1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was cleaning her gun. Rounds still unused carefully dumped into her lap as callous fingers took the machine apart. Each piece slid off and wiped with slow reverence. To an outsider, it would seem like any other military procedure.
To Jean Havoc, it was a sign that Riza Hawkeye was in turmoil.
"It's okay, you know."
A slight jump from the blonde woman showed him just how deeply in thought she was.
"He's—" He winced, quickly amending himself. He wasn't quite protected enough to risk confronting her about that just yet, not when she still had a firearm within reach.
"We're both alive, Lieutenant."
"…I know."
…but I had failed.
He knew that his superior officer was not the cold trigger-happy woman she appeared to be. He knew the hours she spent at the shooting range, training until she could fire and hit her target at a second's notice, and at the same time, be able to pull back from the trigger at half a second.
He also knew that Riza Hawkeye worshipped her guns.
It was not the result of an unhealthy obsession or bloody thirsty intent, but rather an act of desperation. They were not like the Colonel or the Elric brothers, Hawkeye, Falman, Fury, Breda, and himself. They could not create flames from the air or spears from the ground. They had only their own two hands in which to do the bidding of those who would change the world.
But for Riza Hawkeye, who had taken on a far more dangerous task, normal human power alone was not enough. So through blood and sweat and screams she trained until the gun became her circle and the bullet her alchemy. And with it, she had withstood all that man and science had thrown at her.
Until now.
Homunculus. A phenomenon that should not have been possible even in alchemist terms. A being created from magic. An immortal.
He remembered a few days ago when Fury had appeared with Hawkeye's form requesting new ammunition. How many clips had you entered into Sola…that monster, Lieutenant? How many shots before the cold fear gripped your heart and you realized that you could do nothing?
This fight…this war…was not for them, they who lived with the limitations of their own bodies, and he silently squeezed the meat of his thighs at this thought. In this place, they were powerless.
But Jean Havoc knew the 1st Lieutenant just as he knew the rest of his comrades. And he realized as he lay back in his uncomfortable hospital bed, that they would need a lot more guns.
Author's Note: Well, this definately took a different turn than what I had in mind. It was suppose to be two parts, each from Roy and Riza's POV, but then Jean wiggled his way in and wouldn't leave the scene so now you have this instead of Riza. And you can also blame Jean for the lack of RoyRiza.
Please excuse any inaccuracies regarding the characters or the military. I don't know anything about officer ranking and I'm really tired right now.
Gah, now I don't know what to do about Roy's part, since it doesn't really fit any more. Any suggestions?
--- Inaho