosen here, the one place she knew he thought of as a sanctuary.

Another low whimper heralded the opening of pain-glazed dark eyes, and Hawkeye held her commanding officer just a little tighter, hoping to prevent him from moving and causing further damage himself.

"Hold on, Roy. The medics are coming."

A brief nod was the only answer she received before he slipped back down into the depths of unconsciousness. Swearing briefly, Hawkeye gave their surroundings another quick glance, daring whoever had done this to try to get to him again. When nothing answered her challenge, she growled another low curse before turning her full attention back to the unconscious alchemist.

Whoever had done this was going to pay.

Dearly.